I was fortunate enough to have two people agree to act as permanent betas for this story. So lots of thanks and kudos to ammagiepie and sunshiiine23 for signing on and giving this chapter a final scrub down. You ladies rock. Readers, please pay special attention to the story warnings this chapters. Mature content is mature.

Warnings: Mature themes including perceived incest, explicit sexual content, and strong language. Immature themes including excessive dash usage and copious amounts of unapologetic relationship angst. Proceed with caution.

Context: This story is set after a City of Glass in which Clary and Jace do NOT figure out that they aren't really brother and sister. They never got the Book of the White to Magnus, so Jocelyn is still comatose. (This ignores City of Fallen Angels entirely.)

Keep the Next Breath

PART TWO

The next day Jace drops by the training room at the time Clary is usually practicing, but Robert is there alone. He stands with his feet apart, shoulders pulled back as he calmly launches throwing stars at a target on the wall about 30 feet away. Each one embeds itself safely within the three inner-most rings. Jace remembers when Robert taught him that same technique a couple years ago. He had taken to it like a fish to water, mastering it twice as fast as both Alec and Isabelle. Now he knows why.

"She took the day off," Robert says when he sees Jace scan the room from the door.

"Do you know where she went?"

Robert shakes his head, fingers the throwing star in his hand, and then adds, "She looked upset."

The guilt burns like swallowed acid. But Jace has learned to hide these feelings well enough. "She's probably worried about Jocelyn."

Robert nods as if he agrees, and maybe he does. It's not the sort of thing he would ever comment on aloud, though. Robert respects people; he doesn't coddle them. He looks once more toward Jace before walking to the target and pulling the blades from the board. "Maryse says you didn't have to take the antidote last night. Clary healed you?"

Jace nods reluctantly. Discussing Clary's gift with runes makes him uneasy. As far as he's concerned, the fewer people who know the extent of it, the better. The war with Valentine may be over, but where there is the Clave, there is a battlefield. But he trusts Robert, and there's no use in trying to keep her power a secret from anyone at the Institute.

To Jace's relief, Robert doesn't say anything more on the subject. He just puts the throwing stars back in their velvet-lined box. Jace turns to leave, a plan to find and question Isabelle about Clary's location already forming, when Robert's voice stops him.

"You look tired, Jace. Ever since we got back from Idris, you've looked tired. You should have Maryse make you a sleeping tonic."

"Or," Jace says, "I could read A History of Weapons. The farthest I've ever made it before passing out is page 613. And that's only halfway. It could do with some more pictures. And fewer words. A lot fewer."

"While your critique of the most authoritative text on Shadowhunter weaponry is quite profound and inspiring,"—a voice cuts in from behind Jace—"I believe there is another book you're supposed to becoming familiar with at the moment."

Jace groans internally before turning to face Maryse who is giving him the least threatening stare-down in her arsenal. He gives her a winning smile. "Good afternoon, Maryse."

Not at all fooled by the display, she crosses her arms as if to ward off his charms. "You're supposed to have read the first half of the codex addendum by tonight so that we can discuss it."

Jace shoves his hands into his pockets and sighs. "I'm starting to feel a little book-promiscuous. Beginning one when I haven't paid proper attention to the other—it'll damage my reputation."

"The only reputation you have in the library is one of not putting books back in their correct places."

"That,"—Jace holds up a hand—"is Isabelle. Why don't I go find her so that you can yell at her properly?"

Jace slips past Maryse's disapproving stare into the hall. "The addendum," she emphasizes. "By tonight."

"I'll circle it in my planner. It's where I keep track of all my lascivious dalliances."

Jace takes off before she can get another word in. The moment his back is turned, his face and shoulders drop. All forced normalcy drains away. Robert's words ring through his mind like the toll of a death knell. She took the day off. She looked upset.

