Chapter 4
As soon as Clary was out of earshot, Jace swore so loudly and with such creative filth that several passersbys on the street stopped to give him a dirty look. Today was technically his day off from watching Clary, which meant that if he wanted to go to the party with her, he was going to have to give either Alec or Isabelle the slip. He swore again for good measure, even as his phone buzzed. He glanced down at it.
25 Union Square West. Meet you out front at nine.
He swore a third time, but before he could reply to Clary, another message came through from Isabelle.
How was yoga? Get your Chakras aligned? it read, with a smiling devil emoji next to it.
Still probably less gross than the Boston Harbour, he sent back. Who's on duty tonight?
He watched the pulsing ellipsis which signified she was still typing.
"C'mon, Is, type faster," he growled to himself.
Finally, her reply came through.
Me. It was supposed to be Alec, but he has a dinner at The Institute with Mom and Dad, Isabelle had written, and he practically laughed out loud in relief.
Lucky him, Jace said simply, biting his lip and trying to play out his next move.
Why do you ask?
He considered.
I'm calling in my favour. Switch with me.
No sooner had he sent it then his phone began to ring, and he rolled his eyes.
"Are you crazy?" Isabelle demanded when he answered. "No way!"
"Yes, hello Isabelle. Lovely to hear your voice, too. How was Boston?"
"Jace," she warned. "Don't be glib."
"Oh c'mon, Is," he said. "It's not that big of a deal."
"Yes," she snarled. "It is. Do you have any idea how much trouble you'd be in if the Clave finds out you're been sneaking around with her?"
"Then I guess I just have to make sure they don't find out," he said.
"God, this is so you, you know that?" she demanded. "I swear part of you wants to get caught."
Jace scoffed.
"Not true. Honestly, you're overreacting."
"No I'm not," she said, voice sharp and breathy like it always was when she was upset. "This is serious, J. She's Valentine's daughter, and she's strictly off limits!"
"You're acting like I'm trying to have my wicked way with her," Jace said, getting hot now, too.
"Well aren't you?"
"No!"
"Look, you've been reckless enough as-is. Can't you, for once in your life, just quit while you're ahead?"
"I don't remember you complaining when I bailed you out this morning," he pointed out fiercely.
She sighed.
"Clearly it was a mistake to ask you to do that. If I'd have known how far you were going to—"
"I'm not gonna sleep with her, alright?" he hissed. "Jesus, Isabelle!"
"I'm sorry, but I don't believe you. I've seen the way you look at her, and I'm telling you it's dangerous. Please, this is for your own good."
Jace sighed loudly, knowing he was frustrated in part because she was right; this was thin ice, and there was no telling how deep and cold the water below it could be. Still, Clary was quickly becoming his drug a choice, and like any good junkie, he was willing to put everything on the line for even once more dose of her.
"Fine," he said finally, letting some of the defeat he was feeling seep into his tone. "But you at least have to let me go tonight and break it off with her. You owe me that much at least."
There was silence on the other end of the line, and Jace clenched his jaw.
"Fine," Isabelle said finally, voice thin. "But make sure you do. I can't keep covering for you."
With that she hung up, and he released a stale breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. It wasn't the ideal outcome, but all that really mattered to him was that he'd gotten what he'd wanted in the short term. The rest he could figure out quickly texted Clary agreeing that he'd be there before heading Uptown to the Institute. He was too keyed up to go back to the apartment and face Alec, or Isabelle when she got back, and he figured the only thing that could really calm him down was a good fight. Besides, he needed time to think through his next move, and for better or worse, he did his best thinking with a Seraph blade in his hand. He stayed at the Institute training for the better part of the afternoon, and the sun was nearly setting when he headed back to the apartment they shared in Midtown.
He stripped off the clothes he was wearing, which, between yoga and sparring, were soaked through with sweat, and stepped into the small shower, leaning his head back on the tiles as the room filled with steam. He knew rationally that Isabelle was right, and that this was only going to end in disaster. On the other hand, he was in the throes of something he'd never really known, and to turn his back on it now felt like a hideous betrayal of self. He groaned. That was to say nothing of Clary.
Before he could stop himself, he remembered how she'd looked damp and glistening in the yoga studio, and he imagined pinning her beneath him and listening to her cry his name. More than that, though, he imagined being able to spend real time with her, imagined sharing the Shadowhunter world—her world—with her. The idea was so tempting, it was enough to drive him crazy. Still, his father's voice echoed in his head as well. To love is to destroy. Clary's mother had given up everything to keep Clary from the dangers of their world; who was he to draw her back in?
