City of Heavenly Fire
"I haven’t got much in the way of substantive cut scenes from City of Heavenly Fire. Most things were rewritten rather than removed. But here’s a bit of Sebastian’s death scene that didn’t make it in." - Cassandra Clare
“We forgive you,” Jocelyn said. She was still crying, in the same soundless terrible way, just as she had every year on Jonathan’s birthday when she had held the box with his initials on it and wept.
“No,” he said. “There’s no forgiveness for what I did. I know where I will burn when I die.”
“Heaven does not forgive, but mothers do,” said Jocelyn. “When you were a baby inside me, I dreamed of everything for you. That you would be handsome and strong and good. That I would sing to you and love you and take care of you.” She gripped his hand tightly. “Maybe not in this world, but in another, I believe that was the truth.”
“Don’t forgive me,” he whispered. “Hate me. Rejoice that I’m dead. After all I have done, the last thing I would wish to bring to you was more grief.”
“Jonathan,” Clary whispered.
His eyes moved toward her. “And sisters,” he said. “Do sisters forgive?”
City of Lost souls deleted scene
Clary was in Jace’s room when he and Sebastian returned to the house. She had found very little during her search. There was nothing in Sebastian’s room that could be considered interesting except some books written in Latin, and her Latin wasn’t good enough to read them. There were pages that looked like they were torn from old guidebooks, illustrated with black and white pen sketches, pinned to the walls, but there seemed no connection between them. In the fireplaces were chunks of ash that looked like the remains of burned photographs, but they crumbled away when she tried to pick them up.
Jace’s room was next, neat as a pin, containing almost nothing of his belongings. There were weapons, but she didn’t recognize them, or the books on the shelves either. His closet was filled with clothes, but like the clothes in the master bedroom, they were largely new: he must have bought them in the past week or so, since price tags still hung from several of them. They were not what she thought of as Jace’s style. He had always dressed simply — things that were plain, solid colors, clothes that fit well but didn’t catch attention. He was gorgeous enough that it didn’t matter, she had always thought; he looked amazing in just jeans and a t-shirt. And he had plenty of those in his closet now, but the shirts had designer labels, the coats and jackets were Burberry and Hugo Boss and Dolce & Gabbana.
Like the clothes in Sebastian’s closet.
Like the expensive clothing Valentine had always worn.
She closed the closet door and sat down on Jace’s bed, telling herself she was being stupid. Designer clothes were nothing to get worked up about. There were other things in the room that spoke of the Jace she had always known — the neatness, the arranging his weapons on top of his dresser in order of size, the books on the nightstand. He always used a thin dagger as a bookmark; that hadn’t changed. The photo of the two of them, stuck to the wall. Even the citrusy soap in his bathroom was the same soap he always used —
She heard steps on the staircase, voices. Sebastian’s rose: “Where is she?”
She barely had time to switch off the light, fling herself down on the bed and curl up with her head on the pillow when the door opened. Jace stood there framed in the hallway glow, Sebastian behind him. She raised herself up on her elbow, blinking sleepily at them despite the racing of her heart. “Did you guys just get back?”
Jace gave Sebastian a look — a look that said clearly: I told you she’d be here. “Didn’t you hear us come upstairs?”
She shook her head. “Sorry, I got tired. I think I’m still exhausted from staying up till dawn the other night.” She looked at Jace demurely. “I was feeling a little lonely, so I thought if I curled up in your bed …”
Do I sound like I mean it? His face had relaxed, but Sebastian was looking at her as if his gaze could piece through her like clear glass, and he was amused at what he saw.
She sat up, shaking her hair back, and reached for the lamp on the nightstand. “Don’t —” Jace began, but she had already flipped it on.
She stiffened. The two boys looked down at her, Jace with some concern and Sebastian with his usual quirky edge of half-amusement. His dark eyes met hers with the message they always held, the one she tried not to read: We know, you and I. We know the truth.
