**The character names of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.**
8. More
Hope FFn stops spazzing enough for y'all to read!
Chapter Songs:
**In My Head – Jason Derulo
**You Wanted More – Tonic
**All the Same – Sick Puppies
Lights swirled over the dance floor as Clary stood in the middle, swinging her hips to the thrumming beat. The rhythm pulsed and rose in tempo. Vibrations flowed through her. Bodies danced around the floor, but Clary gave them no notice. Only the movement and sensations of her own held her attention.
Something shifted in her peripheral, causing her to turn toward it. A small smile graced her lips as a dark-haired boy moved to stand in front of her. He was cute. A messy mop of hair graced his head, while piercing green eyes stared out at her. His features were sharp and fox-like. A clear distinction from the stunning looks of the one she didn't want to think about.
The boy reached for her hand and pulled her closer while still maintaining enough distance between them to not be inappropriate. Clary allowed her body to match his movements. He swayed from side to side, and she tried to inch closer, wanting some sort of contact, but he continued to hold her at arm's length. She furrowed her brows, wondering what his problem was.
The words to ask spilled into her mouth and were just about to cross her lips when she felt a shock of heat tear through her. Clary shivered against the sensation. Rough, warm hands cupped her hips and she felt her body being pulled backward against another person. For some reason, she didn't resist. It was almost as if she couldn't. The small, fine hairs on her neck stood on end and a tingling washed over her skin when a voice whispered in her ear.
"You know he's not the one you want, Spitfire."
Clary closed her eyes and leaned into the one holding her from behind. His hands gripped her hips while he moved with her, his mouth hovering so close to the skin just below her ear. Whispers she couldn't understand trailed down her neck.
The dark-haired boy was all but forgotten as Clary allowed herself to be drawn into the moment. She knew she shouldn't, knew he couldn't give her more than this, but she couldn't seem to refuse his draw. Everything about him made her absolutely desperate. The way he looked. The way he spoke. The way he made her feel. Her body begged her to give in, to allow him to touch, to allow herself to touch, to feel, to enjoy.
Twisting ever so slightly, Clary turned toward him. His eyes met hers, the brightest gold against the black of the room. The lights from above shone onto his hair, making a glowing circle appear above it like a halo. But she knew he was nowhere near an angel—possibly a fallen one, she guessed. He was bad. So, very, very bad, and the thought of this made her ache in ways she knew she shouldn't.
She wanted his hands on her, his body against hers. Reaching up, she ran her palms over his chest, feeling the definition of muscle beneath the thin fabric. When she reached the open collar, she fisted the material and pulled him into her. A sly grin tugged at one corner of his mouth and he reached around her, dragging her flush against him. Clary's breath hitched when she felt their bodies collide. Sparks of heat erupted over her like miniature volcanoes spilling boiling, hot lava onto her flesh.
Jace's fingers splayed against the bareness of her back, eliciting tiny shocks where their skin touched. His other hand ran up her spine and settled at the base of her neck. Clary felt her entire being relax into him. His arms felt so good and right, even though she knew it was so wrong. Her eyes closed involuntarily and she let him lead her. Goosebumps prickled over her flesh, not only in response to the cool temperature of the room, but also to the feel of him so close to her.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, a warning nagged at her subconscious. It seemed to be telling her this wasn't a good idea. But why? Why would something that felt so incredibly good, be wrong? His body and hers fit together so flawlessly. They moved in sync like they were molded from the same clay but had finally just found each other. No matter what the voice in her head was trying to tell her, she wanted more, needed more.
As if he could read her mind, his hand left her neck and trailed down to her hip. His fingers traced along her outer thigh, a touch so soft it could have been a feather brushing against her skin. Without warning, he grasped her knee in a quick motion and pulled her leg up to drape over his hip. Clary's head dropped back in response to the added pressure of his hips against hers, and he lowered his mouth to the base of her neck. His lips were so warm and soft touching her chilled flesh.
Clary, a voice echoed around her. She couldn't distinguish where it was coming from or to whom the voice belonged, but she didn't really care. Clary raised her hands to Jace's hair and grabbed two fistfuls, holding his face against her skin. His grip on her knee tightened, sending currents of want racing through her.
Clary, the voice said again, though this time it was louder and closer. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. Jace stopped what he was doing and looked up, his brows pinched in confusion.
Clary peered back at him, her breath ragged and her heart ready to burst out of her chest. She pulled his face to her, their foreheads touching. "Don't stop. For the love of God, don't stop."
He smirked and leaned in to take her mouth with his.
"Clary!"
