Page 67 of Ghosts of the Dead

“Then stop hurting for me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

He gets to his feet to walk away. “That’s how it is.”

I scramble to my feet, though not as graceful as him. “It doesn’t have to be.” When he ignores me, I push more. “Did someone break your heart?”

He stops like I yanked a thread wound too tight. His body vibrates, and I’m not sure if it’s from rage or if he’s crying. Turns out it’s neither, because next thing I know he’s turning around and kissing me like he’s a drowning man desperate for air.

It’s not soft, and it’s not safe. It’s the kiss of someone trying so hard to hold on, but failing, and I’m the reason.

His hands find my face. Rough palms bracket my cheeks like he’s terrified I’ll disappear if he lets go. His grip isn’t gentle. It’s desperate, with fingers trembling against my skin. His mouth claims mine, harsh and bruising, a war between need and restraint that’s rapidly losing the fight.

His lips press into me, pinning me back. Heat shoots through me, burning hot and consuming, but it’s more than want. It’s more than lust.

It’s raw, it’s real, and it’s all for him.

This is the version of Jace no one sees. The feral edge beneath all that silence and steel. The man who loves so hard it terrifies him. The man who would burn the world to keep the ones he cares about safe.

And right now, he’s burning us both alive.

Mars’s words echo in my mind, the things he said while his fingers were inside of me. His casual acceptance that I’d kissed Caspian, and his sureness that I might kiss Jace, too.

For a moment, I wonder what’s wrong with me to make me want them all this much, that each of them fills a different space inside me. Then Jace’s tongue slides against mine, and I stop thinking altogether.

My back hits the wall behind us, and he pulls back, but only enough to growl against my lips. “There are peoplewho will hurt those I care about in order to teach me a lesson.”

“Then hurt them back. No one else should dictate who you care for.”

He blinks down at me, and something flickers in his eyes in an internal battle of trying to decide whether to say anything at all. When he speaks, each word is forced through clenched control. “It’s not that simple. This wasn’t some argument over scraps or a bruised ego. They killed someone I cared about.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw and he catches on to the understanding in my eyes.

“Not a lover, no. My foster father. Like you and Summer, he was the only family I had.” His exhale comes out sharp at the scorching memory. “He was more than some signature on paper. He was…everything. And they made me watch him burn, all to teach me what happens when I give a damn about someone.”

My heart breaks for him. Now I understand. I lift my hands to cradle his head. I lock eyes with him and speak with the purest conviction. “Tell me who did this, and I’ll be your army.”

The pain in his eyes morphs, and for a moment, he’s lighter. Until they turn molten. “Luckily for them, the ones responsible are already dead.” One corner of his mouth turns up in a cruel smile. “You’re a few weeks too late.”

“That doesn’t mean there aren’t more of them out there. Do you really think I’ll leave you to fight your battles alone, when you so insist on being on the front line of mine?”

He crushes my mouth with his, and presses his body against mine, so I’m pinned deliciously between him and the wall. His kiss is forceful, feral even, but his hand cups the side of my face like I’m made of glass. The contrast makes my knees weak, and he bands an arm around my waist to hold me up.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he breathes against my neck, his voice rough with desire and cracking control.

“Then stop if you want to,” I whisper, hating that I’m giving the option, but he doesn’t stop.

He presses his lips to the hollow beneath my ear, to the curve of my throat, to the pulse hammering beneath my skin. His tongue traces along my collarbone, and I arch into him with a gasp. My fingers find their way under his shirt, tracing the hard planes of his stomach, feeling the muscles tense and contract beneath my fingers, reacting to my touch.

His hands slide beneath my shirt, pushing it up to expose my breasts to the cool night air. Unlike Mars’s playful confidence or Caspian’s reverent wonder, Jace touches me with a desperate hunger, like he’s been starving for years.

His mouth closes over my nipple, and I cry out, threading my fingers through his hair to hold him closer.

“You taste like heaven,” he murmurs against my skin.

His teeth graze the sensitive peak before moving to the other breast. His hand slides down my stomach before dipping beneath the waistband of my shorts to stroke between my legs.

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