By the time he stepped out of the shower the mirror was completely fogged up, and he wiped a small patch bare, examining himself. Shaking his head, he dried his hair with a towel before running pomade into it. When he was done, he crossed to his bedroom, swearing in surprise to find Isabelle sitting on the bed.
"Do you mind?" He said blandly. "I'm about to be naked."
She ignored him.
"Don't do this, J," she pleaded quietly, standing up to face him. "Please."
"Do what?" he said. "It's a party, not a marriage proposal."
"I know you thinking you're hiding whatever this is from me, but you're not. I know you, Jace Wayland."
He whirled on her, eyes hard.
"What do you want me to say? I already told you I'd break things off with her."
"Will you, though?" she pressed. "Jace, please look at me."
She attempted to grab his chin, and he pushed her hand away.
"You want to tell Alec and The Clave? Go ahead, be my guest."
"I don't," she said. "But I just want you to protect yourself. Please."
"I heard you the first time," Jace said, more coldly than he meant to.
She shook her head sadly, leaving the room and letting the door show behind her. When she was gone Jace grit his teeth, trying to brush aside her warning without being totally able to do so. She was right, after all. Deep down, she was right. She was so right, in fact, that he retrieved his phone from the pocket of his coat, meaning to text Clary and tell her right then he couldn't go, while he still had the nerve.
There was already a new text from Clary which read, if you're late I won't share my AH notes with you for the midterm, and we both know you'll fail without them. xx
The message itself was innocuous, but somehow it was still enough to overpower any good sense Jace had, and he tossed the phone back on the bed with a sigh.
He felt nominally more in control by the time he arrived outside The Carlyle Court residence hall, and he texted Clary. There was no reply, and just as he was preparing to ghost in behind some unsuspecting sophomore, she emerged through the door. It only took one look at her to quell any doubts he'd had about coming tonight. Tonight she wore a dress made of midnight blue velvet, and though it was not particularly short or tight, the hem and the generous neckline were edged with black lace, and the whole thing spoke vaguely of lingerie in the best possible way. When she saw him she smiled, and his stomach tightened.
"Good," she said congenially. "You're here."
"Don't get too excited," he warned her, fending off the desire to touch her silky hair. "I only came for my share of your notes."
She leaned forward a little, and he could see from the glimmer in her eye she'd already starting drinking a little.
"Liar," she said softly, and he smirked, unable to keep his gaze from sliding to her lips, which had been stained a becoming dusty rose.
Before he could make a move (or decide if he even wanted to) two more girls filed down the stairs. The first Jace recognised as Clary's roommate Maia. The second he didn't know, though it was clear from a glance that whoever she was, she was Maia's girlfriend.
"So," Maia said, sizing him up. "You must be Mr. Art History."
Clary flushed and swatted at her, but Jace smirked.
"Mr. Art History is my father. Please, call me Jace."
Maia snorted in amusement, though she shook his hand without malice.
"That can't honestly be your real name," she pointed out.
"Very astute," Jace said, feeling even more comfortable now that he had to opportunity for a verbal sparring match with what was clearly a fairly skilled opponent. "It's a nickname."
"Short for?" Maia pressed, ignoring Clary's gestures she stop.
"Honestly woman," Jace said in almost mock flirtation. "At least buy me dinner first."
"Alright, enough," the other girl—who Clary introduced as Jordan—interrupted, looking slightly sour. "She's spoken for, Romeo."
Jace intended to say more, but just then the door opened again, and three more boys shuffled down the stairs. Simon Lewis, the proverbial best friend, was at the forefront, and he gave Jace a solid look but said nothing. The look frankly surprised Jace. He'd expected it to full of jealousy and unrequited longing for Clary, but it wasn't. Instead it was direct and matter-of-fact, as if to say 'hurt her, and I'll kill you'.
Jace raised his eyebrows. So they'd been wrong about him; he wasn't in love with Clary after all. He'd have to remember to tell Isabelle whenever they found time to stop fighting. She'd surely be amused.
"Simon," he said, extending his hand. His tone was not overly cordial, but it wasn't quite unfriendly either.
"Jace," Jace replied.
"Clary hardly ever stops talking about you," Simon said, and Jace couldn't help but grin, especially as Clary protested.
"All good things, I hope," he said, turning an giving Clary a wink only she could see.