She jolted, her head slipping from its place perched on her hand, and nearly smacked her face on the table. Blinking against the fogginess in her head, Clary took in her surroundings. She sat in the University library, books spread out across the table in front of her. With a sigh, she glanced up and met Simon's amused eyes.
"What?" she asked crossly, feeling more than a little flustered at the moment, though she really didn't know why.
"You know you talk in your sleep, right?" Simon smirked. "Oh, and you drool." He tapped the side of his mouth.
"No I—" Clary wiped at the corner of her lips and noticed the dampness there. She narrowed her eyes at him. "Shut up."
He snorted and pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "You're lucky I woke you. It sounded like things were getting pretty heated inside that little head of yours."
Clary's face burned. "Wh—what did I say?"
"Something like 'don't stop,' or whatever. But that was nothing compared to all the gasps and squeaks coming out of your mouth." Simon narrowed his eyes. "Who were you dreaming about anyway? Your face is all red and sweaty."
"I—" A chill crawled up Clary's back as she faintly remembered the feel of hands on her skin, a body pressed up against hers, and the ghost of a sly grin. "I, uh, I don't really remember."
"You don't remember what?" Maia plopped down into the chair next to Simon and across from Clary. She pulled her navy backpack onto the table and started to remove the books from inside.
"Clary's having sex dreams in the library."
"Simon!" Clary felt her face flame once more, and then she lowered her voice. "I am not having sex dreams."
"I thought you said you didn't remember?"
"I—I don't. But I would know if I had a sex dream or not, and I didn't."
"Who's having sex dreams?" Isabelle came up behind Clary and released the pile of books in her arms with a thud, and settled next to Clary.
Clary groaned and dropped her forehead to the table, the coolness of the smooth wood feeling good on her overheated skin. Simon laughed and she looked up to glare at him before turning to Isabelle. "No one." She gestured to the stack of hardcover volumes Isabelle had brought over. "What are you doing?"
"Research project." Isabelle sighed. "It sucks ass." She waved her hands in front of her face. "But enough about boring stuff like research, I wanna hear about this sex dream."
"It wasn't a sex dream!" Clary said a little too loudly. Heads turned toward her and a few hissed "Shh's" drifted throughout the space.
"Oh." Isabelle frowned. "That's too bad. Those are always the best." She winked at Simon, whose jaw had now found a permanent place against the wood table.
Clary sighed. "Can we stop talking about my sex dreams and focus on something else?"
"See?" Simon said. "Told ya she was dreaming about sex."
Clary picked up her sketchpad and threw it at him. It bounced off his head and landed on the floor, several loose sheets fluttering aimlessly around it until they, too, lay on the carpet.
"Ow!" He rubbed at his temple. "I was just teasing, jeez."
"Well, go tease someone else."
"Since when have you gotten so violent? I think I'm bleeding." Simon turned to Maia. "Am I bleeding? If I am, I'm claiming abuse."
Maia pulled his hand away from his forehead and scowled. "No. There's not even a mark. God, you're such a baby."
"Well, it hurt," he pouted.
Clary sighed and started gathering her things. She wasn't in the mood for this right now. She shoved her papers into her bag and picked up her stack of books. Standing, she draped the strap of her backpack over her shoulder. Isabelle reached up and grabbed Clary's arm.
"Hey, where're you going?"
"I have to work tonight so I need to get home and get ready."
Isabelle studied her carefully, but Clary avoided her eyes and turned, making her way toward the desk near the front doors. She'd been evading Isabelle since the night before. Since after she'd kissed Jace. She knew Isabelle had no way of knowing what had happened between them, and if she asked Jace, he would probably say it was nothing anyway, but for some reason she felt weird about it.
Clary reached the check-out counter and slid the stack of book across to the librarian. She dug into her purse and took out her library card, swiping it through the reader next to the computer. As she stood there, she contemplated what she was going to do about this now.
When she'd actually kissed him, it hadn't been about romance. Honestly, she didn't know what it was. She'd just felt like doing it, so she did it. She didn't expect the conflicting feelings she had afterward.
His response wasn't surprising to her, but that didn't mean it didn't sting. Maybe, somewhere in the back of her deluded mind, she'd been hoping he'd be different with her. He didn't treat her the same as she'd seen him treat any other girls. Yeah, maybe he flirted with her just like he did with them, but that was just who he was, and she knew this. She never let herself put more meaning on any of that than there was. But last night, he'd looked at her in a way he hadn't before. When she'd kissed him, he'd kissed her back, and it hadn't been rushed, or lusty, or . . . anything like that. He hadn't pushed her away, and he hadn't tried to make it more. It just . . . was what it was.
