“Camille said something to me in the Sanctuary. She said that Shadowhunters didn’t care about Downworlders, just used them. She said the Nephilim would never do for me what I did for them. But you did. You came for me. You came for me.”
“Of course I did,” she said, in a muffled little voice. “When I thought something had happened to you—”
He leaned toward her. Their faces were inches from each other. He could see the reflected sparks of the chandelier in her black eyes. Her lips were parted, and Simon could feel the warmth of her breath. For the first time since he had become a vampire, he could feel heat, like an electrical charge passing between them.
“Isabelle,” he said. Not Iz, not Izzy. Isabelle.