Jace had spent all last night staring at the ceiling and seeing the devastated look on Clary's face as she'd fled the infirmary. He should be happy. This is what he had wanted, after all—to drive Clary away so she would be safe. But walking down the Institute corridor he experiences no satisfaction or relief, only the overwhelming feeling that he's lost something important.

[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]

The rhythmic pounding of heavy bass precedes Jace down the hall to Isabelle's room, and he has to practically knock down the door before she pulls it open, a cloud of floral perfume and German techno lyrics swirling around her. She's not done up in her usual way (the only way she lets other people see her), so he can immediately assume that she's not pleased to see him

"Iz," he greets and gestures to the messy knot on top of her head. "Love the hair."

Isabelle has inherited Maryse's knack for glowering. "What do you want? I'm busy."

"I'm looking for Clary."

"She's not here." And with that Isabelle turns and waltzes back inside, leaving the door open so Jace could follow her if he chooses—which he does, grudgingly. Her room is even messier than usual. Bottles of nail polish and makeup litter the vanity and the electric blue area rug is hardly visible beneath a the array of weapons and shoes which mindlessly litter the ground. Isabelle is adding to the destruction by chucking out miscellaneous items from her walk-in closet. Jace notices a copy of the codex amendment peeking out from beneath a pile of clothes on the bed. The part of him that was trained from a very young age to be neat and orderly cringes.

"Are you sure she's not hiding in one of your drawers? You certainly aren't using them for their intended purposes."

"I'm doing some spring cleaning," she says, remerging from the closet, arms laden with hangers.

"In November."

"If you really want to check the dresser for Clary, you can," she says placidly. "Can't promise you'll like what you find, though."

While Jace usually enjoys trading quips with Isabelle, the pressing need to find Clary leaves him short on patience. "Do you know where she went? She's not answering her phone."

"She left this morning to go see Jocelyn. Haven't seen her since."

That was over five hours ago. "Call Simon," he tells her.

"What?" Isabelle looks perplexed and a little annoyed. "Why?"

"Because he skulks in Clary's shadow like sunlight can still kill him. Maybe he knows where she is."

"Why don't you call him if you want to know so badly?" Isabelle sniffs as she admires a silky blue dress. "Besides, I would hate to interrupt whatever it is they may be doing…" she trails off suggestively.

The words douse him in ice water. He's distanced himself from Clary since their return from Idris, but surely he would have known if she'd gotten back with Simon. The thought that he may be wrong turns his stomach. "They're not—"

"No," she sighs, "probably not. Most likely they're just watching those freaky cartoons. Nothing that exciting. Much to Simon's disappointment, I'm sure." The last bit is muttered rather darkly into a pair of brown boots Isabelle is wiping the scuff marks off of.

Jace breathes a little easier. "Good. Otherwise I'd be obligated to permanently damage his kidneys."

Isabelle snorts as she sets aside the boots. "Right. Because you've always been so concerned about protecting my virtue."

"It's different with Clary," he says and immediately wishes he hadn't. Because she shouldn't be any different from Isabelle.

But Isabelle only shrugs. "I suppose it is. There's still something mundane about her that needs protecting. And you really are all she has by way of family."

Family. Right, Jace thinks bitterly.

He gets Simon's number out of Isabelle's phone. It's a testament to how badly he needs to talk to Clary that Jace is willing to ask the bloodsucker for information. It isn't until he's outside the Institute that he works up the humility to make the call.

Simon's greeting is skeptically curious. "Helloooo?"

Jace rolls his eyes and cuts to the chase. "Is Clary with you?"

There's a pause and then Simon sighs resentfully. "Jace."

"Should I take that as an enthusiastic and pleading 'yes?' Because that's how I'm used to hearing my name used. Although, normally it's shouted."

"I knew you only called me for phone sex."

"A result of wishful thinking, I'm sure. I called because I can't find Clary. Is she with you?"

"Your sister and I—"

Someday Jace is going to invent a phone that you can reach through to punch someone in the face. Perhaps then he and Simon would chat more often.

"—haven't talked since yesterday. You're not worried about her, are you? She's okay, right?"

