Half Truths

Someday You Will

Lights swirled over the dance floor as Clary stood in the middle, swinging her hips to the thrumming beat. The rhythm pulsed and rose in tempo. Vibrations flowed through her. Bodies danced around the floor, but Clary gave them no notice. Only the movement and sensations of her own held her attention.

Something shifted in her peripheral, causing her to turn toward it. A small smile graced her lips as a dark-haired boy moved to stand in front of her. He was cute. A messy mop of hair graced his head, while piercing green eyes stared out at her. His features were sharp and fox-like. A clear distinction from the stunning looks of the one she didn't want to think about.

The boy reached for her hand and pulled her closer while still maintaining enough distance between them to not be inappropriate. Clary allowed her body to match his movements. He swayed from side to side, and she tried to inch closer, wanting some sort of contact, but he continued to hold her at arm's length. She furrowed her brows, wondering what his problem was.

The words to ask spilled into her mouth and were just about to cross her lips when she felt a shock of heat tear through her. Clary shivered against the sensation. Rough, warm hands cupped her hips and she felt her body being pulled backward against another person. For some reason, she didn't resist. It was almost as if she couldn't. The small, fine hairs on her neck stood on end and a tingling washed over her skin when a voice whispered in her ear.

"You know he's not the one you want, Spitfire."

Clary closed her eyes and leaned into the one holding her from behind. His hands gripped her hips while he moved with her, his mouth hovering so close to the skin just below her ear. Whispers she couldn't understand trailed down her neck.

The dark-haired boy was all but forgotten as Clary allowed herself to be drawn into the moment. She knew she shouldn't, knew he couldn't give her more than this, but she couldn't seem to refuse his draw. Everything about him made her absolutely desperate. The way he looked. The way he spoke. The way he made her feel. Her body begged her to give in, to allow him to touch, to allow herself to touch, to feel, to enjoy.

Twisting ever so slightly, Clary turned toward him. His eyes met hers, the brightest gold against the black of the room. The lights from above shone onto his hair, making a glowing circle appear above it like a halo. But she knew he was nowhere near an angel—possibly a fallen one, she guessed. He was bad. So, very, very bad, and the thought of this made her ache in ways she knew she shouldn't.

She wanted his hands on her, his body against hers. Reaching up, she ran her palms over his chest, feeling the definition of muscle beneath the thin fabric. When she reached the open collar, she fisted the material and pulled him into her. A sly grin tugged at one corner of his mouth and he reached around her, dragging her flush against him. Clary's breath hitched when she felt their bodies collide. Sparks of heat erupted over her like miniature volcanoes spilling boiling, hot lava onto her flesh.

Jace's fingers splayed against the bareness of her back, eliciting tiny shocks where their skin touched. His other hand ran up her spine and settled at the base of her neck. Clary felt her entire being relax into him. His arms felt so good and right, even though she knew it was so wrong. Her eyes closed involuntarily and she let him lead her. Goosebumps prickled over her flesh, not only in response to the cool temperature of the room, but also to the feel of him so close to her.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a warning nagged at her subconscious. It seemed to be telling her this wasn't a good idea. But why? Why would something that felt so incredibly good, be wrong? His body and hers fit together so flawlessly. They moved in sync like they were molded from the same clay but had finally just found each other. No matter what the voice in her head was trying to tell her, she wanted more, needed more.