CHAPTER EIGHT - VIOLENT DELIGHTS
At night, the prisoners were silent. The cries of demons could be heard from outside, as well as the terrifying screams of the unlucky ones who had been caught with nightfall. Clary had once read somewhere that fear was the only true way to attain power and keep it. Valentine was a tyrant king who used his demon pets as a warning: disobey me, and death will come. Her father was an obsessive man; his need for control and power were what made him a monster. In the dim light of the dungeon, Clary watched as Simon's chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. She had only left his side once to retrieve food for him. The maids in the kitchens were opposed to the idea at first, fearing the retribution of their master, but the look Clary gave them promised more pain than Valentine could ever deliver. Gently, she had woken Simon up, feed him a warm piece of bread and poured water down his throat. His color returned, but he instantly went to sleep once more. After the earlier incident with Jonathan, no one bothered her. She did not regret saying what she had, because it was true. She hated Jonathan, she hated Valentine, and given the chance to ram a sword through their hearts, she would. Clary had never been a violent person - stubborn and determined, but never violent. Yet she found herself wanting to hurt them as much as they had hurt her mother, Simon, these children, and herself. Jonathan had told her she was just as much of a monster as he, and he was probably right. One who had such thoughts had to be. She dozed off once or twice as she watched over Simon, protecting him. The only thing between Simon and Valentine was her. Valentine had her in the palm of his hand, and there was nothing she could do with the lives of Simon and her mother at stake. By the end of the month, she would be Jonathan's wife. She would be in his bed to do with as he pleased, and eventually give him children and when Valentine passed away, she would be his queen. A prisoner, for as long as she lived. She would never see New York again, never see her little apartment, never go to university or have a career. A slave until she died. A little over a week ago, Clary had been just a normal girl. Now she was a half angel mutant who was engaged to her own brother, a demon. There was hope that the rebels would come and kill Valentine, but they wouldn't be able to kill Jonathan, and wherever she went, he would find her. She will always be his. How foolish she had been, to think that he may have some good in him. He was all evil, all monster, just like Valentine. But then, what would you expect of one who was raised by the devil himself? A nagging feeling pulled at her gut, her conscience wanting to blame Valentine for everything. It was Jonathan's misfortune to have been raised by him, to have been made into what he is. She couldn't bring herself to forget the way he had saved her the previous night, how he had tended to her wounds so gently. Still, he had touched her while she was incapable of defending herself, and that was something she could not, and would not forgive. To hell with both of them. She couldn't care less if they both died, and would be even better if she could deliver the blow herself. Eventually, Clary fell asleep with her face pressed against the bars of Simon's cell, holding her best friend's hand tightly in her own.
The demons sung their lullaby all night.
-xxx-
Silk caressed her skin, wrapping her in softness and warmth. The wisps of her curls danced on her bare shoulders, making her shiver. She was sensitive all over, feeling even the air that surrounded her. Light clouded her vision, the blurred figures of several unidentifiable persons dancing around her. A crown settled heavily on her head, the weight of it causing her skull to ache. From across the room, she saw him, walking towards her. He was all white and gold, like an angel sent from heaven. Ironically, he was the opposite - a devil borne of an almost angel, the same who had given birth to her. He came to her, embracing her and holding her in his arms.
"Would you like to dance, sister?"
They did. He called her sister even after they were married, after she had their first child, after their father died and they assumed the throne. She never called him brother, only ever addressed him as he. Years later, she still hated him like the day she had first met him. He was not good to her - when she defied him, he would hit her and take her until she did. As the months passed, she stopped resisting. She no longer saw the point when she could do nothing to stop him. Her mother had told her that when she had held him, she felt like there was something wrong about him. It was the same way she had felt when she gave birth to their first son, whose humanity had been overridden by his angel mother and his demon father. He was a mutant collision of two things that should have never come together so sacredly and she hated him with every fiber of her being. How terrible she was to despise her own son. He had taken him away when he was a small boy, raising him in solitude just like his father before him. She tried to feel pity for the boy, her son, but she felt nothing. Over time, her heart had frozen over, the blood in her veins turning to ice. She did not feel, she did not cry. She was never happy, she was never sad.
She just was.
Clary woke suddenly, her heart thudding loudly enough to hear. She realized that nightmares like this would come often, considering it was the future that lay ahead. Through her window, she noticed it was the early hours of the morning. Overnight, she had been moved to her bed and her clothes had been taken off, leaving her only in a thin slip. Jonathan wouldn't want his bride to sleep on the stone cold floors of the dungeon. Disgusted, she tore off her sheets, making her way to the window and pulling away the curtains. Now daylight, the demons were gone, leaving the mangled corpses on their victims on the streets below. Clary would've cried if she hadn't run out of tears. She was mentally and physically exhausted from yesterday - she hadn't even eaten since breakfast, but she held no appetite and doubt she could stomach food. Clary yearned for the feel of her mother's arms around her, surrounding her with comfort and love. God only knows when she'd be able to see her again. Had Valentine already told her of her children's upcoming nuptials?
