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“We can do whatever you want,” Kit said unsteadily.

“Touch me when you kiss me. I want to feel what your hands are like.”

“If it’s too much, though—”

“I’ll tell you,” Ty whispered.

Then he kissed Kit again, and Kit’s control cracked.

He reached out and pulled Ty closer, careful even as his hands shook, until Ty was half sprawled over him. Their bodies pressed together for the first time and Ty made a little helpless sound that went straight through Kit like an arrow. His own body arched, seeking more contact, more of Ty, more of everything he’d wanted for so long without knowing he wanted it.

This might never happen again. The thought drummed inside Kit’s brain, harsh and pressuring as desire itself. He told himself it didn’t matter, that having this once would be enough. It would have to be enough.

He slid one hand into Ty’s hair, fingers curling, tugging just enough to make Ty gasp. The sound was immediate, involuntary, and Kit felt it everywhere. He no longer seemed to have control of his body: His hands slid under Ty’s shirt, stroking up and down his back. The feel of Ty’s skin, the lean lines of muscle, the rise and fall of his breathing wrecked him. There were scars on Ty’s back, but all Shadowhunters had scars, and Kit was too incoherent to ask about them.

Ty arched his back into Kit’s touch, hips shifting instinctively, and Kit tried to control his reaction—he was sure Ty could tell—but Ty clearly didn’t mind; his hands were on Kit, too, trembling as if he’d also been waiting for this. His hands drifted over all of Kit that he could reach: his shoulders, his sides, even his collarbones, and the path of his fingers seemed to leave behind a seam of burning fire against Kit’s skin.

Having the mouth Kit had stared at and dreamed about and tried to forget for so long pressed against his own was making Kit’s heart feel as if it might slam its way out of his chest. The friction between their bodies was driving Kit out of his mind, and he knew he ought to pause, ought to hold himself back from moving; his sweat-damp hair hung in his eyes and his body ached but he couldn’t stop.

He whispered Ty’s name, stroked Ty’s back, kissed his throat before returning to his mouth. Kit’s lips were sore, but he didn’t care how much time had passed, and he didn’t mind the pain. Ty licked Kit’s throat, as if he were curious about the way Kit tasted, and Kit’s hands spasmed with the hot shock of it, fingers digging involuntarily into Ty’s back—and then Ty kissed him one last time, hard and fast and open-mouthed, and sat up, his hair wild. He said, “We’d better stop.”

Kit bolted up so fast he almost banged his head on the ceiling of the carriage. “Is everything all right?”

Ty smiled. “It’s fine. It’s just that we’re pulling into Munich now.” His smile widened, turning luminous, the best light in the world. “We’ve been kissing for hours.”

—

Ash wore a midnight-blue tunic, the collar and cuffs embroidered with silver thread, as if he was dressed to reflect the night sky missing from this indoor wilderness. He had his feet up on the table, so Dru was able to see the rest of his clothes: dark breeches and soft faerie boots of sueded leather. As she drew closer, she saw that the tunic was sewn with small diamonds that winked at her like the eyes of forest creatures, peering through the trees.

He should wear green, she thought, it would match his eyes. She shoved the idea down. Yes, he was beautiful to look at, and yes that beauty was dangerous. Not all demons were hideous; some were lovely, and they were often the most deadly of all.

Ash didn’t stand, didn’t move to acknowledge her arrival. He simply watched her, his eyes unwavering, his face unreadable. “Drusilla,” he said, his voice rich and slow. He was holding a crystal wineglass between his fingers. She wondered if he was drunk. It was impossible to tell. “I’m surprised to see you.”

“Surprised?” Dru crossed her arms over her chest. “You invited me to dinner. I just wasn’t sure if this was an I forgive you dinner or an I want to punish you with my terrible table manners dinner.”

“Neither. My table manners are exquisite, and I have no forgiveness to offer. Why would I forgive someone who hasn’t yet apologized?”

Ah. It’s an I want to get an apology out of you dinner. Dru wondered if it was hypocritical to be annoyed. After all, she had an agenda of her own.

She came toward him, hearing the way the dress rustled as she walked, the skirt tight around her hips and flaring out below. He watched her, eyes lidded, narrow crescents of green. She remembered what Nene had said to her: You have influence over him.

She hadn’t said it to Nene, but the words had made her think of Mason. There had been Mason in the way Ash had looked at her last night, desire overlaid with deceit. Ash might want to dismiss her, but he didn’t find her revolting after all. He wanted her, just as Mason had. She remembered Thais saying, It isn’t real, but desire was real enough. Just because it wasn’t love didn’t mean it couldn’t be manipulated. Love meant you wanted the other person to be happy; desire meant your body spoke louder than your mind. Love was willing to wait.

Desire wasn’t.

“I apologize,” she said, as she reached the table. She drew out the chair closest to him and sat down, aware of the way the bodice of her dress tightened when she breathed, making the metal laces sting against her spine. “You told me to stay at the revel, but I ran instead.”

“I have no idea where you thought you were going. It’s impossible to climb that wall.” He leaned toward her, his shoulder almost brushing her arm, and removed the silver cover from her plate, revealing a dish of cut plums drizzled in honey. “Perhaps you might care to explain why you’ve lied to me all the time you’ve been here. Lied about being affected by my…gift.”

Dru ignored the plums. “Of course I lied to you.” She watched the flicker of expressions in his eyes; annoyance, surprise, amusement. “I told you after the revel. You have all the power. I have none of it. You could have me beheaded. What was I supposed to do?”

Ash reached out and plucked a slice of plum from her plate. Dru resisted the urge to tell him to eat his own food. “It’s not for me to tell you what to do. It’s for you to tell me why I should trust you again.”

“You never trusted me. You were always suspicious. You guessed your power didn’t work on me.”

“There were times in the past when we met—for remember, we have a past, even if you do not recall it—when I wondered whether you had some resistance to it. But we had never been together inside the Court, where my power is strongest. You playacted so well, I told myself I had been wrong, before, to wonder. What can I say? You are a surprisingly good liar.”

Dru didn’t take the bait. “You were pleased,” she said. “You liked that I wasn’t affected by your magic.”