Chain of Iron (The Last Hours, #2)

by Cassandra Clare

A murmur ran around the room as Will smiled at Jem. It was a smile James knew well: the very specific smile Will had only for his parabatai.

you really think of me as your friend, all of you?” “Oh, darling,” said Anna affectionately. “Of course we do.” I do not think of you as a friend, James thought, but all he said was, “We will manage this together, Daisy. We will never leave you alone.”

James wanted to ask Matthew to tell him more. What mistakes have you made, Math, that you cannot forgive yourself for? What is it that you are drowning in bottles, and glasses, and silver flasks? Now that I can see you clearly, I see you are unhappy, but why, when you are more loved and loving than anyone else I know? But the house was full of people, and Cordelia needed him, and there was no time or chance just now. “I know, myself,” James said, “what it is like to live with a darkness inside you. One that you fear.” Matthew drew his hand back, knotting his scarf around his neck. His cheeks were already pink with cold. “I have never seen darkness in you.” “Nor have I known you to make such grave mistakes as you say,” said James. “But if you did, you know that I would do all I could to help you fix them.” Matthew’s smile was a flash in the dark, illuminated only by distant streetlights. “I know you would try,” he said.

She tasted like spiced honey. Sweetness and heat. He cupped the back of her head in his hand, let himself fall into the kiss. He drew her against him—she was soft, strong, curving. Perfect. He had never felt such tenderness—never even quite known what people meant when they spoke of it, for it had formed no part of his feelings for Grace. Pity and need, yes, but this—this overwhelming mix of passion, admiration, adoration, and desire—was something he had never felt before, and he realized with some wonder that it felt so new, so different, that he had not at first known to label it correctly. He had thought it was not love precisely because it was. He loved Cordelia; no, he was in love with her. He had been pushing the thought back all day, knowing he could not let himself fully realize it until the danger was over—until he was alone with Daisy, until he could tell her—

“Shut up,” James said dispassionately. “I am not an idiot, though I suppose I might as well have been, for some years now. I ought to just call for the Silent Brothers. They can determine what should be done with you. But I wanted to give you the opportunity to explain yourself.”