Jace is both annoyed and pleased by Simon's concern. "She's fine."

"Okay. Well, I'm adding you to my contacts right now, Good Lookin'. You'll be under Booty Ca—"

Jace disconnects and pockets the phone. He's not sure where to go next. The part of him that wants to survive—wants to make it through the storm battered but still breathing—tells him to turn around and go back inside. He'll be safer there. She'll be safer if he's there. But Jace has always fought with his heart. That's the part of all this he doesn't understand. He may think like a demon, and he may want like a demon, but he feels far too human in these moments when he wishes things were different.

He wonders if there's ever been a demon that despises its own evil. And if not, he wonders what that means for him. Because when he thinks that Clary might be hurting as deeply as he is, Jace hates himself more than he hates the fact she's his sister. He feels nauseous and empty like he did after he yelled at her in Idris. But what he told Clary last night is true. The demon does love her. But so does every other part of him. She's not just in his blood. She's under his skin and filling his lungs so that every kept breath is a piece of her he doesn't have to share with anyone else.

Jace cannot go back inside. Nor can he move forward. He sits on the cold, concrete steps of the Institute and waits.

[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]

"Jace, are you awake?"

Her voice floats to him from a place he can't see. And though he isn't sleeping, he thinks this may be a dream.

He had waited outside until dark, but Clary hadn't come back. Maryse had received an important message from the Clave just before dinner so there was no discussion, no lecture about how none of them—except Alec—read the codex addendum. Isabelle, Alec, and Jace spent only an hour at Pandemonium waiting for demonic activity before calling the night a bust and heading home early. Clary was back at the Institute by the time they'd returned, but Jace hadn't had a good reason to knock on her closed door. So he had showered and fallen into bed, knowing that sleep wouldn't come.

And now Clary is standing at his door whispering into the darkness.

He turns and looks at her the way he's not supposed to. She's wearing a baggy shirt he knows belonged—belongs—to Jocelyn. It flirts with the tops of her thighs, small plaid shorts just managing to peek out from underneath. The city light streaming in from the window illuminates the freckles that trail down to her calves, and as she steps further into the room his eyes follow the flex of muscle in her thigh.

He's propped up on one elbow, and she's so close to the bed he has to crane his neck to meet her shinning eyes.

"Did I wake you up?"

He shakes his head. "No."

"I can't sleep," she apologizes.

Jace moves to sit up, her anxiety tugging relentlessly at him. "You wanna talk about it?" It's probably the most brotherly thing he's ever said to her.

She shakes her head slowly back and should have known; he's always a step behind when it comes to knowing Clary's wants. "I've had trouble sleeping for a while now…except for that night in Idris when we slept together—"

Jace's mouth goes dry at the memory and the implication.

"—was wondering if I could, maybe, try sleeping in here with you?" She finishes less certain than she started, eyes falling from Jace to his pillow as red swarms her cheeks.

There are an innumerable number of reasons for him to say 'no' (the fact that brothers don't sleep with their sisters not being the least of them). He shouldn't encourage this, not after all the fight he's been putting up ever since they discovered the truth. Giving in now would mean giving into that dark part of him that selfishly takes without a thought for the consequences.

But Jace recognizes a final chance when he sees one. And the way Clary is standing before him eyes adverted and fingers twisted together tells him that if he turns her away now, she will not be back. Whatever benevolent force which brought her here tonight will be snuffed out, and he will get what he's been trying so badly to want: a sister. And if he lets her stay…

His heart pounds a little faster in his chest. If he lets her stay, he'll be getting what he's wanted ever since he first met her. Demon or no demon.

So he pulls back the sheet and blanket. "Get in. I'm half naked, and it's cold."

She slides onto the mattress without hesitation, and her boldness makes him irrationally nervous. It's as if she's stepping over the remains of his crumbled resolve and claiming what he's kept secreted away. He feels exposed as she settles in beside him because he thinks that she could ask anything of him in this moment, and he would be powerless to refuse her.