When Isabelle had arrived back in the kitchen with the candle, Clary could finally see his face, and the look on it startled her. He didn't look smug, or self satisfied, he looked—shocked and possibly even a little conflicted himself. But that only lasted for a few seconds and then it was gone. Replaced once more by the smooth as stone façade he always wore. Maybe she'd imagined she'd seen anything else anyway. It was entirely possible given her state of mind at the time.
The librarian placed Clary's books into a bag and handed them over to her. Clary thanked her and went to turn around, but instead, ran smack into Simon's chest, nearly losing her grip on the bag.
"Jesus, Si!" Clary thrust her hand over her heart. "You scared me."
He looked at her suspiciously. "What's going on with you?"
Clary straightened and started toward the exit. "I don't know what you mean." She pushed open the doors and walked out into the crisp fall breeze. Her hair lifted and fluttered around her head before falling back to her shoulders. She drew in a deep breath through her nose, reveling in the crisp scent of leaves and chill.
Simon reached out and placed his hand on her arm, turning her to face him. "Come on, I'm your best friend. I know when something isn't right, and something isn't right."
She rolled her eyes and continued toward the street. "It doesn't take a genius to figure out I'd be disturbed about something, Simon. I mean, someone is leaving me creepy messages and broke into our house."
"Yeah, I know. But . . . this is something else. I can feel it."
Clary groaned and turned to him. He'd always been able to read her better than anyone else. "I don't really want to tell you."
"Why not?" He looked hurt.
"Because." Clary lowered her gaze to the ground and bit her lip. "You'll be mad."
"I won't be mad. Now just spill."
Clary took in a deep breath and looked up. His face conveyed only concern. She knew if she was going to tell anyone it would be him. "I kissed Jace."
"WHAT?"
"See!" She flung her hand in Simon's direction. "I told you you'd be mad." Spinning on her heel, she started back across the quad.
"Wait. Wait. Just—wait a second." Simon jogged up to her.
"I don't want to wait, Simon. I'm going to be late for work."
"I'm not . . . mad. I'm just . . ." He growled in frustration. "I don't understand, Clary. Why would you kiss him? I mean, he's . . ."
"A manwhore?" Clary stopped and turned toward him. "Thanks, Si, but I already got that memo."
"Well, I was going to say douchebag, but manwhore works just the same."
Clary rolled her eyes and continued walking.
"Just tell me why."
Clary shook her head. "I don't know. I just . . . felt like it." She reached up and rubbed her forehead.
Simon sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Listen, I'm fully aware that you can kiss whoever you want. I just—I don't want you to get hurt, and Jace . . ." He sighed again. "Do you like, like him or something?"
"No." She shook her head and laughed. It wasn't funny, but she couldn't help it. "There are parts of him I like, I guess."
"Yeah, I'm sure there are," Simon mumbled.
"Shut up!" Clary smacked him. "I don't mean like physical things—because I like all of those." Simon made a gagging sound. "I mean . . . there are parts to him that I see sometimes—you know, when he's not acting like a douche—where I see a decent guy." She shrugged. "I like that guy. But I don't know who the real him is. Is he the decent guy? Or is he the dirty, whoring, asstard?"
Simon twisted his lips up and peered back at her. "I'm voting for the latter."
"Well, it really doesn't matter anyway."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because he made it clear to me that I'm not anyone he's interested in—in that way."
"What? What did he say? Do you want me to punch him? Because I will, you know. No matter how much it hurts, and how much I'm pretty sure he'd win, I will."
Clary waved him off. "He didn't really say anything. It was just . . . he just brushed it off. It's no big deal." Her voice trailed off.
"Yeah, it really sounds like it."
"Simon? Can we . . ." She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. "Can we just not talk about this? I—I just want to forget about it, okay? I feel stupid enough as it is."
He paused and reached out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. "Okay, but let me just say one last thing."
She groaned and rolled her eyes before meeting his.
"If he dismissed you so easily, well, then he's a bigger asshat than I've given him credit for, and I'll have to amend that pronto."
Clary couldn't stop the small smile that formed on her lips. She reached out and hugged his arm. "Thanks, Si. You're the best."
He sighed as if he was burdened. "I know. It's really exhausting being so awesome all the time."
.o.O.o.
The solid surface of the track beneath Jace's feet was a welcome distraction to the thoughts bombarding his mind. With each step, every shock that shot up his leg reminded him of the here and now, and helped him to focus. After staying awake nearly all night, he'd arrived early at the gym. Working out always seemed to help in the past, but it wasn't entirely effective today. Worries surrounding the cryptic messages had plagued him throughout the night, and still occupied most of his brain space this morning. What wasn't being taken over by that was consumed by thoughts of Clary and what happened between them.