Simon's jaw tightened, and he looked every bit the protective big brother.
"That remains to be seen."
"Stop talking about me like I'm not here and let's go," Clary said, pushing Simon up towards Maia, Jordan, and the other three guys Jace didn't know before falling in step with Jace himself.
"So you talk about me all the time, huh?" he said, nudging her shoulder.
"You wish, loverboy," she said as they swiped their metro cards at the Union Square station and descended into the belly of it to wait for the train downtown.
"Maybe I do," he said, and she looked at him to try and decide if he was being serious. However, eventually she smirked and rolled her eyes, and he couldn't decide if he was relieved or disappointed at her dismissal of the statement.
"So whose party?" Jace asked as they all boarded the train.
"An old friend of mine," Maia said flippantly, making Jordan purse her lips.
"Just say it," she said sourly. "He's an ex."
"He goes to Pace," Clary explained to Jace. "That's why he lives so far downtown."
"We can't all go to real college, am I right?" one of Simon's friends, who was indeed wearing an NYU sweatshirt, said, and the boys all laughed.
"Don't be such snobs," Maia chided lightly. "Besides, Bat doesn't need a good education; his dad is rich. Seriously, wait until you see this place."
By this time they'd arrived at Cortlandt Street, and they walked the three blocks over to the a impressive on Gold. Maia flashed a note and a smile to the doorman, and soon enough they were ascending an elevator and emerging out onto the rooftop, where the party was already in full swing.
"C'mon!" Maia urged Jordan, talking her by the arm and tugging her off. The boys disappeared into the throng, and when they were alone, figuratively speaking, Clary turned to Jace, smiling.
"Do you want something to drink? I'd say beer is probably the safest."
He considered. He wasn't much for beer, especially the cheap swill college students always seemed to drink. Still, the look in Clary's eyes in that moment would have been enough to convince him to drink crude oil.
"Please," he said, and she smiled and disappeared, and he found himself, out of habit, securing the perimetre. However, it was hardly necessary; it was a thoroughly Mundane party. Not a downworlder, demon, or Circle member in the bunch. Usually, that would bore him. After all, they weren't called Mundanes for naught. However, tonight he was glad. It meant there would be no distractions. Quickly he thought of his promise to Isabelle that he would break things off with Clary. He shook the thought off. That was a problem for a future Jace. After all, he was older and thus, wiser. Better he make the decision when the time came.
Clary had arrived back now carrying two plastic cups. She extended on to Jace, before pulling it back slightly.
"Wait," she said, eyes glittering with merriment. "You're not going to pour this down my cleavage again, are you?"
He smiled, tugging the cup gently away from her before clinking it to hers.
"Not unless you ask me to," he said huskily, and she bit her lip to hide a smile.
He wondered if she had any idea how desirable the gesture made her. He was absolutely desperate to kiss her, but knowing he shouldn't, he simply took an ambitious swallow of his drink instead, downing nearly the entire vile thing. Alcohol was not liable to make this situation any better longterm, but again, that felt like Future Jace's problem, no is.
"Clary!" Simon called from a distance. "We need you for pong!"
"C'mon," Clary said, taking Jace's hand and dragging him over to where tables were set up. Halfway there they passed a tray of shots, brightly colored and made of a semi-solid material, and Clary forced two into his hands.
"Ugh," he said in revulsion as material, whatever it was, wiggled in its glass. "What the fuck is this?"
"What kind of sheltered life does one have to lead to have never had a jello shot?" she asked.
"I'm not putting that in my mouth," he said firmly.
"That's what she said. C'mon, Jace, don't be a baby!"
He laughed despite himself, and she held the...jello out to him.
"What will you give me if I do?" he asked in challenge, leaning down.
She stood on her tiptoes, leaning in enough so that her nose just barely brushed his.
"Why don't you try it and find out?"
With that he tipped his head back and emptied both shots into his mouth, gagging only once as he half-chewed, half-swallowed the hideous, strawberry flavored goo. It tasted horrible and had a bitter aftershock of cheap vodka.
"Baby's first jello shot," Clary said sardonically. "I'm so proud."
"Ugh," Jace said, taking a last swallow of his beer and wincing again. "That was so foul. You owe me one, Fray."
She shrugged, and took his hand again, weaving her tiny fingers through his as she pulled him towards where her friends were playing a game.
"I hope you're good at Pong," she was saying to him. "Because I'm pretty terrible."