A knock sounded at her door. She already knew who it was.
"You know, it is impolite not to answer when someone calls on you." Jonathan sauntered into her room and locked the door behind him, striding towards where she stood by the window. He seemed in a better mood than when he had left her.
"We're far beyond courtesy, Jonathan." said Clary, closing the curtains and turning to look at him. He wore his standard battle gear, the black that stood out so starkly against his white hair and skin. In her dream, he had been dressed in all gold - the image of an angel, when he was actually the devil himself. His grin was wicked, picking the small bowl of fruit he held in his hand, popping a grape in his mouth with a satisfying squish.
"Of course, but that does not mean you should respect me any less. I am your future husband." He raised his hand to graze his knuckle against her angrily flushed cheek. "How is my bride this morning?"
"My morning was just fine until you came barging in here. Now please leave." Clary moved away from him, slapping away his hand from her face.
Jonathan tsked, shaking his head in disappointment. "Is that any way to treat the man who will be providing for you for the rest of your life? As the mundanes say, for better or for worse, right?"
"For worse until either of us die, I suppose."
He smiled, completely ignoring her comment. "Come now, I've brought you a snack. You must be hungry, you stayed with the mundane until the late hours of the night."
Her stomach growled at the strawberries she spied in the bowl. As she reached to take the bowl from him, he moved it away from her reach. "Give it to me-"
"Ah-ah," Jonathan shook his head, grinning so widely the Cheshire Cat would be proud. "I will be feeding you." His arms quickly swept her off her feet, one arm grasping her shoulders and the other under her knees, all while balancing the bowl of fruit.
"I am perfectly capable of feeding myself," Clary complained as he moved her to the bed, gently setting her down and settling next to her. He held a strawberry to her mouth by the stem.
"Open up."
She reluctantly opened her lips and bit into the fruit, nearly moaning as the juice rolled on to her tongue. The pleasure of eating her favorite fruit was ruined as she caught Jonathan gazing intently at her lips innocently wrapping around the berry, no doubt thinking of vulgar things. Once she was done with the first, he eagerly brought another to her mouth. The juice accidentally slipped from her lips and a drop made its way down her chin. He watched in fascination as it moved down to her neck and disappeared into the valley between her breasts. Putting down the bowl, he wrapped his arms around her to bring her closer, his lips coming down to her cleavage to wipe away the trail of Joyce with his tongue. He made a slow descent up to her neck, nibbling at her skin, until he reached her mouth, where he kissed her softly and sucked her bottom lip between his. It felt so nice that she almost momentarily forgot he was her brother. Almost.
Clary pushed him away, a thousand profanities on her tongue. "What do you think you're doing?"
Jonathan sighed contently. "Kissing my wife."
"I'm not your wife." She sneered, backing away from him until her back hit the headboard.
He smirked, crawling up towards her and encasing her with his hands on either side of her head. His intense smell hit her like a thousand bricks. He smelled like pine on a cold winter day. She found herself inhaling his scent before realizing that he was still her brother and she definitely hated him. Clary never cursed, but fuck.
"Not yet," Jonathan looked down at her, brushing away a strand of red hair that had been resting on her cheek. She was in a vulnerable position; his arms encased her and his hips rested between her thighs, trapping her under him, at his mercy. Clary should be afraid, but for once, she wasn't. She refused to cower in fear before her brother anymore. "Soon, you'll be mine and I'll have you all to myself." He said proudly, closing the space between them, pressing his groin against her center. Heat shot up her like a fever, her body betraying her as his hardness pressed against her. The only thing separating them was his jeans and her thin panties. Clary tried to push him off of her, but he relentlessly pressed harder against her, rubbing his covered rigid member on her. Jonathan let out a low growl, closing his eyes in satisfaction. "Wet for me already, sister?"
She pushed harder, using her legs for support. "Get off of me!"
He chuckled darkly, his icy breath caressing her skin, sending shivers down her spine. His eyes were deep obsidian pits, the only distinction between the iris and the pupil was the glowing silver ring between them. "Don't worry, I shall not take you today." Jonathan winked, elegantly sliding off the bed and silently landing on his feet. "Finish eating and get dressed, meet me at the training room in ten minutes. Wear something easy to move in, we're practicing your sparing skills today."
With one last glance at her over his shoulder, he left her disheveled on her bed, making her wonder whether she was out of her mind or not.
