Clary From City Of Bones Novels & Stories

I look up in shock, heart racing as Rachel and James barge in and yank Clara away. “You shouldn’t be tangled up with the dead, Damien,” Rachel says with a cold expression as James pins Clara’s wrists together and holds her down. “I’m sure there’s a better match for you out there somewhere,” James adds. “No,” I cry out. “No, please–” But all three of them are gone in the blink of an eye, replaced by Elder Claude’s wolfsbane-webbed form. I blink in confusion. What is this? What’s going on? Before I can ask anything, Elder Claude narrows his eyes at me, shaking his head in disappointment.

Noah stammered, his scent souring with fear. “I invited her,” Chloe interrupted. Her crimson lipstick looked like fresh blood, and she had wrapped a matching silk ribbon into a perfect bow over the silver-blade scar on her wrist. At nearly six feet tall, she looked every bit the high-born Kinton heir. “Chloe, leave her out of our pack politics,” Noah hissed, trying to grab my hand. “Is this the Ryder Global mess hall, Noah? The meat looks exquisite,” I said, stepping back so his fingers missed my skin.

His magnificent gray eyes, usually burning with an invincible golden tyranny, were flickering. The ancient Lycan venom was calcifying his muscles, turning his royal blood into lead. Clara... run... his voice fractured into her mind, a desperate, bleeding thread of thought through the fated bond. Take the transport... get off the island... Clara didn't run. She took a step closer to the edge of the abyss.

Chapter 5 CLARA The Moonlight Pack gates stood before me, exactly as I remembered them. My heart hammered with anticipation as I smoothed down my dress—emerald green to match my eyes, cut to perfection to showcase the body that had cost me everything. ‘They won’t even recognize me,’ I thought, a smile playing at my lips. Clara Wren was dead and buried. In her place stood Liora Rivers, beautiful beyond measure, powerful beyond their comprehension. I could already picture their faces when they realized who I was. Damien’s shock. Sage’s jealousy. The pack’s guilt and terror as they understood what they’d unleashed.

One of Lucien’s late mother’s properties, untouched for years. Clara stared out at the mist-covered lochs like she could hear voices from them. “Do you feel it?” she asked. “What?” “The ghosts. They live in our blood.” Three days in, Mira pulled me aside. “We found something.” She handed me a photograph, worn at the edges. It showed a group of children in white uniforms. All of them pale. All with the same mark on their wrist. A crown of thorns. Clara was in the photo.

Through the glass, the garden appeared ghostly in the fog—bare trees, marble statues slick with dew. At the end of the corridor, Falvio paused by a door. A faint scent of lavender drifted through the cracks—Analees’s scent. Raphael’s heart thundered in his chest. Falvio turned the handle. Locked. “Strange,” he said. “You lock storage rooms?” Raphael managed a dry laugh. “Old habit. The maid keeps cleaning supplies there. Last time my niece wandered in, she spilled half a bottle of bleach.” Falvio regarded him quietly for a moment, then released the handle. “Children can be such trouble.”

She sent her awareness out, searching out the perimeter of the wards around Mainland, they were strong! "I need a little more from each of you" Clary gasped out, almost falling to her knees with the amount of power that surged down the line. She pushed it out, wrapping it around the entire city as they continued to feed her their power, completely obliterating the protections that surrounded the city, the effect was instantaneous as every demon tower lit up, the previous soft white glow turning a deep red.

"Not speaking—not the way it spoke through the cutting. Showing. The way you show someone a memory." Clara looked at the flowers. The light around them was not random. It was forming patterns—images, fragments, scenes from iterations she had never lived. She saw a girl in a corridor, helping a stranger to her feet. She saw a woman with crimson eyes standing at the edge of a burning city. She saw a garden full of grey-green plants, and a figure kneeling beside them, planting something small and dark. "The forty-third iteration," Clara said. "The one where I stopped for the stranger. The one where you first noticed me."

They were noting down something and then they moved backwards into the decontamination zone. I walked down the stairs slowly with my mentor and I held in a breath as through the glass and staff taking off their hazmat suits, I could see the contamination zone. I could see that there was row after row of cages of roaring alphas chained. I flinched with the betas with the sound increasing while Dr. Dawson stood his ground and smirked. "Those are people in cages?" I stuttered out my sentence wiping my eyes as I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

Clara’s POV The gates of Blackmoor Castle loomed ahead—tall, cold, and iron-forged. Just like the man who ruled behind them.Lucas.Even the name tasted bitter on my tongue.The carriage slowed, wheels crunching against the gravel as my fingers tightened on the folds of my gown. I wore black—not for mourning, but for war. Silk draped over my frame like armor, the neckline sharp, the sleeves clawed. The sapphire pendant nestled above my chest, a gift from Ryker, glinted in the sunlight like a warning.Sora leaned in from across the cabin. “You’re trembling.”“No,” I said flatly, staring ahead. “I’m alive.”She didn’t argue. She knew better. I had been many things in my past—omega, mate, prisoner. B