This one is more of a filler chapter but I still think it contains vital character development to this story line. Anyway, I didn't get to update in the computer lab today because it is down pouring where I am and the computer lab got flooded. I was so mad because I had this chapter done but I couldn't get it posted. Anyway , OH MY GOD LESS THAN A MONTH TILL COHF! Who's excited!? I have to get one thing straight, I don't condone the Clonathan ship in the books, I'm a Clace shipper but this is my dirty addiction, writing Clonathan smut. Plus I like the reviews you guys give me, they're very positive and it helps me enjoy writing this sooo much. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter becasue the next ones are going to be super intense and action packed. *Big devious smile* Enjoy!
Clary wakes up tangled in the bed sheets, the fabric twisted around her legs and the pillows thrown about her. She groans and rolls over, her eyes flicking around the room, Jonathan nowhere in sight. She rubs at her eyes, stretching on the bed and crossing her legs under the sheets as she sits up. What had he said? Why did he put the sedative rune on her? Scraping her hair from her face and tying it at the nape of her neck, she swings her legs out of bed and stands on the carpet. She looks down at herself, her skinny frame just visible beneath Jonathan's baggy black t-shirt.
She shuffles over to the door and yanks it open, rubbing her eyes with her hand. Jonathan told her something before she passed out. What was it? As she struggles to remember she looks around the living room, vacant and dark, the sun just starting to lighten the sky with grey color, the doors to the patio stand closed. She walks over to the couch and lays down, her head starting to hurt, her chest strangely empty. She knows she should remember what her brother said, her subconscious knows what he said.
With a gasp she sits up. He wanted her to go to war, with him. Go to war against whom? The Lightwoods? Is that why he asked her if she wanted to see them again? Is that why he tried to see if she still hated them? Anger flares up in her stomach. Is he only using her for her abilities? It surely isn't for her experience or training. Yes, she's one of the best Shadowhunters of this age but training against Jonathan and fighting in a war are two different things, very different.
Is that why he grilled her with all those training sessions this month? Only to make her better and prepare her for what he's going to throw her into. He's using her just like she knew he would! But is this really anything new to her? He's been using her since she got here and despite all her complaining and fighting with him, she does love Jonathan, albeit somewhere deep, deep down in her heart.
He asked if she'll go to war, to war against the world that betrayed her and if Jonathan took over at least she wouldn't be cast out like dirt. At least she would have a place for herself, without the bloody reminder of all the grief she's had to go through. If she does get involved in this war she can't let Jonathan manipulate her, she'll use her abilities the way she sees fit and if she sees the Lightwoods again, she'll have to talk to them. Find out what they really think.
She scrubs her eyes with the heels of her hands. Why does her life have to be so complicated? Where's Jonathan anyway? He's usually around to gloat after these kinds of things happen. Does she want to go to war? Does she want to experience even more bloodshed and death? Can she handle anymore?
Heat touches her back as legs brush hers and arms slip around her waist. She doesn't raise her head out of her hands as she feels her brother's chin rest upon her shoulder. She only lets out an exasperated sigh and nestles back into his chest, seeking comfort from the torment of her mind. Can she fight on the battlefield? She knows she's capable but again training is different from the real thing. Can she take someone's life, someone she knew? Used to be friends with?
"Have you made your decision?" Jonathan whispers from behind her.
"Shut up," she mumbles, trying to figure out whether she can give herself over to the war hungry demon side of her brother. Does she want him to bring that out in her? She doesn't know if she has a dark side but Jonathan's done a good job of creating one. Does she want him to draw that out of her?
"Why should I?" She asks, keeping her back to him. "Give me a good reason to use my ability, the angel's ability, to create more bloodshed just so you, of all people, can get what you want." She turns her face to Jonathan's on her shoulder. "Why would I help you kill people?"
He pulls her flush against his back, kissing her neck. "I don't want to kill people little sister," he murmurs against her. "It is only necessary to get the thick headed leaders of the Clave to realize that they're driving the Shadowhunters into nonexistence. They don't realize that they're letting the customs fade and our bloodlines weaken. They're so wrapped up in enforcing Laws that are too harsh they can't see their driving their own people to extinction." His fingers pick at the fabric of her shirt.
"Sed Lex dura Lex? It is too harsh; the Clave punishes for corruptly. Every Inquisitor we've had in the past two centuries has been unethical and under some sort of separate jurisdiction. Do you remember Malachi? He was a Clave leader and he was working for our father, for the Circle. The Laws handed down from the Angel are arbitrary and nonsensical; they're punishments even worse. You've had to avoid the Law and duck around it even when you and Jace were trying to save the Clave or trying to do what was right. The Clave held you back and tried to restrict you. I counted and do you know how many Laws you and angel boy broke?"