He'd been an idiot to let himself get that close to her. Rarely did anyone see the side to him that he'd shown Clary. After she'd kissed him in that way—a way no one had ever kissed him before—he knew he had to squash it quickly. She could not, under any circumstances, fall for him. He told himself it was for her own good, considering the job he was there to do. When she found out, she would hate them all, but at least—if she didn't get close enough to him to be more than just acquaintances, friends at the most—it wouldn't be quite as bad. At least that's what he told himself. But, there was just something about her that made him drop all his defenses. Something he couldn't afford to do. For her sake and his.
After he'd completed his five mile run, Jace stopped at the starting line of the track, bent over, placed his hands on his knees and took in several deep breaths. Sweat dripped from his brow onto the turf below.
"Jace," Alec called from behind him.
Jace straightened and turned, swiping his forearm across his forehead.
Alec stopped just in front of him. "Hodge wants to see us."
"Now?"
"Well, as soon as you're done." Alec followed Jace to the bench next to the track. "Isabelle's at the school anyway so it'll take her a few to get here."
Jace picked up his water bottle and sprayed a cool stream into his mouth, swished it around, and spat it on the ground before taking a real drink. "Did he say what it was for? I just met with him a few days ago."
Alec shook his head. "Not specifically. I think he just wants a status check."
"Can't he just call?" Jace peeled his soaked shirt from his body and lifted the bottle, squirting the remainder of the contents onto his head. Alec averted his gaze and bit the inside of his mouth uncomfortably. Stuffing the shirt into his bag, Jace stood and started toward the locker rooms, pretending not to notice Alec's reaction.
"I don't know, Jace. He probably wants to talk so there can be no way anyone will overhear. You know how paranoid the Agency is. Hodge, especially."
"I guess." Jace paused just outside the door, his hand gripping the handle. "Listen, don't mention anything to Hodge about the messages."
Alec furrowed his brow. "Why not? Don't you think he should know?"
"Yes, but not yet. I want a little more time to dig on our own."
"But don't you think we'd have a better chance of catching whoever this is if we had more help?"
Jace shrugged. "Not necessarily. What if this stalker catches on to the added man power and we lose him? No, I think we need to keep the knowledge of this as small as possible—at least for the time being."
"Oh," Alec frowned. "I hadn't thought of that."
"That's what you've got me for." Jace cocked a grin. "Beauty and brains." He shook his head wistfully. "I know, it seems unfair, but it is what it is."
Alec rolled his eyes. "I'll meet you out by the gym."
Jace pulled open the doors and walked into the locker room. He moved to the locker area, stripped out of his clothes, and wrapped a towel around his waist. After stowing all his belongings, he moved to the wall of showers in the back. Thankfully, no one else was there. Not that he cared all that much when there was, he just preferred the quiet solitude when the room was empty.
He removed the towel and draped it over the tiled half-wall before stepping over to the faucets. Standing out of the way, he turned it on as hot as it could go, waiting for it to heat up before adjusting the temperature accordingly. The initial sting of the water against his flesh caused him to wince, but became more and more soothing as he let it flow over him. He dropped his head and pressed one hand against the wall, leaning most of his weight onto it. Streams ran through his hair and down his face to pool on the floor. Goosebumps rose on the exposed flesh of his back against the cool air of the room. He let out a sigh and closed his eyes. Jace was exhausted, not just physically, but mentally as well. The pieces to the puzzle he was trying to solve didn't seem to add up or fit together.
From what he could gather, Clary wasn't the type to date a lot, so having this person be an angry ex seemed unlikely. Her father's "business associates" could definitely be players in this scheme, but which ones? He had literally dozens that could stoop to these types of measures. And then there was the man himself—or his son. These seemed the most likely to Jace, but as he'd learned while training at the Academy, most often than not, the most likely suspect is the least likely to have done it. Not always, but most of the time.
But then there was the kicker—why would any of these people want to stalk or threaten Clary? She knew nothing, had nothing to offer them. Her father didn't seem to care about what happened to her unless it somehow harmed him. It made absolutely no sense.
Jace scrubbed his hands over his face, turned and tilted his head back into the spray, running his fingers through his hair. As he scrubbed the rest of his body with soap, he breathed out in frustration. Nothing added up and nothing made sense. There had to be something he was missing. There just had to be.
He thrust his fist into the wall, stabs of pain shooting up his arm. "What the hell am I missing?" he said to himself. "Damn it."