But none of that was what had made her stiffen. It was that both of them were was splattered with blood — there was a smear of it across Jace’s cheek, staining his sleeves, and a rent in his shirt, its edges dark and stiff with dried blood, though the skin underneath was unmarked. Sebastian, though — Sebastian had blood even in his white-silver hair, and on his clothes, and on his hands so thick it looked as if he were wearing red gloves. The silver bracelet he wore around the wrist where his hand had regenerated was spotted with red.
Clary heard her own voice as if from very far away. “What happened?”
“We ran into a little trouble,” Sebastian said. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.” He tilted his head to the side. “You look as pale as a ghost, little sis. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen worse. We’re Shadowhunters. This is what we do.”
“Of course.” Clary spoke mechanically. “I just wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”
“Then you’ve nothing to worry about. Most of this isn’t either of our blood.”
She swallowed against her dry throat. “So whose is it?”
City of Lost souls deleted scene
Warlock law was very clear on this point: if you loved a mortal, all well and good, but it was not your place to interfere with their mortality. It took a long time to become used to such a law . . . usually until you realized that being immortal was less a gift than a burden.Magnus dropped the snuffbox back onto the desk and picked up the phone, hitting the speed-dial button for Alec’s number. When Alec picked up he sounded both harried and hopeful: “Magnus? Have you found anything?”
“Nothing. I’m sorry.”
“Oh.” Crushing disappointment made Alec’s voice sound small.
“But I was thinking about parabatai,” said Magnus. “When parabatai are especially close, they can sense if the other is dead, or Changed, or —”
“I know,” said Alec. “I know that. I felt it — for that moment that Jace died, back in Idris. But this isn’t like that.” Magnus could picture him, eyes blue in his pale face, tugging at a snarled lock of his hair. Alec usually looked like he’d fallen out of bed and into a random pile of clothes, rather than as if he’d actually picked out an outfit, and since Jace had gone missing, he’d started to look like he’d stopped brushing his hair, too. “I just feel nothing.”
“Like really nothing? As in . . . nothingness?”
“Right . . .?” Alec sounded confused.
“That actually does give me some ideas,” said Magnus. “I’ll do everything I can to help, you know that, right, Alexander? Not because it’s the Clave, but because it’s you.”
“I know.” Alec was silent for a moment. “It’s good to hear your voice, even if you can’t help,” Alec added, and hung up abruptly.
Magnus placed the phone next to him and sat for a moment, still enough to hear himself breathing. I’m losing him, he thought. I don’t know how or why, but I know that I am.
Fractured Souls(by Jessica Sorensen)
**Mature Content Warning** 17+ for language and sexual content. Also, if your a die hard Alex fan, you might want to stay away from this one too ;)
You don’t have to do it,” I whisper at the sight of the pain in his eyes. “If you don’t want to.”
He doesn’t say anything as he shifts his body forward in his seat, bending his back inward, moving closer to me. My chest heaves ravenously as anticipation and fear collide inside me and I turn inward to bring myself closer to him. He maintains my gaze as he cups his hand on the bottom of my neck, softly, yet at the same time with purpose. I wonder if he can feel my rapid pulse. If he can smell the scent of my blood racing through my body. What he’s thinking. I wonder a lot of things, until he leans in so close I can feel the heat of his breath caressing my skin, then all thoughts are lost as a silence blankets my body.
“Just breathe and try to relax,” he whispers, the pupils in his eyes expanding and taking over all of the blue in his eyes. His lips part, his breathing sharpens, and his pointed fangs descend.
My mind tells me that I should be afraid, but my body won’t have any part of it, the prickle on the back of my neck stabbing wildly, releasing an abundance of emotions. I lean into his touch, his hand tightens around the bottom of my neck, and my knees press into his. I know Draven is watching us, like a weirdo, but I block him out, and focus on my breathing. Deep breaths. Deep breaths.
Laylen’s head slants to the side, so he’s moving in toward my neck at an angle. When he’s only inches away, his tongue slips out and slides across his lips, moistening them and skimming along the tips of his fangs. I feel a tremor in his fingertips and I reach forward and grasp onto his legs.
I hold my breath as his lips graze my neckline and then squeeze my eyes shut as his fangs pierce my vein.It’s far more intense than just the scrape. Blindingly intense. Body-altering intense. I fall so fast into the dark I can’t even remember what the light looks like. I hear myself groan, but it barely sounds like me, and an invisible connection seals the inside of y body and guides me forward, forcing me to arch my back and press my chest against his.