His bed is decidedly smaller than the one they had shared in Idris, and they both have to lie on their sides to keep from touching. They're playing by her rules, so he doesn't reach out, just watches as she smiles, sighs, says thank you, and falls into sleep.

[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]

Jace wakes in the middle of the night. He's disoriented and can't pinpoint the cause of his unrest—his dreams had been satisfyingly free of bloodshed and full of Clary. All he can make out is the darkened ceiling until bit-by-bit, sleep gives way to consciousness, and his senses begin processing things like the unseasonable sound of rain tapping the window, the shadowy pattern it casts across the bed—gray drops sliding over white sheets—and the silent flashes of lightening that occasionally illuminate the room in brief bursts of light.

Jace takes it all in and still can't decide what…

The bed moves. Jace looks over to find Clary—t-shirt bunched up around her ribs and pale midriff exposed—twisting and moaning beside him. Her eyebrows are pinched together, her lips pursed in a small frown. She groans and turns away sharply, legs jerking as if in a fit. He allows himself only a moment to drink her in before moving to gently shake her awake. "Clary. Clary, wake up."

Her head turns back in his direction as she lets out a whimpered, "Jace."

He shivers at the sound, brushes his fingers over her cheek. "I'm here, Clary. You're dreaming. It's just a nightmare."

His voice soothes her restless body, and she relaxes soundlessly into the displaced sheets. But he can almost hear her heart pounding away frantically inside her chest even as green eyes appear from beneath parting lashes. They're darker than he's ever seen them before, more pupil than iris. She doesn't blink, just stares ahead at Jace, who is precariously close and wanting to drift even closer.

"Bad dream?" he asks, even though she doesn't look frightened at all; she looks tired, wanting, and waiting. His quiet question sounds like a shout compared to the whisper of wind and rain that are almost there in the room with them. Clary doesn't seem to notice. She doesn't answer his question or do anything else but lean toward him.

He recognizes the intention just before her lips touch his, soft and searching. The gesture robs Jace of his breath, and it's painful to stay still as her mouth slides against his. He very nearly falls to pieces when her small hand comes to rest gently against his cheek. It's the most intimate way anyone has ever touched him.

She pulls away slowly, and he's not sure if it's due to his lack of response or because this is all she means to give him. But then her eyes are doing what her lips just finished—searching. She looks between his eyes, seeking the response that he can't seem to vocalize. Faced with his silence her expression quickly changes from expectant to ashamed. She grimaces and starts turning away.

Maybe it's sheer panic at the thought of losing the small bit of ground they've gained or maybe it's the demon inside of him rattling its cage; either way Jace reaches out to her the way he's wanted to since they met, pulling her against him and covering her mouth with his. It's like taking a breath of fresh air after years of being trapped indoors. She feels just how he remembers: supple, warm, and demanding. But the way her bare stomach presses against his is new and coaxes his heart to pound faster, his blood to run hotter. The teasing skin-on-skin friction isn't enough, so he lowers one hand to the curve of her waist, curling the other possessively around the back of her neck.

Clary's mouth parts to suck in a breath, and Jace takes the opportunity to catch her bottom lip between his, sucking and scraping with his teeth until Clary presses herself more fervently against him, causing him to moan. His tongue slides against hers.

Jace doesn't try keeping track of her hands, he only knows that the feel of them on his body drives him crazy. His fingers knead into the flesh of her hip, learning the shape of her curves and noting her response to each touch. From there his hand fans out along her spine.

Her back is bare. Completely bare.

The realization that Clary has been lying braless in his bed has him hard and straining against his pants. He tears his mouth away from hers to mutter a curse into her skin, and Clary's lips are sweet and wet against his jaw.

He's hesitating, doubting whether or not to continue, when she arches her back so that they're flush with one another. Jace takes it as the encouragement he needs to let his thumb move up to graze the side of her breast. She shivers and shifts until her peak is pressed to the center of his palm. When he applies pressure and rotates his wrist, she gasps and falls gracelessly back to the mattress, panting and moaning. He uses the space to roll on top of her and pull the abused shirt over her head and arms.