He twisted the knobs roughly and the water slowed to a drizzle. After rubbing the towel over his hair and body, he wrapped it around his waist once more and moved back out into the locker area. He quickly dressed, threw his towel into a bin next to the door, and went out to meet Alec.
Jace found him sitting in one of the chairs in the common room near the front of the gym. His eyes were cast on the television, some sort of sport being played on the screen, but Alec's eyes were glazed over as if he was deep in thought.
Jace leaned his shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. "What're you thinking?"
Alec's gaze snapped to Jace and he shook his head slightly. "Nothing. Well, not really."
Jace raised his brows and Alec groaned. "Okay, well, remember when I told you I didn't find anything on the tapes?
Jace nodded.
"I've been thinking about that and I think maybe I over simplified something."
"Like what?" Jace asked and pushed away from the wall, coming to sit next to Alec.
"Well, at one point I heard the click of the lock. I thought nothing of it because it could have been any one of them."
Jace nodded.
Alec furrowed his brows. "But, while I've been waiting for you," he turned his eyes to Jace, "I was thinking about that moment and I realized something." He paused. "The silence."
Jace waited and when Alec didn't say anything else, Jace said, "Okay, I'm not following."
Alec turned toward him and his eyes lit up. "After that click of the door unlocking there was nothing. No footsteps, no voices, no shuffling of papers or dangling of keys. Just . . . silence." He grinned. "Whoever it was tried really hard not to be heard."
"There was no evidence of the lock being picked. I checked for that . . ." Jace looked up and met Alec's gaze. Jace's brows shot up in realization. "You know what this means right?"
Alec nodded, the pleasure at figuring something out still gleamed in his eyes.
Jace stood and grabbed his bag, throwing it over his shoulder as he hurried for the doors. "Whoever's doing this has a key."
.o.O.o.
The flashing lights in the club made the inkling of the headache throbbing behind Clary's eyes infinitely worse. The lack of sleep was really starting to wear on her. She stifled a yawn and called her order to Kaelie behind the bar. Closing her eyes, she rested her elbow on the counter and her forehead on her palm. She drew in a deep breath and let it out, trying her hardest to focus on work and not the complete ass she'd made of herself the night before. Why, after everything that had happened, she was focusing on that, she didn't know. But now that she'd had more time to think it over, she felt really stupid.
"Well, well, Little Star!" A voice said behind her.
Clary turned toward it and smiled. "Sebastian. I haven't seen you in here in a few weeks."
He shrugged. "I've been busy." Leaning against the counter, he grinned up at her. "You miss me?"
"Of course I did." She mimicked his posture. "Are you flyin' solo or . . ."
"Well, solo in a sense, but I'm meeting a friend—oh, there he is, now." Sebastian pointed toward the club entrance.
Over the heads of the gyrating crowd, Clary spied a head of golden hair make its way through the dancers. Her heart thudded hard in her chest. She wasn't ready to see him yet. But ready or not, he emerged through the throng, and on his arm was a big-busted blonde. She clung to him, pushing her chest against him as she leaned in, running a black painted fingernail down his chest. His head was down, a flirty smirk plastered on his mouth.
Clary sucked in a breath, trying her hardest to push back the heat flaring up inside her. Never before had she wanted to be violent toward another female. But in that moment, she felt like peeling each one of blondie's perfect fingers back, snapping them off and feeding them to her. Jace looked up, finally, and met Clary's eyes. His smile faltered slightly.
Clary rolled her eyes and moved her gaze back to Sebastian. "I have to get back to work. We should get together sometime, you know, to reminisce about the old days when we used to play in that plastic pool in our diapers."
Sebastian smiled. "I'd like that."
She turned and had taken three steps when she felt someone grab her arm.
"Clary—"
She whipped around and saw Jace standing behind her. Ripping her arm out of his grasp, she narrowed her eyes. "What do you want, Jace? I'm sorta busy here." She waved her hand toward the crowded club. His eyes followed her motion.
"I just wanted to see if you were all right. No more messages?"
She shook her head and laughed under her breath, the anger in her chest pushing up into her throat. "I'm fine, and no, no more messages. You're officially off 'Clary babysitting duty' tonight." She lifted her chin in the direction of the blonde waiting for him at the bar. "Go and enjoy your . . . date."
Clary turned away from him once more, closed her eyes, and took in a deep breath as she walked. She didn't know why she felt so angry. Just the sight of that girl with her hands all over him made her want to punch someone in the face. She didn't even know why she felt this way. He'd made it clear that he didn't see her in any sort of romantic way, so she had no right to feel like this at all. But her heart didn't seem to be able to comprehend the truth. Plus, he'd led her on with all his sexiness and flirting. She had a right to be pissed and she was exercising that right.