Laylen’s fingertips stab into my neck and I can feel the skin bruising, but the pain only enhances the experience as he feeds on my blood, sucking it out of me and putting it inside him. My hands clamp down on his legs as I whimper, my body going limp as all the energy is drained out of me.
Laylen pauses, the tug from him sucking momentarily ceasing. He groans and I think he’s going to stop, even though my mind is screaming at him to continue. But then he bites down harder and suddenly I’m being laid back toward the table. The edge of it cuts into the center of my back and I cry out as he slides me up and lies me down on the table, lining his body with mine as he sucks on my neck, spilling blood all over my skin and clothes. My hands wind around his back and I stab my nails into his shoulder blades, grasping onto him be-cause I can barely see anything anymore beside a red. Blood red. I can smell it, taste it myself, and it’s driving me crazy. It feels like I need something more, like my body is being starved.
“Laylen,” I manage to choke out, my head drifting to the side as my legs fall open. His body responds, curving inward and rubbing up against me. His fangs sink deeper, plunging into the arch of my neck. Then suddenly he’s pulling away and I think it’s over as he wipes the blood off his face with his hand and licks it off his lips with his tongue. I don’t want him to be done. I want more—need it. I’m not sure where the sensation is stemming from, what drives it, but regardless I fasten my legs around his waist and cross my ankles tightly around him.
Onyx(by Jennifer l armentrout)
Interviews, and deleted scenes
This is from Books Complete me!
BCM: Someone once said, "The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting." What say you?
Aiden smiles. “Sounds like a wise man.”
Seth snorts. “Sounds like a wussy.”
Daemon looks over at them. “I think I like you, Seth.”
BCM: Daemon, that’s not really an answer to the question.
“Obviously whoever said that didn’t have a strong enemy.”
Aiden rolls his eyes.
BCM: Describe your love interest in one sentence.
Seth glances at Aiden. “Sexy.”
Aiden takes a deep, slow breath. “Strong.”
Daemon arches a brow. “I am sensing some animosity here, but anyway, one word? Trouble.”
BCM: Vampires, Werewolves, Aliens or Gods?
Daemon crosses his arms. “Are you for real? There’s no such thing as gods or vamps.”
“Oh, and aliens are real?” Aiden says. “I think us being llamas is more likely than aliens.”
Seth chuckles. “Boy fight!”
BCM: Okay, gentlemen, can you just answer the question?
“Aliens,” Daemon says.
“Gods,” Aiden mutters.
Seth smiles. “We're llamas.”
BCM: What is the single most important thing to you right now?
Aiden leans forward. “Alex…”
“Alex,” Seth says.
Slowly, Aiden turns to Seth. “Are you serious?”
Daemon shakes his head. “I feel like I need to say Alex just to fit in here.”
Both guys face Daemon.
“What?” he says. “I just want to be one of the cool kids.”
BCM: What's your favorite pastime?
“Killing things,” Seth says. “Does that count as a hobby?”
Daemon blinks. “I really do like this kid. Even if I can’t pronounce whatever the hell he is.”
“I’m just that cool,” Seth replies.
Aiden’s jaw tightens. “Playing the guitar—that’s my hobby.”
“Um, I don’t have any hobbies,” Daemon says, tapping a finger off his chin. “Though, Kat thinks I like to kick puppies or something. Yeah, let’s go with that.”
BCM: If you had to spend the day with one of the other guys in the room, which would it be and why?
“I would like to go with Daemon, because he seems pretty cool.” Seth pauses. “But I’d pick Aiden, just because I know he’s secretly in love with me.”
Aiden rubs his brow. “One of these days, Seth, I’m going to physically destroy you.”
“I’d like to see it,” Seth replies.
“What kind of history do these two have?” Daemon’s brows knit. “Do I have to pick either of them? Screw that.”
BCM: Okay. Never mind. Moving on. What is the least favorite thing about being a God/Apollyon/Alien?