Sister is a whispered reminder in the back of his mind that he ignores.

Jace has had dreams like this, dreams where Clary is half naked and looking up at him through lowered lashes. So he presses his mouth to her chest to make sure she's tangible, real. His eyes slip close at the discovery that she tastes of salt and heat. The noise she makes when he presses the flat of his tongue to her nipple makes him throb.

She's got a hand fisted in his hair and the other is dragging dull nails down his back hard enough to hurt. Their hips rock together as she hitches a slender calf up behind his thigh.

"Fuck, Clary," he groans, and the part he can't say is your body is the best thing I've ever felt. "Why are we doing this?"

If she were anyone else, he wouldn't care. He would take what he wanted from her, and the 'why' would be insignificant. But she's Clary. She's his sister. And he knows himself well enough to realize that this can't be a one-time thing. He needs to know that this isn't some fluke, that tomorrow night she won't be back in her own bed, not needing him as much as he needs her.

His legs are straddling her thighs with his hands on either side of her head, so she has nowhere to go. Jace's breath catches as she runs her fingers up and down his sides while considering her response.

"I lied, Jace," she begins, not meeting his eyes, "at Taki's. When you asked if I wanted you to just be my brother. I said 'yes,' and I didn't mean it, even then. I'm tired of lying, Jace."

"But I am. I'm your brother." The word tastes bitter coming off his tongue but doesn't quite dislodge the taste of her.

She shakes her head slowly, and he's struck by how beautiful she is. She looks like she belongs there, tangled red hair drowning his pillow and chest bared, waiting to be touched. "I don't care," she says. "I want you. Like this."

She uses her hold on his back to pull herself up and kiss him deeply. His mouth opens to hers without prompting, their tongues coming together and tasting each other languidly.

"I don't care either," he says as they part. But she already knows this, knows that his indifference to these feelings are what have been driving him steadily mad. More reluctantly he adds, "But other people will. Everyone will. We can't—"

"We could keep it a secret."

His old words echoed back at him from her swollen lips is a temptation he can't resist. He'll take as much as she's willing to give, and maybe it will better this way. For now. It will just be the two of them, and they won't have to share it with anyone else. They won't have to face the promised ridicule and aversion of the people they care about. Here in the dark, what Clary and Jace have is flawless.

"You'll be mine? Only mine?" He has to be sure.

"Only yours," she murmurs against his lips.

The words are as powerful as any physical incentive, and he's overcome with the need to actually make her his. He needs…

Clary reads the desire in his bright eyes and tense posture. She falls back against the pillows and begins pulling down her shorts and underwear without a word.

His self-control makes its first appearance of the night. Jace swiftly catches her wrist. "C-Clary," he chokes out, trying to keep his gaze from the exposed skin.

"Please, Jace," she says evenly, not a quiver in her voice. "I want to make love with you."

He can't speak, can't breathe. So he nods disjointedly instead, the words 'make love' and 'Clary' chasing each other in his mind. He's never…made love…to a girl before. He wants to with Clary, can't think of anything he wants to do more. But his hands are unsteady as they take up the abandoned task of sliding the remaining clothing down her legs. He does away with his own as well before returning to Clary. He crawls between her spread legs, keeping himself suspended on his elbows above her.

She's trying to put on a brave face, but he sees the apprehension in the slight crease of her brow. He kisses her until she relaxes enough to fully respond, her hands curling into his hair.

"This could hurt. A lot. It should get better, but—"

She nods quickly. "I know."

"Okay."

Jace reaches for the night stand drawer and retrieves a condom. He opens it and rolls it down his length, which has been hard since waking up to Clary half-naked in his bed. When he finally settles himself between her thighs, they're both breathing heavily, the anticipation almost suffocating. Jace catches and holds Clary's gaze as he begins pushing into her.

