City of Secrets

Chapter 22: Almost Is Never Enough

Morning turned to midday, midday to afternoon, afternoon to evening, evening to night, and then night to day. Day turned to night and day again, the sun went down to make room for the moon and then came back up.

Ember was lying in bed, her hair still damp from her shower, cheeks still wet from her tears. Dark bruise-like circles covered her under-eye area. She had tossed and turned the entire night, but sleep did not come to her. She had lain awake for hours and finally gave up before the break of dawn, deciding to take advantage of her circumstances and taking a shower while Roselyn was still asleep.

Almost a whole day had passed since Jacob's disappearance, almost a day since her fight with Clary. Isabelle had tried to communicate with her several times the day before through their faerie rings, but Ember felt no desire to speak to her, or anyone for that matter, and did not reply. She had busied herself with her daughter instead. It seemed as if she was the only person who wasn't angry at her.

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of the main door shutting closed. The sound echoed and carried up the stairs to Ember's room, waking her up immediately and putting all her senses on high alert. She launched herself out of the bed, into the hallway, and down the stairs, taking even two at a time to reach the end faster. She skidded to a stop, however, when she reached the foot of the stairs, and she felt her breath catch in her throat when she saw the person in front of her.

He wore the same clothes that he had left in the day before, but they were rumpled and stained with red and blackish splotches of what seemed like blood and ichor. Faint patches of golden stubble peppered his cheeks and jaw. His hair was messy and tangled, and it fell over his eyes limply. His blue eyes were hazy and unfocused. Feverish red spots of color rose high on his cheeks, and angry red burns were on his skin where the ichor had burned through his clothes.

He blindly staggered deeper into the house, footsteps clumsy and uncoordinated, so unlike the usual grace and elegance he moved with.

"Jacob."

His head whipped around at the sound of her voice, and his lips split into a wide grin.

"Ember!" he cried gleefully, and pulled her into his waiting arms. His breath reeked of alcohol, his clothes of a mixture of wine, something metallic, and a flowery scent she didn't recognize. The smell was so strong it made bile rise to her throat, but she forced it down and pulled away from the tight embrace.

"You're drunk," she said matter-of-factly. He chuckled and nodded.

"You're so smart. Nothing gets past you." His words were slow and slurred. "That's a useful talent. I could use a bit of it. Apparently a lot of things can get past me."

"I'm glad you're okay," she said with a small smile. "But let's get you a bath, yeah? It'll make you feel better." She draped his arm around her shoulders to support his weight as they stumbled up the stairs together and into the bathroom in his room. She turned the faucet on and watched the water quietly rush into the tub for a moment before turning around and helping Jacob undress. It proved to be a difficult task, as he swayed unsteadily on his feet and squirmed every time her fingertips came into contact with his skin.

"Stop moving," she murmured gently. "You're being more difficult than Roselyn."

A smirk took hold of Jacob's lips. "If you wanted to get me out of my clothes you could have just asked." He bowed his head and pressed his lips to her neck in a soft kiss. Her eyes fluttered closed on their own accord, and her hands bunched up the fabric of his already unbuttoned shirt.

She wanted to want him, wanted to capture his lips with hers and give him what he wanted, but she knew she couldn't. Not anymore.

I am yours, Jonathan's voice echoed. And you are mine.