Aiden nods. “The rules are my least favorite thing.”
“Yeah, there’s not I hate about being the Apollyon,” Seth says.
Daemon laughs. “I have to go with Seth. Aliens are pretty damn awesome.”
Aiden leans back in his chair. “The modesty in this room is remarkable.”
BCM: What is your most favorite thing about being a God/Apollyon/Alien?
“I’ll go with everything,” Seth says with a grin.
“Big surprise there,” Aiden mutters. “Most favorite thing is the strength and ability to control fire.”
“You control fire?” Daemon leads back. “That’s cool. So can I to a certain extent. Healing is my fave.”
Seth makes a face. “I can control every element, including akasha.”
“What in the hell is ashanti?” Daemon asks.
Aiden busts out laughing.
“Whatever. It’s a-ka-sha, idiot.”
Daemon’s eyes turn luminous. “Excuse me?”
BCM: All right, scale it back boys. So, is there anything else you'd like to add to the interview or about one another?
“Oh, dear gods,” Aiden sighs.
“I have a lot of things I like to say to Aiden.” Seth smiles charmingly. “First off, Aiden, you make me want to—”
“Jump off a cliff?” Aiden suggests. “Be my guest. And what can I say about you? A big, fat nothing, because honestly, it’s not even worth coming up with something.”
“Oh, burn,” Daemon says.
Seth’s head snaps toward Daemon. “And you? You glow… that’s kind of weird, right? I mean, I guess you never need a flash light.”
Daemon’s eyes narrowed. “Just when I thought I was making a new friend, you have to go and ruin it.”
“Cry me a river. Oh, wait, can aliens cry? Or do you just leak light?” Seth laughs. “I bet it makes pretty lights.”
“I think I’m going to hurt you,” Daemon says.
“Get in line,” Aiden says.
BCM: Okay, well…. um, it was nice having you guys all here. I think this interview is over.
“It was a pleasure,” Aiden says. “Thank you.”
“Whatever.” Seth stands, stretching his arms over his head. “I’m hungry. Anyone game?”
Daemon gives a short wave. “Peace out.”
This is from Once apon a twilight
Deleted scene from pure
Aiden threw up his hands. In such a small space, the gesture pretty much took up all the room. “Don’t you think that my disappointment has nothing to do with the fact Seth was in your room, but that you would so blatantly break the rules again?”
“That is so lame, Aiden. I break the rules all the time.”
“My point exactly,” he said dryly.
I really have no idea what provoked the next words to come out of my mouth. Maybe it had to do with all the pent up frustration. All those times we trained together and we were so very close, and yet so far apart from one another. Maybe I just wanted to piss him off. “You’re disappointment comes from him being in my bed and not you. Anybody else could admit that.”
Aiden let out a strangled breath, and I knew I went too far. He was going to yell at me. Lecture me about how I never think. Worst yet, I knew—just knew—Aiden would say I had it all wrong. That he had let go of whatever had happened between us. And I was pretty sure I might cry if he did so. Or hit him. Neither would be fun. So I had to say something to outdo what I said a few seconds ago.
“You said I was beautiful once,” I said in a rush. “Don’t you still think I’m beautiful?”
Frustration and something else flared in his eyes. Hunger maybe? I took it and ran with it. “I don’t . . . I don’t think you look beautiful. You look . . . exquisite.” He placed his hand over mine. “You always do.”
“Exquisite?” I smiled broadly. “I like that.”
“You would,” he replied with a sigh.
Wonderful warmth spread over me. “Do you think anyone else is exquisite?”
He tipped his head to the side and strands of dark hair fell against his cheek. He sighed again. “Alex, don’t.”
His words were more like a soft plea, but they had no impact on me. “Do you? Tell me you do and I’ll stop. I’ll even be quiet. For like a week. Just tell me you feel this with anyone else.”
Those eyes switched from pale gray to liquid silver. An instant later Aiden pulled me right up against him. “You always push.”
“I do?” I whispered, my pulse pounding through me. I was like a kid. Any attention was good attention. As long as he paid attention to me. I wanted him to touch to me, to want me as badly as I wanted him.
And he did.