He pauses for a moment, his voice still calm and soothing, as though speaking to a five year old. She assumes the question is rhetorical and she is correct as Jonathan continues onto a different subject.
"There are demons are spilling in to this planet more heavily than there's ever been before and the Clave is woefully unprepared, they refuse to look upon the growing population of demons and the shrinking ranks of Shadowhunters," his voice has grown harsh and bitter. "Demons are flooding this world and killing off the Shadowhunters. I only want to wrest control from the ignorant and unprepared, so I can protect those we were originally charged with protecting. The mundanes, they do not even realize they are being invaded and by ossified Laws, we are forbidden from revealing ourselves. We should not have to hide from those we are charged with to protect. They should not be the ones who think themselves superior; I only want for Shadowhunters to obtain the respect, we deserve to be known as the saviors by those who think they are God's gift to the world, when we, Clarissa, are the Angel's chosen warriors."
His voice is deep and soothing and doing all too well at convincing her to join him, just like Valentine taught him to do. Just like Jace when he wanted something, Jonathan's tone is smooth and calm, almost taunting.
"Though the angels have offered no recourse, nor enough strength in fighting the demons. This is why I had to create the dark army. There is war coming, little sister, a war that will burn down the world. I intend to pull you through the flames and above the ashes, with me, to rule as our blood cries out to do so. Only those who deserve are going to have a place in our new world. Right now the most deserving person, most important to me is you, little sister. Like I said before, I will bring you through the hell fires that are to descend upon this world whether you like it or not." He finishes harshly, giving her no option to argue.
"But for what reason? Because you need me or my abilities Jonathan? I remember what you said in the apartment all too well and it isn't a pleasant memory. You pointed a crossbow between my shoulder blades. You threatened to kill me," she says calmly, burying her face back in her hands, elbows resting on her knees.
Jonathan turns his mouth so it presses against her ear. "How else was I to get you out of the apartment without attacking me again?"
She notices he doesn't respond to her claim of trying to kill her but she lets it go. "You didn't answer my question," she replies tiredly.
"Both, darling. I need both, I want both and I'll get both. As to the people you would be killing, you're saving us by putting down their ignorance and only killing those who would be a danger to this new world. Those who are willing to join our cause and open their eyes are welcome to drink from the Infernal Cup."
"Like you were going to make me that night? You were going to force me to become a slave to you. Is that what you wanted the whole time? To turn me into a slave so you wouldn't have to go through all the trouble of my defiance. You could have put Lilith's rune on me like you did Jace," she says bitterly, her voice catching on her golden boy's name. "That would have made the past few months so much easier for you."
Jonathan doesn't answer, only pulls her closer and presses his face into her neck with a long sigh. "I tire of this chatter. I only want your answer," Jonathan says dryly.
"And if I say no?" Clary asks, trying to control her breathing.
"What is it you were saying about the Infernal Cup?" Is Jonathan's only answer.
Clary suppresses sobs or maybe screams or tears, rubbing furiously at her face with her hands. "Fine, fine. Whatever you want Jonathan, okay?" Her voice is clipped and annoyed, weighed down with stress. "Just know I will draw the line somewhere and believe me when I say there is nothing holding me back from ending my suffering so as to keep myself from your wrath," Clary says darkly.
"I believe I'll have to keep a close eye on you now," he says, tightening his arms around her waist and pulling her impossibly closer.
Wonderful, now Jonathan's going to be watching me like a hawk. They sit in silence, silence that threatens to choke her, for the next few minutes, each processing the other's threats and how to deal with them. Jonathan does not loosen his grip on her nor does she try to move against him. He breathes through his nose, which is pressed against the crook of her neck, his breath fanning her skin, and his mouth grazes her pulse.
Stress coils her muscles but Jonathan's slow, hot hands running over her thighs and sliding underneath her legs, the feel of him, his breathing, his warmth, his muscles, his mouth all inject relaxation into her tendons; against her will. She leans her head back on his shoulder, closing her eyes and lets his nose meander up the column of her neck. A sigh escapes her lips and his hands slide from her waist up into her shirt, only as the fabric slides up and the cool air hits her skin does she notice the absence of her underwear. Her hands push his down, making the shirt fall back but his persistence stays strong as his hands retract behind her and slides up her back; his long, dexterous fingers–their mother's fingers–press along the muscles of her back, the tightly coiled, hard muscle, and he moves up her back until his fingers press into her shoulders.