Jace glanced at the table. There didn't seem to be any point to admitting he had no idea what she was talking about since the game seemed rather simple. Throw the balls into cups of beer.
He shoot her a winning smirk.
"I'm alright."
"That's what you said at yoga," she pointed out as they assembled their cups. "And then you were basically Bikram Choudhury."
He didn't know who that was, either, but he didn't care. Clary didn't want to come out and say it, but he could tell this was her way expressing admiration, and as much of it as he had received in his life, both from himself and others, it felt different coming from her. It felt better.
Clary had been right in predicting that Jace would be excellent at the game, but she'd severely undersold her own skill at it. Jace was mesmerized watching her work, because he could see her shadowhunters ability shining through. Not that it was a athletic or even terribly skill-oriented game, but Clary had innate sense of space she knew how to command, and excellent hand-eye coordination. Jace imagined her with a bow like Alec's and his pulse trilled; she would be deadly.
He wasn't sure how long they ran the table before being narrowly beaten by a pair of frat boys in muscle t-shirts, despite the fact it was 50 degrees and October, but he was oddly relieved when they had. He was suddenly aware of how badly he wanted to have Clary to himself.
"I'm thirsty," Clary told him after the frat boy had insisted they shake hands, as if they're been playing a sanctioned sport. "Will you come to the kitchen with me?"
He nodded,and she shimmied through the glass door into one of the deserted bedrooms, which was empty. Silently the descending the staircase into the main body of the apartment, which was sumptuously appointed. Clary went to the fridge and got a glass of water before hopping up gently onto the counter to sit. Jace came to lean next to her, crossing his arms to keep from touching her. He knew if he did it would be game over, and he was still clinging to the allusion he could turn back and do as he'd promised Isabelle.
"I knew you'd be good at that," Clary said after a beat of silence. Jace glanced up at her in surprise to finding her studying him with scrutiny. "You're good at everything."
It was clear from her candor that she wasn't completely sober, but there was still a sharp alacrity in her gaze that told him she wasn't actually drunk.
"That's not true," he replied casually, angling his body a little to look at her. "Not everything. I can't blow a bubble with my gum, and I've been trying for years."
She laughed, the moonlight picking up the threads of gold in her eyes.
"That's it?"
He considered.
"I can't draw; especially not like you."
She gave a soft purr of self-satisfaction, and the noise sent a wave of pleasant heat roiling through his gut.
"No one can draw like me."
He raised his eyebrows, and she laughed, covering her mouth.
"I can't believe I said that. You're a bad influence on me, Jace NicknameForSomethingSecret LastNameUnknown."
He grinned.
"My last name is Wayland," he admitted. "And Jace is short for Jonathan Christopher."
"Not Johannes?" Clary asked, eyebrows knitted together.
Jace had forgotten he'd told her he was from South Africa. He felt a pit forming for lying to her, even knowing he hadn't had a choice; she couldn't know the truth, despite how badly he wanted to share it with her.
"I'm afraid not," he said simply, and she nodded, seeming to accept the answer without requiring more explanation.
They lapsed into silence for a moment.
"Would you ever draw me?" Jace heard himself ask.
She considered, turning to study him with an artist's gaze.
"You have the perfect face for it," she admitted, gently brushing her finger down the bridge of his nose. "You're all angles."
He gave a soft noise in the back of his throat and tipped his head back to give her better access.
"Is that your way of telling me you think I'm handsome?" he said as she trailed from his cheekbone to his jawline.
She laughed softly.
"You already know you are," she pointed out. "What do you need me for?"
She was tracing the curve on his ear now, and he shuddered in delight when her nails softly brushed his pulse point.
"Because," he said on an exhale, heart pounding now. "I care what you think of me."
At this her fingers sprayed out to twine in the hair at his nape, and he moved to stand between her splayed knees as his head tipped back to meet hers. She let out a soft breath of satisfaction, or perhaps pleasant surprise, as her mouth descended on his.
Some part of his brain told him to stop, told him that the minute he kissed her it would be over, and that he could be killing his career and his relationship with Alec and Maryse, but none of that seemed to matter. Her breath tasted like strawberries as it fell on his expectant lips, and he groaned in anticipation as she—
"Clary, there you ar—oh."
Jace growled in annoyance as Clary's hand fell away from him and they both turned to see Maia sending at the mouth of the stairs.
"Sorry to interrupt," she said pointedly. "But Simon is drunk, and he's trying to text that girl Maureen again. You know the freshman he—" she made a hand gesture Jace assume was meant to signify sex. "Anyways, I thought you might want to stop him."