Our lips met. He gave no warning. His mouth was on mine, and all thought fled. Lost to the simple touch, to the act that was so forbidden, we both risked everything. Urgency burned between us, deepening the kiss. His hands slid to my waist, fingers pressing fire into my spine. A rich ache blossomed, spreading out of control. My nails dug through his thermal, and he backed me up. I knocked into a cart, spilling sheets onto the floor. He pressed closer and one hand snaked down my hip and over my thigh, and then he brought it up so my leg hooked around his.
With so very little clothing between us, I was quickly reminded of the night in his room, on his bed. The memory fueled the fervor, and my hands sunk into the strands of his hair.
His lips left me spinning, gasping for air. I couldn’t get enough him. My hips moved toward him, my hands slid to his shoulders, down his arms, and under his shirt. Things were spiraling madly. Everywhere he touched, my skin burned and my soul sung.
And even though I felt like I would come apart at any second, this was so much more than a physical thing. Desperation clung to the edge of each kiss, to the way our bodies were sealed together, chest to knees. So tightly I could feel his heart thundering. And in the midst of all these glorious sensations, I realized something so important, so powerful.
Aiden could tell me he didn’t feel the same why I did. He could fight what lay between us night and day. He could speak only in lies from here on out. It didn’t matter.
I would always, always know differently.
Even if space separated us, or a dozen rules were imposed to keep us apart, and we could never be together, I would always know. So why did I suddenly want to cry?
Aiden broke away, breathing heavy. His arms were still fastened around me. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
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Later, Jace would remember little about the destruction of the Manor itself, the shattering apart of the only home he’d known until he was ten years old. He remembered only the fall from the library window, scrambling and rolling down over the grass, and catching hold of Clary, spinning her down and under him, covering her with his body while pieces of the Manor rained down around them like hail.
He could feel her breathing, feel the racing of her heart. He was reminded of his falcon, the way it had curled, blind and trusting, in his hand, the rapidity of its heartbeat. Clary was holding him by the front of the shirt, though he doubt she realized it, her face against his shoulder; he was desperately afraid that there wasn’t enough of him, that he couldn’t cover her completely, protect her entirely. He imagined boulders as big as elephants tumbling across the rocky ground, ready to crush them both, to crush her. The ground shuddered under them and he pressed harder against her, as if that might help somehow. It was magical thinking, he knew, like closing your eyes so you didn’t see the knife coming at you.
The roar had faded. He realized to his surprise that he could hear again: small things, the sound of birds, the air in the trees. Clary’s voice, breathless. “Jace — I think you dropped your stele somewhere.”
He drew back and stared down at her. She met his gaze steadily In the moonlight her green eyes could have been black. Her red hair was full of dust, her face streaked with soot. He could see the pulse in her throat. He said the first thing that he could think of, dazed, “I don’t care. As long as you’re not hurt.”
“I’m fine.” She reached up, her fingers brushing lightly through his hair; his body, super-sensitized by adrenalin, felt it like sparks against his skin. “There’s grass — in your hair,” she said.
There was worry in her eyes. Worry for him. He remembered the first time he’d kissed her, in the greenhouse, how he’d finally gotten it, finally understood the way someone’s mouth against yours could undo you, leave you spinning and breathless. That all the expertise in the world, any techniques you knew or had learned, went out the window when it was the right person you were kissing.
Or the wrong one.
“You shouldn’t touch me,” he said.
Her hand froze where it was, her palm against his cheek. “Why not?”
“You know why. You saw what I saw, didn’t you? The past, the angel. Our parents.”
Her eyes darkened. “I saw.”
“You know what happened.”
“A lot of things happened, Jace —”
“Not for me.” The words breathed out on an anguished whisper. “I have demon blood, Clary. Demon blood. You understood that much, didn’t you?”
She set her chin. He knew how much she disliked the suggestion that she hadn’t understood something, or didn’t know it, or didn’t need to know it. He loved that about her and it drove him out of his mind. “It doesn’t mean anything. Valentine was insane. He was just ranting —”
“And Jocelyn? Was she insane? I know what Valentine was trying to do. He was trying to create hybrids — angel/human, and demon/human. You’re the former, Clary, and I’m the latter. I’m part monster. Part everything I’ve tried so hard to burn out, to destroy.”