Jace grabbed her arm again. She noticed he never held it tightly, just enough to get her attention. "Clary, what the hell is with you?"
Again, she pulled away from him. "Jace, can you just leave me alone? I'm—I'm feeling a little, okay, a lot pissed right now, and if you don't leave me alone, I may try out that move where I elbow you in the face again."
His face hardened and his lips pressed together in a thin line. Clary couldn't help but stare at them, wanting to press hers to them again. God, she was weak—and pathetic. "I'm willing to risk it." He reached down and took her hand, pulling her through the crowd toward the back of the club.
Clary struggled against his grip. "Jace, I'm working. You're gonna get me fired!"
"Oh, well. You should've thought of that before you decided to be pissed at me and not give me a reason."
Jace dragged her into the back room and shut the door behind her. Clary turned around and reached for the knob, only to have him slam his hand against the door, holding it closed.
"You're not getting away until you tell me what's wrong."
Clary let out a frustrated breath and turned back toward him. He stood very close, leaning over her and trapping her between himself and the door. "You know what's wrong!"
"Obviously I don't or I wouldn't be holding you back here."
"I kissed you last night!" she said louder than she intended. Her cheeks flared.
"So?"
Her breath caught. "Right. So," she said with resignation. "Of course. Why shouldn't it be 'so,' right?" She sighed. "Just let me go, Jace."
"Wait, so you're mad at me because you kissed me? That hardly seems fair."
"Fair? You're going to talk to me about what's fair?" She closed her eyes briefly trying to calm herself. "How can you even justify being able to say that to me?"
"Jesus, Clary." He pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "I don't know what the hell this is all about."
"Ever since I met you," she began, her voice shaking with the anger she tried to hold back, "you've done nothing but flirt with me. I blew it off because I've seen you flirt with everything in a skirt in this club. I knew it was just how you were and it meant nothing." She paused and swallowed. "But last night you—you were . . . different." Looking up, she met his gaze. "You took care of me and kept me safe. You stayed when I was scared. You fell asleep under the stars with me. You—you were—"
His lips parted but he made no move to say anything, so she continued.
"For whatever reason, I kissed you. I felt like it and I kissed you. I'm sorry I did that because I know we're . . . we're . . . friends. We're only friends," she whispered, the words feeling like ice in her throat. "I just thought—" She shook her head, pushing back the stupidity on the tip of her tongue. "I don't know what I thought."
"Do you, Clary? Do you know that? That we're friends."
She narrowed her eyes, his words, though she knew what they'd be, stabbed her through the heart. "Of course I do! And if I'd been deluded enough to think otherwise, you set me straight, okay? So don't worry, I'm not about to throw myself at you or anything."
"Good."
Clary let out a frustrated growl and shoved against his chest with both hands. He stumbled back a couple of steps. "Thank you, Jace. Thank you for making me feel like the biggest loser to roam the planet." She turned around and before she could make any move to leave, she felt her body being twisted around and her back hit the door.
"You're being unreasonable."
"I am not."
"Oh, no? What do you call this then?" He gestured to her stiff, defiant posture. "I don't get you. It's not like you didn't flirt back."
"The difference is I wouldn't have thrown it back in your face!" Clary leaned in, her nose nearly touching his. "You did. You could've let me know in a much nicer way you weren't interested. I can handle rejection, Jace. I'm not a child. I just don't want to be played with."
"I was never playing with you." He shook his head and Clary saw him swallow nervously, like maybe he hadn't meant to say that. "You don't want someone like me, Clary. Right now, you think you do, but trust me, you don't."
"How do you know? You don't know what I want."
He narrowed his eyes. "I know you don't want a quick screw in the back room. I know you don't want someone who can't keep himself for only you. I know you don't want a man like that, and that's exactly the kind of man I am."
"How do you know I don't want a quick screw in the back room? It might be fun, actually."
"Really? This is what you dream of?" He glanced behind him and titled his head toward the darkness. "You want someone to take you back here and have their way with you?"
She lifted her chin and crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't know. Maybe."
His brows lifted and he moved in closer, causing her to shrink back. He leaned into her, his hands trailing softly down her sides. She sucked in a breath and felt her heart speed at his touch.
