His Prisoner

A TMI Fanfic by ChronicLegChronic-Since'99

Pairing: Clary/Seb

*Disclaimer: The Mortal Instruments and all its characters belong to Cassandra Clare, respectively*

The first thing Clary registered was the sweltering heat. Wearily, she cracked her emerald eyes open, lifting her head from where it had been lulling against her chest. Light flickered from a bulb fixed to the wall on her left. She was in some kind of basement, a set of stone steps to the right leading up to a shut door. The room was more dusty than anything else, cobwebs dangling from the corners of the ceiling and it was completely empty, aside from a brass-framed double bed. It was pushed against the far wall, opposite from where she stood- for she was standing, her sock-encased feet planted firmly on the ground.

Her red curls were sticking to her temples with sweat and she reflexively moved her hands, intending to scrape her hair back from her face. But she couldn't; she looked up to find her hands suspended above her head, trapped in a thick, wrought-iron cuff that hung from a chain imbedded in the off-white ceiling.

Clary instantly started yanking at it, her wrists rubbing together and against the rim of the cuff. Her heart began racing, stuttering as she glimpsed the other metal chains nailed to the walls around her- even the posts of the bed- driving the redhead into further panic.

How did she get here? When? Why? By who...and how was she going to get out?! The last thing she remembered was heading down the road to Luke's. She'd been to the Institute to see Jace, but hadn't stayed long; things had gotten a little out of hand and he'd banished her, terrified she was going to go up in a flurry of flames, at his hands. Everything else was a blank, but she reasoned that she would remember if she had made it to Luke's or not.

Buzzing with nervous energy, she snapped out of her head and into action, taking a breath and leaping into the air to get a grip on the rusty chain, swinging her body and pulling as hard as she could, her aim to force the chain out of the ceiling. She dropped after a few seconds, the skin of her wrists raw-red and aching. Her feet stumbled as they hit the floor and the cuff sliced into her wrists as she hastily corrected herself.

Admittedly, her legs were stronger than her arms at her current point in Shadowhunter training, but if she didn't get out of here, she'd never be able to work on that anyway. She jumped again, this time doing her best to climb her way up the chain, momentarily despising her small light body. It was equally easier and harder than the rope she practised on back at the Institute; whereas the metal didn't give her palms and fingers rope-burn, she'd never thought to practise with bound hands.

She folded her legs up to put extra strain on the fixture and swung, thrusting all her weight into the motion and ignoring the increasing sting of her wrists, where the skin was now split and bleeding.

"Come on," she ground out under her breath, starting to feel dizzy with fatigue and lack of nourishment. Her body was slick with perspiration and her peach, shell-sleeved top and jeans were coarse and filthy.

"A futile effort, I'm afraid,"

Clary's fingers slipped from the chain and she fell, letting out a sharp gasp as the cuff ripped at her wounds and she almost dislocated her arms; her toes slammed into the floor painfully, but she desperately hauled herself up right, her mouth dry and her breathing thin. She looked up.

"Sebastian," the redhead swallowed harshly, anxiety tearing through her gut as she stared at the familiar outline in the doorway at the top of the stairs.

"I used demon incantations on them," he went on, his smooth, refined voice quiet as they regarded each other. "They wont come loose." he clambered down the steps after a pause, slowing to a crawl as he neared her, his black gaze bright and serious. Clary watched him minutely, breathing through her mouth and stirring a limp curl that had fallen in front of her face. Her brother was in a white shirt, sleeves pushed up to his elbows and gaping open at the neck; it was untucked over scuffed jeans that were fraying at the hems. His feet were bare she noted, surprised, considering the dirty floor.

"Sebastian-" she began, but he spoke, suddenly reaching a hand out to touch her right forearm lightly.

"Look what you've done," he tutted as he examined her bloody wrists, his fine eyebrows knitting together. The redhead recoiled as he leaned close, turning her hands this way and that, but he didn't remove the stiff iron that held them captive. His eyes flitted down to her green gems at her response to his proximity. She flinched when he raised his hand to tuck the curl hanging in front of her face behind her ear.

"What am I doing here, Se- Jonathan?" she asked, her throat tight as she searched her brothers elegant features.

"This is where you belong, Clary. With me," he murmured softly, running his knuckles over her freckled cheek and not seeming to notice how she leaned away, her eyes flashing. "You see that, don't you?"

"What are you talking about?" she breathed in exasperation. "You have me chained up in a basement!" he shook his head impatiently, his white locks falling into his eyes.

"Its just a precaution- you'd run otherwise," he explained in a soothing tone, rubbing her arms affectionately. "And you wouldn't want to anger me, would you?" the redhead cringed at his sickeningly reassuring smile but shook her head, no.

"My wrists..." she prompted carefully, trying to make herself appear as meek and harmless and obedient as she could under her brothers intense scrutiny.

"Right. I'll go get a stele to take care of those," Jonathan said, sounding reluctant to leave her as he cupped her jaw in his hands and pressed his lips to her forehead. Clary held extremely still, holding her breath and resisting the violent urge to shove him away and kick out at him. He gazed at her a moment more, sighing almost blissfully and then turned for the stone steps.

"Hurry back to me..." the redhead called faintly, attempting to act distressed at his departure; it was risky, she knew, but she was hoping he would appreciate her effort, whether it was convincing or not. She waited tensely as he stopped and slowly looked back at her, over his shoulder. If he saw through her façade, he didn't show it.

"Oh, don't worry. I will." he replied in a knowing tone, his onyx gaze smouldering as his lovely lips quirked up into a smirk.

"Good." Clary offered what she hoped was a genuine smile in return, biting the inside of her cheek. Jonathan lowered his pretty lashes over his eyes and winked at her before disappearing up into the house above.

The redhead went physically slack, the wounds on her wrists protesting mildly against the cuff. She felt tears of despair and frustration fill her eyes. She needed to get out of here. Her brother had played nicely enough so far, but that wasn't going to last long. If she could get her hands on a stele, she might have a fighting chance of escaping...

She wiped her face on her arm and took a couple deep breaths, hearing floorboards creak above her. She had to keep calm, keep a clear head. One wrong move could mean the end of everything she knew and believed in, and although her world had been turned upside down once before, this time would send her hurling to the bottom of an abyss she would never return from.

She grit her teeth and waited.