"Ugh," Clary said, pushing Jace back gently so she could leap off the counter. She'd yet to really look at him. "Why does he only ever like emotionally unavailable girls? Okay, where is he?"
Maia indicated with her head, and Clary followed her. Jace, for his part, didn't move, and finally she turned to look at him.
"Are you coming?" Clary asked. Her tone was neutral, but he could see in her eyes it was an invitation, not a question.
He nodded, following them back up onto the roof. Simon was sitting alone on one of the pool chairs, one eyes closed as he attempted to see the screen of his phone. He was keeling slightly back and forth, like a cobra being coaxed from a basket.
"Hey Si," Clary said. "What are you doing?"
"No," he said, words slipping and sliding into one another, like sailors on a storm-tossed deck. "I want to—" he burped. "Maureen," he finished. "Don't try and stop me."
"You're drunk," Clary said, speaking as if he was a child. "Why don't you give me the phone. You can text her in the morning if you want."
"No!" he said petulantly as he rose to his feet, holding the phone over his head and out her small reach.
Clary glanced at Jace, and he came behind Simon, plucking the phone easily from his grasp.
"Hey!" Simon demanded, and Jace gave him a tight-lipped smile. The baser animal in him wanted to punch Simon in the face for ruining his kiss with Clary, but he knew it had probably had been for the best, and that it wasn't likely to win him points with Clary, anyway.
"You can thank me later," he told Simon.
"Why don't we go back?" Clary said.
"I'm fine," Simon said, though the end of a sentence was cut off by a dry heave.
"Here," Maia said, having returned with a bucket.
"I don't need—" Simon began, but when he heaved again, Clary took it and shoved it into his arms just as he emptied the contents of his stomach into it.
Jace was no stranger to unpleasant sights and smells, but he cringed as Simon vomited again.
When Clary eased it from his clammy grip.
"Feel better."
He nodded, looking pale and drawn.
"I want to go home."
She nodded.
"Of course." At this she turned to Jace, her gaze sympathetic. "I should—"
"I'll come with you," he said, and Clary strung an arm around Simon's waist as they picked their way back down the street.
Jace stepped out onto Maiden Lane and pressed two fingers to his lips, emitting a sharp whistle.
Clary, who was still holding Simon, gave a wry smile.
"Of course you can do that, too. Why am I not surprised?"
Despite everything, he smiled, too.
"There are still so many things you don't know about me, Fray."
By that time a cab had appeared, and she eased Simon into it.
"I know," she said softly as she slid in beside him. "But now you've got me curious to find out."
He got in beside her and slammed the door, and the cabbie turned to give them a hard look.
"He better not puke in here," the man warned, jabbing a finger at Simon.
"He won't," Jace snapped. "25 Union Square."
The man scowled and threw the car into drive, and Simon groaned, tipping his head into Clary's lap. She ran through hand through his hair soothingly. Jace looked away, fighting down an ugly green feeling he'd never really experienced until now.
"Why do I always pick the bad girls?" Simon asked as the sped back uptown.
"We don't know," Clary said, though there was no malice in her tone. "Maia and I have been trying to figure it out for years."
She glanced over at Jace and smiled, and he felt his throat tighten. He wanted to say something to her, anything, but for once, he had nothing to say. The passed the rest of the ride in silence, and when they arrived outside the large dormitory building, Jace threw a twenty at the driver and stepped out. However, Simon had passed out cold, and despite Clary shaking, he wouldn't get up.
"Simon!" she hissed. "Stop being a baby and get up."
"I'm so sleepy," Simon protested, and Jace rolled his eyes, opening the opposite door, grabbing Simon by the wrist, and hauling him over his shoulder. Clary gave him an odd look and he shrugged.
"I do cross-fit," he explained casually, and she shook her head.
"Of course you do. C'mon, if the RA sees him we'll all be in trouble."
"Who's this 'we'?" Jace asked as she scanned her fob and pushed the door open for them. "Unlike you two lawbreakers, I'm well within my legal right to get hammered."
She gave him a look that was half playful, half exasperated.
"If I fall, I'm taking you with me," she said, and even though he knew it was a joke, something about it seemed to snap Jace out of a haze he felt he'd been under all night. Where he came from, falling meant something specific, and the Nephilim never used the term lightly. Where he came from, falling had real consequences, and it was a grave reminder of the fire he was playing with, being out with her tonight.