"So this is really what you think you want?" His breath danced over the side of her face, his body pressing her flush against the door. She fought with everything in her not to shiver. "You want a man to put his hands on you like this?" He gripped her waist, fingers digging into her flesh as he pulled her hard into him. "You want him to take you like this?" Suddenly, his hands moved to her behind and lifted her up until she could do nothing but hold his hips with her thighs. Her back pressed hard against the door and her legs started to tremble as she felt every inch of him against her.
"Ma—maybe." She hated the breathiness of her voice.
"That's because you're naïve," he said. "You don't want this. You don't want to be disrespected this way. Do you know how I know?"
She glared at him in defiance, trying to disregard all the parts of him pressed into her, but failing miserably.
"Because if you did," he said softly, "you wouldn't have looked at me the way you did the first time we met. You saw that for what it was, and you knew you could never do that."
She rolled her eyes and stared at the black space to the side of him.
"Look at me, Clary."
She refused. He reached up and lightly grabbed her chin, forcing her eyes to his. In them, she saw a glimmer of the man he'd been the night before, and she felt her toughness crumbling. As much as she tried to deny it, she wanted that man. She wanted him so much.
"I'm not who you think I am."
Unable to help herself, she slid her fingers under a piece of hair that had fallen over his forehead and pushed it to the side. "Then who are you?"
He gave her a faint smile that looked slightly sad to her, and lowered her to the ground. She felt the absence of his warmth in every part of her.
Stepping away, he ran a hand through his hair and looked down. "You should go back to work, Spitfire. We wouldn't want you to get fired, now would we?" He moved around her and grasped the door knob.
Clary reached out and laid her hand on his forearm. "Jace, please, just—"
"I can't, Clary." He kept his head down, not looking at her.
Twisting the knob, he opened the door and walked out. Clary pushed it shut behind him and leaned her forehead against it. She closed her eyes and fought back the swell of emotion rising up in her. It wasn't anger or sadness—she didn't know what it was. All she knew was that it felt all consuming and slightly painful.
The dim light above her flickered and went out. She glanced up and cursed under her breath. A soft knock sounded on the other side of the door and Clary's heart leapt into her chest. Maybe it was Jace. Maybe he'd changed his mind.
With that thought, she flung the door open, her face falling when it wasn't Jace waiting behind it. A man stood partially hidden in the shadows, a hood pulled up over his head.
"Oh, if you're looking for the bathroom it's actually—"
Before she got another word out, the man pushed her hard into the back room. Clary lost her balance and fell to the ground, pain searing through her tailbone at the impact. She cried out and the man slammed the door behind him. Trying to get away, Clary slid backward, using the soles of her shoes to push along the slippery tiled floor. The man moved closer, his footsteps louder than they should have been. The strong bass beat from the music playing outside the room vibrated through the floors. Clary continued to move away, her hands searching for anything she could find to use as a weapon.
"What do you want?" Her palm slid over the floor, her fingers finally finding something round and hard—a spare serving tray. She gripped it in both her hands and searched the pitch black for any sort of movement.
The man didn't answer, only continued to inch toward her. At least he was as blind as she was. Clary rolled to her side and stood, trying her hardest not to knock into any of the shelving and giving away her position. She moved her feet forward, a few inches at a time.
The sound of the man's breathing seemed so loud in her ears. She hoped he couldn't hear her as easily and considered holding her breath, but didn't want to pass out. Her body trembled as she groped through the dark, wanting nothing more than to scream out for help, but knowing if she did, he'd be on her in seconds and no one would probably hear her anyway.
She took another step forward and her toe hit one of the metal shelves. A loud clattering split through the air as whatever was stacked on them fell to the ground. Clary sucked in a breath and lunged forward, knowing he knew exactly where she was now. But just as she cleared the mess, she felt an arm wrap around her waist and lift her slightly off the ground. The tray she'd held fell to the ground with a loud clang. A scream built in her throat, but the man covered her mouth with a hand before she was able to release it. Tears stung at her eyes as she struggled against him.
No matter how hard she tried, the man had her trapped, her arms flat to her sides and her feet dangling precariously below her. She had no way to brace her body and use the move Jace had shown her. She tried kicking out and behind herself, but it was no use. None of her shots connected as she hung there, defenseless, helpless. Her mind raced with things she'd read and seen on television. Anything that might help her get loose.
The man lowered his hand from her mouth and grabbed at her neck. Clary couldn't hold back the scream that ripped from her as soon as his palm left her face. A searing pain burned through her neck and the man covered her mouth once more. His hand sat over the lower half of her face including her nose. She tried desperately to suck in a breath, but there was no air available to her. With only the thoughts of her survival in her mind, Clary bit down, hard, on the fleshy part of his palm. Her mouth filled with the taste of salt and copper.