It feels so good she has to repress a moan. Why does he make her melt? The addictive quality of how he loves, how he seduces her into what he wants, makes her drunk. Her fingers curl against his thighs, pressed around her. Her breath comes in short pants the more Jonathan rubs and uncoils her muscles. The more intoxicating chemicals that get released from her tight muscles the more she falls back against her brother.
She reaches up and tries to stop his hands, his powerful hands, but they don't stop, even when she rests hers on top of the fingers moving fluidly against her skin. She hasn't noticed that his mouth is up by her ear, working relentlessly at her skin, soft and pleasurable. One hand slips back into his white-blond locks and the other slips under the hem of his boxers.
"St… stop… Jon… I'm… still mad at you. You can't just pleasure me into… forgiving you," Clary gasps.
"No? I can try little sister," he whispers against her skin.
"No, Jon…" he kisses the side of her jaw and the corner of her mouth. "Forgiveness is… earned." She struggles to push anymore words out as his thumbs work out an especially hard knot in her shoulder.
"I am earning it," he mutters before reaching his right hand up to her chin and placing two fingers on the side of her jaw, he tilts her mouth towards his, which he takes with eager lips. He runs his thumb down her back, pressing harshly against helical muscle, forcing it to unwind and relax. Her hand in his hair holds his mouth to hers for some reason, lost to her. She turns her body, his hands falling away from her back, and pushes him down on the couch. His hands push up her shirt, his fingers skimming back to her shoulder blades, pressing meticulously with his fingers and forcing her body to arch down into his.
She needs to stop him, give herself two moments to think of what she just threw herself into, what she just agreed to do and all the consequences that come with it. Clary pulls back with a gasp, trying to hold her brother down on the couch. His hands continuously work on her shoulder blades, driving her body down to his but she rests her forehead on his chest so her lips are inaccessible to him.
She fists her hands in his shirt, clenching and unclenching her fingers, trying to reign in her bouncing hormones that scream at her to let him take her here on this couch, she is essentially naked, her center bared to him while he sits in nothing but boxers and a flimsy shirt and why shouldn't she let him ravish her, banish the worry from her mind. They rage and scream and torment her mind but she manages to stand from her brother who looks rather miffed about her control over herself; he was expecting her to melt and crack under his will. He rolls on his side, reaching for her and she can feel his hot breath ghosting against the back of her bared thighs, tickling much too close to her middle; he wraps his arm around the front of her legs and pulls her back to his waiting lips that trail up her thigh and rear, pushing up the loose shirt as he goes.
"Let me finish earning my forgiveness," he complains. She hums her dissent and pushes his arms off her legs. Walking back to the bedroom, she quickly shuts the door before Jonathan can follow her and sheds the shirt, knowing the dangerous situation she puts herself in by not locking the door but she heads straight for the bathroom and turns the shower on, blazingly hot. Stepping under the stream she soaks her hair with coconut shampoos and conditioners before running body wash over her skin. She rests her head against the cool tile lining the stall and crosses her wrists above her head, the water washing the last of the soap away.
What was it Jonathan said? There is war coming, little sister, a war that will burn down the world. War. God, not another one. Shouldn't one war be more than enough in one life time? She stopped the last one, does Jonathan expect her, fighting for his side, to win for him?
Like I said before, I will bring you through the hell fires that are to descend upon this world whether you like it or not. So she has no choice in the matter, now Jace is gone, she has no one to be a shield for her against her brother. He will have her no matter what.
What is it you were saying about the Infernal Cup? If she does not cooperate he will make her become a slave, force her to comply without her free will. But what would happen to her abilities? Would they die out if her blood is consumed by demons'? Would Jonathan risk something like that if he claimed he needed both her and her runes? She doesn't think he would. He is a gambler but not with such a big player in his war, the chip that could either win or lose him the seat of the Clave. He's bluffing about the Infernal Cup, he has to be. But his actions at the Burren that night, he forced the cup to her lips and almost succeeded in making her drink. Now she can't be sure if his intentions are changed or not, if he'll make her drink or not if she puts up resistance.
It is too harsh the Clave punishes for corruptly. Every Inquisitor we've had in the past two centuries has been unethical and under some sort of separate jurisdiction. Do you remember Malachi? He was a Clave leader and he was working for our father, for the Circle. The Laws handed down from the Angel are arbitrary and nonsensical; they're punishments even worse. You've had to avoid the Law and duck around it even when you and Jace were trying to save the Clave or trying to do what was right. The Clave held you back and tried to restrict you. I counted and do you know how many Laws you and angel boy broke?