“It’s not true. It can’t be. It doesn’t make sense—”
“But it does.” How could she not understand? It seemed so obvious to him, so basic. “It explains everything.”
“You mean it explains why you’re such an amazing Shadowhunter? Why you’re loyal and fearless and honest and everything demons aren’t —”
“It explains,” he said, evenly, “why I feel the way I do about you.”
Breath hissed between her teeth. “W do you mean?”
“You’re my sister,” he said, “My sister, my blood, my family. I should want to protect you —” he choked on the words— “to protect you from the sort of boys who want to do to you exactly what I want to do to you.”
He heard her breath catch. She was still staring up at him, and though he had expected to see horror in her eyes, some sort of revulsion — for he didn’t think he’d ever stated so clearly or so tactlessly exactly how he felt — he saw nothing of the sort. He saw only searching curiosity, as if she were examining the map of some unknown country.
Almost absently, she let her fingers trail down his cheek to his lips, outlining the shape of his mouth with the tip of her index finger, as if she were charting a course. There was wonder in her eyes. He felt his heart turn over and his body, ever traitorous, respond to her touch.
“What is it, exactly, that you want to do to me?” she whispered.
He could not stop himself. He leaned down, his lips grazing her ear: “I could show you.”
He felt her tremble, but despite the shiver in her body, her eyes challenged him. The adrenaline in his blood, mixed with desire and the recklessness of despair, made his blood sing. I’ll show her, he thought. Half of him was convinced she would push him away. The other half was too full of Clary: her nearness, the feel of her against him — to think straight. “If you want me to stop, tell me now,” he whispered, and when she said nothing, he brushed his lips against her hollow of her temple. “Or now.” His mouth found her cheek, the line of her jaw: he tasted her skin, sweet-salty, dust and desire. “Or now.” His mouth traced the line of her jaw and she arched up into him, making his fingers dig into the ground. Her small, panting breaths were driving him crazy, and he put his mouth over hers to quiet her, whispering, telling, not asking: “Now.”
And he kissed her. Gently at first, testing, but suddenly her hands were fists in the back of his shirt, and her softness was pressed against his chest and he felt the solid earth give way under him as he fell. He was kissing her the way he’d always wanted to, with a wild and total abandon, his tongue sweeping inside her mouth to duel with hers, and she was just as bold as he was, tasting him, exploring his mouth. He reached for the buttons of her coat just as she bit lightly at his lower lip and his whole body jerked.
She put her hands over his, and for a moment he was afraid she was going to tell him to stop, that this was insane, they’d both hate themselves tomorrow. But: “Let me,” she said, and he went still as she calmly undid the buttons and the coat fell open. The shirt she was wearing underneath was nearly sheer, and he could see the shape of her body underneath: the curves of her breasts, the indentation of her waist, the flare of her hips. He felt dizzy. He’d seen this much of other girls before, of course he had, but it had never mattered.
And now nothing else mattered.
She lifted her arms up, her head thrown back, pleading in her eyes. “Come back,” she whispered. “Kiss me again.”
He made a noise he didn’t think he’d ever made before and fell back against her, into her, kissing her eyelids, lips, throat, the pulse there — his hands slid under her flimsy shirt and onto the heat of her skin. He was pretty sure all the blood had left his brain as he fumbled at the clasp of her bra — which was ridiculous, what was the point of being a Shadowhunter and expert at everything if you couldn’t figure out the clasp on a bra? — and heard his own soft exhalation as it came free and his hands were on her bare back, the fragile shape of her shoulder blades under his palms. Somehow the little noise she made was more erotic than seeing anyone else naked had ever been.
Her hands, small and determined, were at the hem of his shirt, tugging it off. He pushed hers up, around her ribs, wanting more of their skin to be touching. So this was the difference, he thought. This was what being in love meant. He’d always prided himself on his technique, on having control, on the response he could elicit. But that required evaluation, and evaluation required distance, and there was no distance now. He wanted nothing between himself and Clary.