The man yelped and drew his hand away, dropping her enough so her feet touched the ground. Clary froze for a second, surprised she'd actually done something to get herself free. Confidence swelled up and crashed over her. She lifted her foot, and slammed it down, scraping it down his shin and digging into his toes. The man's grip on her loosened and he stumbled back. Clary whipped around and thrust her elbow into his face. She heard a sickening crack, and felt him fall backward, but didn't stop to assess the situation.
Leaping forward, she crossed the room in three strides and grabbed the door knob. A hand wrapped around her ankle and twisted. She let out a cry of pain but still managed to thrust open the door. It must have hit him because she heard him grunt and felt his grip fall from her leg. She flung herself out the door and into the hall. As quickly as she could while limping, she hurried into the crowded club.
Her vision clouded over, and she realized she was crying. Her ankle throbbed and her neck burned. She'd gone several feet into the main area when someone grabbed her arms. She screamed.
"Clary!" A familiar voice called. "Clary, it's Alec."
Dark hair and blue eyes came into focus. Clary let herself collapse into him, her body convulsing with fear and relief. Her hands fisted into his shirt, and she buried her face into him.
"Alec?" Jace's voice sounded from beside them. "What the hell's going on?"
Clary felt Alec shake his head. "I don't know. She came from over there, crying and limping."
The air shifted around her and Clary felt warmth on her cheeks. "Clary. What happened?"
She lifted her face and met concerned gold. "In the back room. A man." Was all she got out before Jace bolted into the hall.
Alec moved Clary to a nearby chair and sat her down. Her body still shook. She was pretty sure she was going into shock.
A moment later, Jace returned and shook his head at Alec. Jace moved in front of Alec, and knelt before Clary, taking her hands in his.
"What happened?" he repeated.
Clary sucked in a breath. "Someone knocked on the door. I—I thought it was you so . . . so I opened it." She swallowed. "And then . . . this man . . . forced his way in." She looked up at him, feeling the tears wanting to return but fought them back. "I fought him. Like you showed me, I fought him."
Jace nodded and stood. "You got away. That's good. You did good. Can you stand?"
Clary bit her lip and stood, but when she put weight on her ankle, her leg buckled and she pitched forward into Jace. He caught her around the top of her arms and she straightened herself.
"He grabbed my ankle." She sat back down and Jace followed, holding her foot gently in his hands. His fingers were carful and warm.
"It doesn't look sprained or broken. Probably just twisted." He glanced up. "Did he hurt you anywhere else?"
The stinging on Clary's neck reminded her that he had.
"My—my neck."
Jace rose and moved the collar of her shirt to the side. Clary hissed in pain and Jace's face pinched with the sound. "It looks like he tried to rip your necklace off. Is it valuable?"
"What?" Clary asked, confused. "No—at least I don't think so. It was my mother's." She met Jace's eyes once more. "Why would he want that?"
He shook his head. "I don't know, but you're not going to be able to work on that ankle."
Clary groaned, thinking of all the tips she'd be missing out on.
"Come on. We'll take you home." Jace bent and slipped his arms under her legs and around her back.
"Whoa, wait."
He paused. "What?"
"You're not carrying me."
He raised a brow. "Wanna bet?" With that, he scooped her up and brought her close to his chest, lifting her like she was nothing.
Clary's face heated. "Jace . . . Jace, put me down."
"No."
"Come on, this is embarrassing."
He looked at her in disbelief. "Nonsense. You're the envy of all the girls in this place right now. Just look at them all."
Clary looked around, noticing that the stares of the female population were not those of curiosity. Some even glared, but none so much as Aline. With a faint grin, Clary wrapped her arms around Jace's neck and snuggled her face into it.
"Just so you know," she said, "this has nothing to do with what we talked about earlier. I'm still mad at you. I just really love pissing Aline off." She peeked up and met Aline's furious stare. Clary's smile widened.
"Fine. If using me as some sort of jealousy inducing tool amuses you, then I can be okay with that."
Clary raised her head and met his eyes. "You really shouldn't be. You're better than that."
His gaze locked on hers for a moment before he looked away. "You know, for a girl who hates being rescued, you sure do need it a lot."
She rolled her eyes. "Why do you have to spoil every nice moment by being a douche?"
A small smile pulled at his mouth. "Because that's what I do, Spitfire. I ruin nice moments, and nice girls. It's who I am."
"You know, you're never going to make me believe that."
His voice lowered so she could barely hear it. "Someday, I will."
;) ~ddpjclaf
Thank you to my lovely beta, LLWB, as always.