Clary has to admit that he is right, every time she and Jace were trying to do something for the benefit of the Clave they only tried to stop them. When she had to save her mother and in turn the Clave, she had to make her own Portal and illegally come to Alicante. The Clave also imprisoned Simon because they thought he could tell Aldertree that they were all in cahoots with Valentine. The leader, Malachi, was corrupt by working for Valentine. Inquisitor Herondale was driven too harshly by Stephen Herondale's death, she went to extremes in her jobs, extremes that the Clave allowed. They threw Jace in jail just for the fact he was Valentine's son. They gave up on Jace when Jonathan took him; she had to risk her life and get herself into the apartment, taking matters into her own hands because the Clave wouldn't help at all; they would have just killed Jace to kill Jonathan. They've caused nothing but grief and trouble, maybe Jonathan is right in taking them over; Jace believed the Clave was corrupt.
She'll just have to risk it for Jonathan; her life, her sanity, her freedom, all for her brother; Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern. She can almost feel the black ink burning the small of her back with those three names as she thinks of him. The tile pressing against her forehead and forearms is still cool to the touch; the polar opposite of the scalding water running down her back. A grip like pleasantly cool iron slithers around her waist from behind and the body to go with it, naked as a baby, presses against her back. The rock hard muscles of his abdomen hug the curve of her back and she can feel his lust held between the apex of her legs. She gasps as he pushes closer, flattening her body against the tile wall. Her hands begin to slide down the wall, wanting and not wanting to push him off, but Jonathan's unearthly speed beats her to the mark as one hand grips her crossed wrists, holding them above her.
Her body hums with want and along her back, her skin prickles everywhere Jonathan touches. He's not going to desist until he gets what he wants and right now what he wants, he has pinned to the shower wall, hot, dripping wet and already panting; she knows he isn't going to let that go. Especially with how easily she can provoke him. His mouth works at the corner of hers and the hand not immobilizing her wrists, slides around the front of her torso and travels down to her core. She jerks as his fingers touch her sweet spot and he starts to methodically massage her, but his body holds her to the wall.
"Jonathan," she moans lustfully.
"Clarissa," he whispers back, his voice full of longing and a deep animalistic need, before sheathing himself inside her. She presses flat against the tile, her face turned to the side so Jonathan can work on her lips. His hips move back and forth against her, causing delicious friction to lick up her body and pool in her pelvis. Jonathan breathes heavily against her mouth and cheek as he moves his hips up into hers and down again. The scalding water sliding down both their bodies is nothing compared to the heat her brother radiates into her skin. His hand continues to rub against her sweet spot while he moves inside her and with one more stroke of his hips she has to scream the euphoria, battling to burst.
Jonathan pulls out and spins her around, pushing her up the wall. He releases her wrists so he can hold her hip as his other hand runs up her thigh, wrapping it around his waist. He slams back into her, practically pinning her to the wall. Her hands come down to tangle in his soaking silver hair and his mouth moves from hers to her shoulder, softly nipping her skin as he continues thrusting up into her. She doesn't know how long the shower's been running nor how long Jonathan keeps her pinned to the wall nor how many climaxes he's forced on her, but soon the water runs cold and Jonathan lets her down. He turns off the water and flattens his hands on the wall just outside of her head. Looking down at her he smiles devilishly and plants a deep, long kiss on her lips.
"Have I earned my forgiveness yet?" he whispers against her lips.
"It's going to take a lot more than shower sex to earn it, brother," she murmurs breathlessly against his swollen lips. She slips out from the arms caging her in and grabs a towel, sliding it down her body and over her hair. Wrapping the towel around her chest, she takes a brush and untangles her mussed hair then grabs a clip and pins it behind her head so her hair is held upward and the rest of her curls cascade down her back in a controlled wild fluff.
She feels exhausted despite the morning sun still sitting on the horizon, waiting to burn away the morning fog. An ache settles between her legs, reminding her of who's been down there. She goes to the closet on the far side of the bedroom and throws open the doors. Jonathan, once they had arrived, had hung up all their clothes in the wardrobe. His clothes all on the left side of the cabinet, hers on the right. Their battle gear, which Jonathan had packed, sits lain out in the drawers of the wardrobe. She had no idea why he brought gear when this was a vacation but now he's revealed his intentions she wonders if he plans to go straight to a war field from here.
She pulls on a loose white cotton shirt over her blue camisole and black bra, pulling on black shorts coming to her mid-thigh, hugging her rear. She gasps as Jonathan presses against her back, still completely naked, and reaches around her to pull a shirt and a pair of cargo shorts from the wardrobe. He kisses her neck before slipping on the shirt, boxers and shorts.