His hands found the waistband of her jeans, the shape of her hipbones. He felt her fingers on his bare back, her the tips finding his scars and tracing them lightly. He wasn’t sure she knew she was doing it, but she was rolling her hips against his, making him shaky, making him want to go too fast. He reached down and fitted her more firmly against him, aligning her hips with his, and felt her gasp into his mouth. He thought she might pull away, but she slung her leg over his hip instead, pulling him even closer. For a second, he thought he might pass out.
“Jace,” she whispered. She kissed his neck, his collarbone. His hands were on her waist, moving up over her ribcage. Her skin was amazingly soft. She raised herself up as he slipped his hands under her bra, and kissed the star-shaped mark on his shoulder. He was about to ask her if what he was doing was all right when she drew back from him sharply, with an exclamation of surprise. . .
* * *
“What is it?” Jace froze. “Did I hurt you?”
“No. It was this.” She touched the silver chain around his neck. On its end hung a small silver circle of metal. It had bumped against her when she’d leaned forward. She stared at it now.
That ring—the weather-beaten metal with its pattern of stars—she knew that ring.
The Morgenstern ring. It was the same ring that had gleamed on Valentine’s hand in the dream the angel had showed them. It had been his, and he had given it to Jace, as it had always been passed along, father to son.
“I’m sorry,” Jace said. He traced the line of her cheek with his fingertip, a dreamlike intensity in his gaze. “I forgot I was wearing the damn thing.”
Sudden cold flooded Clary’s veins. “Jace,” she said, in a low voice. “Jace, don’t.”
“Don’t what? Don’t wear the ring?” “No, don’t—don’t touch me. Stop for a second.”
“No. It was this.” She touched the silver chain around his neck. On its end hung a small silver circle of metal. It had bumped against her when she’d leaned forward. She stared at it now.
That ring—the weather-beaten metal with its pattern of stars—she knew that ring.
The Morgenstern ring. It was the same ring that had gleamed on Valentine’s hand in the dream the angel had showed them. It had been his, and he had given it to Jace, as it had always been passed along, father to son.
“I’m sorry,” Jace said. He traced the line of her cheek with his fingertip, a dreamlike intensity in his gaze. “I forgot I was wearing the damn thing.”
Sudden cold flooded Clary’s veins. “Jace,” she said, in a low voice. “Jace, don’t.”
“Don’t what? Don’t wear the ring?” “No, don’t—don’t touch me. Stop for a second.”
Deleted scene from lost Souls
Warlock law was very clear on this point: if you loved a mortal, all well and good, but it was not your place to interfere with their mortality. It took a long time to become used to such a law . . . usually until you realized that being immortal was less a gift than a burden.
Magnus dropped the snuffbox back onto the desk and picked up the phone, hitting the speed-dial button for Alec’s number. When Alec picked up he sounded both harried and hopeful: “Magnus? Have you found anything?”
“Nothing. I’m sorry.”
“Oh.” Crushing disappointment made Alec’s voice sound small.
“But I was thinking about parabatai,” said Magnus. “When parabatai are especially close, they can sense if the other is dead, or Changed, or —”
“I know,” said Alec. “I know that. I felt it — for that moment that Jace died, back in Idris. But this isn’t like that.” Magnus could picture him, eyes blue in his pale face, tugging at a snarled lock of his hair. Alec usually looked like he’d fallen out of bed and into a random pile of clothes, rather than as if he’d actually picked out an outfit, and since Jace had gone missing, he’d started to look like he’d stopped brushing his hair, too. “I just feel nothing.”
“Like really nothing? As in . . . nothingness?”
“Right . . .?” Alec sounded confused.
“That actually does give me some ideas,” said Magnus. “I’ll do everything I can to help, you know that, right, Alexander? Not because it’s the Clave, but because it’s you.”
“I know.” Alec was silent for a moment. “It’s good to hear your voice, even if you can’t help,” Alec added, and hung up abruptly.
Magnus placed the phone next to him and sat for a moment, still enough to hear himself breathing. I’m losing him, he thought. I don’t know how or why, but I know that I am.
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