There was something about Jace, though, that made her want to push him, crack that shell of cynicism and make him admit her believed something, felt something, cared about anythinng at all.
There was something about Jace, though, that made her want to push him, crack that shell of cynicism and make him admit her believed something, felt something, cared about anythinng at all.
His fingers skimmed down her body, over skin and satin, and she shivered, leaning into him, and she was sure they both tasted like blood and ashes and salt, but it didn't matter; the world, the city, and all it's lights and life seemed to have narrowed down to this, just her and Jace, the burning heart of a frozen world.
All that existed was Jace; all she felt, hoped, breathed, wanted, and saw was Jace. Nothing else mattered.
Clary closed her eyes. Remembering the way Jace had looked at her the night she'd freed Ithuriel, she couldn't help but imagine the way he'd look at her now if he saw her trying to lie down to die on the sand beside him. He wouldn't be touched, wouldn't think it was a beautiful gesture. He'd be angry at her for giving up. He'd be so--disappointed.
Jace likes to pretend that everyone isn't talking about him, even when he knows they are.
More than anything, she wanted to crawl across the bloody sand toward the place where Jace's body lay, crawl to him and lay down beside him and put her arms around him, even though he was gone.
My hair is naturally blonde... Just for the record. ~ Jace
But it was Valentine. I saw him. In fact, he had the Sword with him when he came down to the cells and taunted me through the bars. It was like a bad movie, except he didn't actually twirl his mustache. - Jace Wayland
For a moment Clary thought she might fall; she felt as if something essential had been torn away from her, an arm or a leg, and she stared at Jace in blank astonishment-- what did he feel, did he feel nothing? She didn't think she could bear it if he felt nothing.
Jace hated it when other people were worried on his behalf. It made him feel like maybe there really was something to worry about.
Jace wasn't exactly prone to random fits of panic
Then again, it was Jace. He'd pick a fight with a Mack truck if the urge took him.
Why should I tell you everything about how I feel when you never tell me anything? It's like banging my head on a wall, except at least if I were banging my head on a wall, I'd be able to make myself stop. - Jace Wayland.
With Jace, you don't really get to choose your insulting nickname.
He made a sound like a choked laughed before he reached out and pulled her into her arms. She was aware of Luke watching them from the window, but she shut her eyes resolutely and buried her face against Jace's shoulder. He smelled of salt and blood, and only when his mouth came close to her ear did she understand what he was saying, and it was the simplest litany of all: her name, just her name.
Jace, on the other hand, looked like the sort of boy who'd come over to your house and burn it down for kicks.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories