she liked it. Head spinning, she leaned back against the wall, trapped between the plaster and the hard muscle of his chest. Now that the first shock was past, she moved her mouth under his, returning the kiss. Hot breath fanned against her cheek, sending tingles down her spine. She’d never understood the stories about danger sparking desire until this moment, but now she was soaring, lust a hot wire lighting up her whole frame. Being alive was very, very good.
Merlin had braced his hands on either side of her head, but now he stroked them down her body in a long, slow caress. It was a languid movement as if he was measuring and memorizing her every curve. Clary let her arms drift up to link behind his neck.
“I think I’ll skip the fuzzy bunny and keep you instead,” she murmured.
The effect of her words was electric. He stepped out of her embrace as unexpectedly as he’d entered it, pushing a hand through his hair. “We can’t do this.” He turned away as if he needed to regain control.
After being killed, revived, scolded and ravished, Clary was getting whiplash. “Why not?” she asked through clenched teeth.
“Vivian.”
“She was angry,” Clary conceded. “Did you and she have a, um, thing?”
He made a noise like a strangling bear. “She is everything unholy.”
Yup, Viv was an ex. For some reason, that sparked her temper in a way nothing else had. Clary wiped her mouth on her sleeve.
“I said you were incidental to her.” His voice had gone cold again. “Let’s keep it that way. Touching you was a mistake.”
“A mistake?”
Merlin faced her, frowning at her sarcastic tone. “Yes.”
“So Vivian is a jealous mean girl,” Clary snapped. “That’s not my problem, and I’m not a mistake. I don’t deserve that kind of disrespect.”
And yet she did. She was a screwup, a talentless hack of a witch and not much better with her personal life. She’d just proven it all over again by bursting in where she wasn’t wanted. The knowledge scalded her, but it also raised her defenses. It was one thing to reject her as a magician, but he’d just rejected her as a woman.
“Don’t be difficult,” he replied.
“Don’t be an idiot. I’m a person, not an error.” She’d never spoken to Merlin like this, but she’d never been this upset. She didn’t care if he had a point.
Clary pushed away from the wall. Merlin took a step forward as if to support her, but she wasn’t dizzy now. Anger had cleared her head and set her pulse speeding at a quick march. Her whole body sang with pain, but she stalked toward the door on perfectly steady feet.
“Clary!” Merlin said, his tone thick with irritation. “Come back here.”
“Don’t talk to me right now. And don’t come after me.” Clary slammed the workshop door behind her, taking the steps down to the main level of the warehouse at a run. She didn’t look back.
When she reached the street a minute later, the late May sunshine seemed strange. There was no darkness, no storms and certainly no demons. Sparrows flitted through the last blossoms of the cherry trees lining the streets, and a senior couple walked matching Scottie dogs in the leaf-dappled shade. It was the perfect day for a cross-country bike ride, the kind that might take her fifty or sixty miles. Clary shook her head, feeling as if she was suddenly in the wrong movie.
She started walking, the residue of her anger still hot in her veins. Merlin’s workshop was at the edge of Carlyle’s bustling downtown and a twenty-minute walk from her sister’s apartment. If Clary went for a visit, she could get her throbbing arm checked and complain to Tamsin about men at the same time.
Tamsin would be sympathetic for sure. Clary was the baby of the family and her uncertain talent upset a cartload of familial expectations, but she was an accomplished computer programmer and was making a new career as a social media consultant for Medievaland. Tamsin would tell her she was doing fine, which was exactly what she needed right now.
The social media job had been a stroke of luck, something she’d pitched to Camelot when she’d moved across the country to study with Merlin. In fact, she was his first student in a hundred years because she’d refused to take no for an answer the moment she’d found out her big sister had met the man. In her imagination he’d been the ultimate enchanter, a rebel prince of the magical world. He’d turned out to be short-tempered and demanding, arrogant and aloof. She’d been crushed.
It wasn’t that Merlin was a bad teacher—he was fabulous. He drilled her remorselessly, showing her three or four ways to launch a spell until they found one that worked for her. Fighting spells, spying spells, portals, wards—he taught far more practical application than theory and approached every lesson with resolute patience. Her skills had leaped forward. It was just that he was so very Merlin.
Clary swore under her breath. You’d think he could have put a sign on the door to keep visitors out. Sure, she’d dropped by unexpectedly with a question about the homework he’d given her and, yes, there had been a ward she disarmed to walk in, but he always had a ward on the door. Sometimes he put them there just to test her. How was she to know he’d be chatting with hellspawn?
And as for the rest, why was she surprised? It had been a kiss in the moment, a rare moment of compassion from a very dark horse. Merlin was the greatest enchanter in written history. She was so far down the food chain she wasn’t even on the menu. There would never be anything more between them, however much that one embrace made her imagination explode.
She ground her teeth. Maybe she should have stuck with computers. At least software didn’t have claws. At least it didn’t kiss her and then shut down the moment with a wall of ice.
Clary’s thoughts scattered as she neared Tamsin’s street. This block was lined with low-rise storefronts featuring a drugstore, a used-clothing exchange and a place that still sold vinyl records. The neighborhood was like a small town where shopkeepers greeted their customers by name and residents knew which child belonged to which mother. Normally, she enjoyed the relaxed atmosphere, but she was starting to feel sick again. Whatever fury she’d been running on was draining fast. There was a café with a few outdoor tables, and she sat down on one of the ornate metal chairs. She rested her head on her good hand and cradled her injured arm in her lap. I should call Tamsin, she thought, but the pocket with her phone seemed miles away.
Her heart was hammering, perspiration clammy on her skin. It took her a moment to recognize the sensation as raw, primal fear. But why? She was out of danger now, wasn’t she? Hadn’t Merlin said Clary herself was of no interest to the demons? And yet, it felt as if something was looking over her shoulder. She jerked around, but saw nothing except a passerby startled by Clary’s frown.
The sudden motion sent spikes of pain up her arm. She pushed up the torn sleeve of her jacket to see the scratches were swelling now. She touched the pink skin and discovered it was hot. Infection. Wonderful. No wonder she felt queasy. She slumped in the chair, aware of the clatter and bustle of the coffee shop though it seemed far, far in the distance.
She fished her phone out and set it on the table, realizing she’d have to dial it left-handed because the fingers of her injured hand had gone numb. Clary had managed to punch the code that unlocked it when a wave of pain struck her. It was like the shock of power Merlin had administered, but on