He clenched his jaw and nodded, following Clary to Simon's room and dumping him on the bed before handing his phone back to Clary, who plugged it in. She also tugged Simon's shoes off and set a glass of water on the table next to his bed.
"Feel better," she said, pressing a soft kiss on his forehead as she tugged his glasses off and set them next to the water. She then jerked her head to Jace, and they silently ascended two more floors to her own. When they reached her door, she made no move to go inside of it. Instead, she turned and leaning her head against it, looking up at him.
"I'm sorry about that," she said, and he shook his head.
"Don't be; it happens."
She bit her lip, and he could see worry in her eyes, see it settling across her shoulders like the mantle of a lead cloak. He wanted nothing more than to take it from her and bear it instead.
"Are you alright?" she asked finally. "You seem—out of sorts."
"I'm fine," he said in a flat voice. "I just—"
"If it's something I did," she cut him off. "Or said, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."
He looked back at her, and she seemed sad and slightly damaged. He could here his father's voice. To love is to destroy. She was hurting because of him. Maybe Isabelle had been right; he should have quit while he was still ahead. He studied her but said nothing, and she turned, too proud to let him see the pain he causing her in her face.
"Well goodnight," she mumbled into the door, fumbling with the keys. "I'll see you Monday."
"Clary—" he began, but she shook her head, even giving a small laugh.
"No, it's fine. You're—fine."
"Clary," he said again, gripping her by the shoulder and turning her. "I—"
She looked up at him almost ruefully, and all resistance to whatever was resonating between them melted away. He tangled his hands in her hair and pressed her up against the door, mouth devouring her. She gave a small noise of surprise before bowing into him, tugging at the collar of his jacket as her teeth grazed his lip. He groaned and wrapped a hand around her back, lifting her off her feet and into his arms. He could feel his grip on everything he'd worked for, his career, his standing with the Clave, even his freedom, slipping away as they continued kissing, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to care.
Now at the perfect height to do so, she rotated her hips against his, and he groaned, the muscles in his stomach and legs tensing at the contact. He had to stop, or he was going to end up fucking her for the first time in the hallway. Breathlessly he eased her back to the floor, pulling back slightly. Her cheeks were stained pink and her chest was heaving, and he curled his hands into fists to keep them from tugging down the straps of her dress and devouring her. The desire to see her naked was almost overwhelming.
"Do you want to—" she began timidly, but he shook his head, touching her cheek. God, what had he just done? There was no quitting her now.
"I should go," he said hoarsely, brushing a knuckle down her cheek.
"Okay," she said, and he could tell she was confused. However, before she could ask a question, he pressed another searing kiss to her lips before turning abruptly and heading back down the hall, leaving her wantonly pressed against her door.
It was less than half a mile from her dorm to the apartment in Midtown, and he decided to walk to clear his head. Not that it mattered. He'd already crossed the line, and he would be damn if he was going to go back. Not that it mattered, there would be no mercy for him now anyway.
The apartment was dark when he entered and he set his keys on the counter, swearing softly to himself. At least he was alone. Alec must have still been at The Institute, and God only knew where Isabelle was. He made his way to his own room and turned on the light, and only years of hunting demons kept him from yelping in surprise.
"Jesus, Isabelle," he said, seeing her seated on the bed. "We really need to talk about boundaries."
She ignored his vitriol.
"Did you do it?' she said, rising. "Did you break it off with her?"
He turned, clenching his jaw.
"No."
"Are you going to?"
He didn't have to consider.
"No."
"Jace—"
"I can't, alright? I know this sounds crazy, but there's something about her that's—" he paused, running both hands through his hair. "That's calling to me. It's like, there's always been something about me that's kept me apart from everyone else, but somehow now she has it, too, that same thing, and its pulling me to her. I feel it every time we're together, and I—I just can't walk away from it."
"I know," Isabelle said, tone full of sympathy. "But J—"
"Please," he interrupted. "Please don't say anything to the Council. Please, Is. I'm begging you."
She bit her lip, a war raging behind her dark eyes.
"Are you in love with her?"
"I don't know," Jace admitted, feeling foolish that he hadn't been able to outright deny it. "But I can't—I have to be around her."
Isabelle concerned this, expression pained.
"If The Council finds out, I can't protect you."
Jace nodded gravely.
"I'm no asking you to."
Isabelle nodded.
"Then I'll cover for you the best I can. I just hope you know what you're doing."
Jace bowed his head.
"So do I."