-xxx-
Ten minutes later, Clary begrudgingly dragged her feet in the direction of where she thought the training room was. Without the guidance of Isabelle, she hated to admit that she couldn't find it. She had only been there once, and hadn't really been paying attention when she had been taken there. She was late and Jonathan would be pissed - not that she particularly cared. In fact, she hoped he would get upset at her. Maybe then he'd leave her alone. To her annoyance, she couldn't find 'something easy to move in'. Something easy to move in would've been sweatpants and a t-shirt, but she found none in her expansive closet filled with dresses and skirts and blouses. Instead, Clary had to wear tight leggings and a tank top with an uncomfortable amount of cleavage showing. Though she put a large sweatshirt over it, she knew Jonathan would make her take it off once they began sparring. The sound of pounding drew her to a specific door, which she recognized as the entrance to the training room. Opening the door, she saw that across the room, Jonathan was viciously hitting at a boxing bag with his bare fits. His scarred back to her, he had taken off his shirt, leaving on his low slung pants and a pair of combat boots. He hadn't noticed her entrance, and she approached him cautiously as if he would turn and attack her instead. Though he was rigorously training, not a drop of sweat marred his skin. He moved with deadly precision, each hit landing so hard she thought the boxing bag would eventually collapse from his vigor. This is what Valentine had made him to be - a cold blooded killer, that excelled in battle and fought better than any other warrior.
"Admiring what's yours, sister?" Like in her dream, he called her sister, even though she was soon to be his wife. Jonathan turned to her with his eyebrow raised in question.
Clary felt heat stain her cheeks with red as she looked away from him. "You're not mine."
She felt her brother walks towards her, his heavy boots like thunder on the wooden floor, and she unconsciously inched away from him. Jonathan chuckled darkly, continuing his pursuit of her until she was back against a wall, trapped, like she always seemed to be around him.
"I belong to you, and you belong to me. We belong together." His voice was husky as his hand moved to her neck, his fingers sinking into her throat painfully. Suddenly, she remember how easily he had ripped out Gerard's throat. Clary struggled against the compromised position, but he held on to her tight, his hand wrapped around her neck and his hips pressed against hers. Jonathan's leg slipped between her own, his thigh grazing her center with delicious friction. The urging feeling to cry surfaced again, but she held it in. She would not let him see her weak ever again. Her breaths became short gasps as he caught off her air supply, and she dug her fingers into his hand to will him to release her. He let go before she thought she would pass out from lack of oxygen, his hand trailing down her throat to the curvature of her lower back.
"If you're going to kill me, do it now. I'd rather die than be your wife." Clary spat, her breaths heavy from the exertion of her mistreated esophagus.
Jonathan laughed, and he was so close to her she could feel the vibrations his chest made. "Kill you? I haven't even fucked you yet, dearest sister."
"And you never will!" She cried out angrily, thrashing about and managing to slip out from under him, putting distance between the two.
He grinned a smile the devil would be proud of. "We shall see."
Training went without incident. Surprisingly, Jonathan took it very seriously and didn't try to distract her with any sexual advances. Because of her small stature, he had decided it would be best for her to train with daggers first before using seraph blades. Her aim was terrible, but he did not tease her about it, only pushed her into practicing until she got it right. He let her go after an hour, complaining he had meetings to attend with father and allowed her to leave. She eagerly did as she was told, wanting to be as far from her demon brother as possible. In her bedroom, Isabelle was waiting for her, a measuring tape in her hand.
"For your wedding dress," explained Isabelle. "Valentine ordered it custom made."
Begrudgingly, Clary let her measure her bust, waist, and hips. As uncomfortable as she was with Isabelle touching her, she'd rather have her do it than Valentine. Once done, Isabelle went and came back with a few heavy looking dresses in different colors.
"What are those for?" asked Clary, glaring at the vibrant fabrics.
"There will be an engagement gala in a couple of days in honor of your wedding. Every respectable Nephilim will attend. Valentine has allowed you to choose between these dresses."
After choosing the darkest one, a maroon gown that trailed to the floor with long sleeves and an open back, Isabelle left for good to continue her chores. Once Clary changed out of her work out clothes and freshened up, she decided to visit Simon, praying Valentine hadn't locked the dungeon's door. Surprisingly, he hadn't, only stationing a guard to make sure no prisoners escaped. With some convincing, the guard let her pass through, afraid the master's daughter could punish him for defiance. Although it was awful to use her father's power against others, she desperately needed to see Simon again to make sure he was alright. He still hadn't awoken, but Clary knew it was probably from the exertion his body had gone through. She knelt besides the bars and held his hand, telling him everything about the nightmare that had become her life, from the moment she arrived at the Gard to just a few minutes ago. She told him how much she missed him and loved him and how someday she'd get them out of this hell. He continued to sleep all the way through, and she left once the sun set on the horizon.
A/N: Sorry this kinda sucks. I've been having the worst case of writer's block lately, and this is mostly a filler chapter. Next chapter will definitely be better, I promise. Special thanks to my beta, Cat. Don't forget to review! Until next time.