She feels amazing—tight heat wrapped around the head of his cock—and he wants to bury himself to the hilt, wants the friction of her walls gripping his entire length. But Clary makes a noise in the back of her throat, and she's biting her lip so hard it's turned white.

"You okay?" It's hard to keep every part of himself steady, including his voice.

"Yeah," she answers breathlessly, not convincing either of them. "It just feels strange. I thought it would hurt more—"

Her mouth drops open soundlessly as he breaks through her hymen and finishes filling her.

"—like that," she gasps, body tensing and eyes watering.

Jace kisses the skin just beneath her ear, tells her urgently, "I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry. I promise it'll get better."

She nods again, and he knows that Clary has entrusted herself to him completely. Her body is at his mercy, and she doesn't doubt him once. It makes him want to be perfect for her, to truly deserve her faith.

"No moving," she orders thickly. Her eyes disappear behind wet lashes, so she doesn't see Jace's nod. But when he nips at her chin and then her lips, she opens her mouth to him. As long as he can focus on this—the unhurried exchange of kisses—he's not completely overwhelmed by how it feels to be fully buried in her small, warm body and the need to explore her thoroughly.

And then Clary shifts her hips.

Jace moans as the sensation that shoots straight through his body and leaves him wanting more. "You're breaking your own rules," he points out.

"Shut up," she mutters distractedly, clearly concentrating on something he can't, and it makes Jace smirk. She's lucky that he loves that about her, that he loves her period. Otherwise this could be going a lot differently.

There's another experimental roll of her hips.

"Clary," he begs.

She looks at him tentatively. "I think…I think I'm ready."

Jace nearly collapses on her in relief. "Thank Raziel," he mutters, which earns him a pinch in the arm from Clary. He can't help kissing her again.

Slowly he pulls out and then sinks back in. He repeats the motion, gaining speed and depth with each careful thrust. And the pace is surreally satisfying—torturous in that it's not getting him where he wants, but completely mind-blowing because if he could move like this with her forever, he would. He doesn't take his eyes off Clary. Her face is carefully neutral as he moves inside of her. Jace wishes she could experience half of what he's feeling. He promises himself that he'll make it up to her.

Soon, the tight grip she has on his shoulders begins to ease. Her hands slide down to the small of his back. She's relaxing beneath him. Her hips begin moving to meet his so that the combined thrust is deeper, stronger, more fulfilling. As he quickens his tempo, she moves to accommodate him. Their short, panting breaths begin to outpace the rain on the window and the steady creak of the bed beneath them. They find their rhythm and move together.

Jace is in awe. This is what making love feels like. He didn't expect it to actually feel any different; the motions are the same. He's taking her body the way he's taken other girls' bodies, but it's never been this damn good, this satisfying. He wants to disappear inside of her entirely.

The sound of her saying his name over and over as he sucks on her neck and the pressure of her hands on his hips urging him faster all drives him steadily toward a height of gratification he's never reached before. His entire body tightens and shudders with his release as Clary's name passes between his lips.

When she doesn't come with him, he drops to the bed beside her and lowers his hand to the damp apex of her legs. This is one promise that he can keep.

[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]

In the morning, things are sharper, brighter somehow. It's not a physical change. When she stretches in bed, she does feel some soreness between her legs, but it doesn't account for the airy sensation of lightness in her chest or the contentment she feels at greeting the day.

Jace is lying on his stomach beside her, face turned away and arm folded beneath his head. Clary takes in his mussed hair and the pale gold planes of his back that dip down to where the sheet is draped low around his hips.

She's overwhelmed with the urge to paint him, then, in muted copper and cream. Oil paint on a small canvas to capture the intimacy of the room. Jace's sleeping figure would be first, then the bed, and then the morning sunlight that nearly washes the whole scene out.

There's a knock at the door. "Jace?"

