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“You're my sister," he said finally. "My sister, my blood, my family. I should want to protect you"—he laughed soundlessly without any humor—"to protect you from the sort of boys who want to do with you exactly what I want to do." Clary's breath caught. "You said you just wanted to be my brother from now on." "I lied," he said. "Demons lie, Clary. You know, there are some kinds of wounds you can get when you're a Shadowhunter—internal injuries from demon poison. You don't even know what's wrong with you, but you're bleeding to death slowly inside. That's what it's like, just being your brother." "But Aline—" "I had to try. And I did." His voice was lifeless. "But God knows, I don't want anyone but you. I don't even want to want anyone but you." He reached out, trailed his fingers lightly through her hair, fingertips brushing her cheek. "Now at least I know why." Clary's voice had sunk to a whisper. "I don't want anyone but you, either.”

“You’re my storm,” he had whispered once, face buried in her neck after a long night, his gentle hands tracing her scars like maps to buried treasure. And she had loved him for it, fiercely, in ways she had never allowed herself before. Very much. Enough to dream, in rare, unguarded moments, of a life beyond the Front’s grey construct, a small dacha somewhere, with proper mornings and no radios crackling orders.”

“You’re my world, Gracelyn Mae,” he told me, moving in closer. [...] Jackson took my hands into his. “You’re my faith. You’re my hope. You’re my true religion. I’m a better man because you exist. I’m me because of you. And if you’d allow it, I’d love to spend the rest of my life worshipping your heartbeats.” I held his hands in mine and moved in close. My head tilted up, and I released a small breath as my eyes locked with his. A small, tiny, breath. My mouth grazed across his, and I whisperedagainst his lips. “Worship me, and I’ll worship you.”

“You're Nash's brother. And a grim reaper?" She blinked again, and I readied myself for hysterics, or fear, or laughter. But knowing emma, I should have known better. "So you, what? Kill people? Did you kill me that day in the gym?" She clenched the headrest, her expression an odd mix of anger, awe, and confusion. But there was no disbelief. She'd seen and heard enough of the bizarre following her own temporary death that Tod's admission obviously didn't come as that much of a surprise. Or maybe Nash's Influence was still affecting her a little. "No," Tod shook his head firmly, but the corners of his mouth turned up in amusement. "I had nothing to do with that. I do kill people, then I reap their souls and take them to be recycled. But only people who are on my list." "So, you're not...dangerous?" His pouty grin deepened into something almost predatory, like the Tod I'd first met two months earlier. "Oh, I'm dangerous...." "Tod..." I warned, as Nash punched his brother in the arm, hard enough to actually hurt. "Just not to you," the reaper finished, shrugging at Emma. "I see you all the time, but you've never seen me, because Kaylee said if I got too close to you, I'd suffer eternity without my balls." "Jeez, Tod!" I shouted, my anger threatening to boil over and scald us all. The reaper leaned closer to Emma and spoke in a stage whisper. "She's not as scary as she thinks she is, but I respect her intent.”

“You're nimble on your feet.' 'I took dancing lessons as a girl.' 'Really?' 'We weren't always poor. Until I was fourteen, my father was as rich as a king. They called him the Prince of Merchants.' He gave her a tentative smile. 'And you were his princess?' Ice cracked through her. 'No, Elain was his princess. Even Feyre was more his princess than I ever was.' 'And what were you?' 'I was my mother's creature.' She said it with such cold it nearly froze her tongue. Cassian said carefully, 'What was she like?' 'A worse version of me.”

“You're no grenadier. Grenadiers are big, stalwart souls, the first into battle, or so I've been told." He raised his eyebrow at her, unsure if he was being insulted. "No," she concluded, "you must have been captain of the light infantry company. The quick-witted ones, the sharpshooters." "How ever did you guess?" "I know these things," she said with a sage look, then turned and walked on, entirely pleased with herself. Lucien gazed after her with a smile on his face. God help him, he was utterly charmed.”