Clary stills for only a moment before scrambling to her feet and dashing to the bathroom, snatching her t-shirt from the floor as she goes. Only once the door is closed quietly behind her does she pull the oversized shirt over her head and smooth down her hair as she tries to calm her pounding heart.

Sounds filter into her dark hiding spot. Jace moving on the bed. His heavy sigh before a less-than-charitable, "Gimme a moment."

Clary imagines him pulling on his discarded pants and her neck and cheeks flush.

The bedroom door opens. "Were you still sleeping? It's almost ten."

Alec.

"I don't sleep. I wait." Jace sounds his usual calm and collected, and Clary wonders at his ability to act normally given the circumstances.

"Well, Dad has been waiting for you in the weapons room for twenty minutes." After moving into the Institute, one of the first things Clary learned was that Alec's sense of humor rarely made an appearance before lunch.

"Huh. My clock must be twenty minutes slow."

"You don't have a clock."

"And if I did, it wouldn't run slow; it would run fast. Like me. You're absolutely right, Alec. Now, why don't you put us all at ease and go make sure that Izzy's clock isn't running completely backwards. It would certainly explain a few things."

"Just don't forget that—"

There's a distinct click of door closing, and Clary strains to hear anything in the abrupt silence. Just as she's about to risk pushing open the door, the knob twists beneath her hand, and light floods the bathroom. Jace is standing before her, tall, broad, and quite close.

Clary's throat feels constricted.

His face is smooth, unreadable, but his posture is tense, and she gets the impression that he's waiting for her to say something horrible.

Hesitantly she steps forward until she's close enough that that heat of his body seeps into hers. She raises a hand and touches his side, and the gesture is all that Jace needs. His arms come around her waist, capturing her to him as he lowers his face to hers.

When they kiss, Clary's entire body tingles, her bare toes curling against the tile floor.

"Good morning."

Jace grins as if it wasn't the most mundane thing for her to say. He mumbles his own good morning against her lips and presses her backwards against the bathroom sink. His hands slip beneath the hem of her shirt.

His searching fingers on her thighs take her straight back to last night, and she's flushed and needy in far too short a time. But once his hands settle on her bare hips, they don't stray. She exhales in frustration.

"I have to go meet Robert," he says, caught somewhere between disappointment at the missed opportunity and satisfaction at her obvious response to him.

"And I have to go see my mother." Clary knows there's a good chance they won't be able to be like this again until late that night, and she's reluctant to part with him at all.

He nods, hands abandoning her body to run through her wild hair. "Are you okay?"

Clary bites the inside of her lips and considers not asking the question that has been plaguing her since the night Jace was attacked. After last night she already has her answer, but a part of her still needs to hear him say it out loud. "What you said before about only loving me because of the demon blood…you didn't mean it, did you?"

Jace's hands go still in her hair. "I wanted to. It would make things easier, wouldn't it? If I were a monster and my feelings for you were monstrous, then I would just stay away from you, and you would never be hurt. It's impossible to keep my distance when you want me just as badly. It means there must be something redemptive about all of this."

Clary nods her understanding against Jace's chest. "Believe me when I say there is nothing demonic about you beyond whatever's physically in your blood. Say that you believe me."

He takes her face in his scarred hands. "I believe that you make me more human."

"Jace—" His name makes it past her lips only to be caught by his own as he kisses her again. She can't help winding her arm around his neck returning every bit of his passion. Kisses shouldn't make things like this better, but Jace's do. She feels his need for her and decides that everything else can work itself in time.

They should probably say more. There are words to be voiced, decisions to be made, and explanations to be given. Things are not what they were yesterday or even what they were last night—just the two of them and the rain on the windows. But if this is the one moment they'll ever have together without regret, they want to keep it.

AN: I appreciate people taking the time to review last chapter. I figured I'd lose most of you at "perceived incest" and the rest of you at "excessive dash usage," but some people actually stuck around till the end. lol. I loved hearing from you!

Again, I can't make promises about when the next chapter will be out, but it will come. Thanks in advance for the patience.