Turning from the wardrobe she finds Jonathan gazing at her quizzically. "What?" She asks, crossing her arms in front of her chest, feeling suddenly self-conscious under her brother's hot gaze. A lazy grin crosses his face and she's reminded of Valentine's apartment, when she betrayed Jace and called out her brother's name. You called for me.
She never understood why he said that, still doesn't. "I'm deciding what to do with you," Jonathan purrs distractedly. She frowns.
"What do you mean?" He hasn't changed his mind about the Infernal Cup has he? She won't let him poison her easily. She will fight him until her last breath, until he has to tie her down and choke her with that damned blood.
He takes the one step separating them, his looming presence suddenly very menacing, Clary takes a step back only to hit the wardrobe. Jonathan smiles crookedly, his expression telling her he isn't completely here, but somewhere, probably in the demon part, in his mind, plotting and planning. His eyes sharpen as he focuses on her once more. "Why do you fear me?" His tone is nothing but curious.
Clary is stunned; so many words and reasons and actions and memories flash through her mind and sit on the end of her tongue that she cannot speak. She has to think a moment, carefully picking through everything he's done and said. Jonathan watches her patiently. Finally, she has words to speak with. "Because of Valentine," she says. Their father is the cause of all their trouble. He gave Jonathan the demon blood, her the angel blood. He was cruel and ruthless with Jonathan, hardening him. He trained him in all the arts of killing people, trained him to exceed in every area possible. If it was not for Valentine, his two children would not be in this mess.
Jonathan looks over her face, seemingly satisfied with her answer, understanding why she said what she did, before reaching out for her. She lets him take her hand, despite the fear shooting down her spine. He's brushed off her question. What he means to do with her. He draws her close, pressing their bodies together as he leans down, his still damp silvery hair brushing her cheek. "I fear you too you know. You're more like me than you care to admit, sweet sister," he whispers in her ear and she wants to protest but knows Jonathan will only out word her, twisting the words around her until she believes up is sideways; that is how he works.
"Where do you plan to go now?" Clary whispers. He brought her only on vacation to get what he wants and nothing more. Now he has it she doubts he'll stay any longer. He hugs her tightly, as though she might slip away.
"We have to go back to the house, for a day's rest before I take you where you are needed, where I am needed. Then from there we will have to see how things unravel," Jonathan says plainly and Clary shivers with the prospect of condemning people to death with an angel given gift. Despite her rune induced sleep, fatigue now drags at her muscles and body, causing her to sag against her brother, who holds her tighter. She slips her hands up his chest and loosely loops her arms around his neck. Can she even go to war? That question, she knows is going to haunt her until this war is over.
She closes her eyes and lets her brother hold her. Why her? Why give her the rune ability? Why bore her into the Morgenstern family? Why make her brother an immoral, war hungry, power lusting demon? Her knees have decided they no longer want to support her weight and she drops only to have Jonathan sweep her up like she weighs nothing. Her head is foggy and god does her core ache! Jonathan's relentlessness has led to the physically painful and pleasurable reminder that she essentially belongs to him. Her head falls against his chest and her eyelids droop closed, the only thing keeping her from nodding off completely, the ache between her legs.
"Take me back then," she mumbles against his shirt. "I want to go to sleep without you sedating me." Her voice is muffled through the fabric of his shirt and he carries her over to the bed, setting her down on the light blanket. Her head falls to the side and she wraps an arm around her stomach, trying to quiet the ache.
"I'll be back in a few, little sister," Jonathan says and with that she hears him walk across the room. Not bothering to fight the ache anymore she finds she can slip off to unconsciousness for who knows how long.
She floats in a blissful sleep of Jonathan, holding her in bed and just talking, his body curled around hers as he speaks of his childhood. Though now the real Jonathan pulls her slightly to the edge of wakefulness and she groans, earning a kiss on her lips from her brother. He picks her up and slips a stele in her hand, guiding it to the empty wall.
"Do you think you could make a Portal for me?" he asks quietly in her ear. She cracks open her eyes and turns her head to the wall, sloppily sketching the Portal rune. She presses the stele back against her brother's chest who takes it and slips it into his pocket. He steps through and they're in his room at the manor once again. He tucks her into bed and she immediately falls back to sleep, the ache still pulsing persistently between her legs.
Jonathan carefully unpacks his sister's things as she sleeps in his bed. He wasn't surprised that she fell asleep, sedative runes can have long term affects and after what he did to her in the shower, she certainly would be tired even without the assistance from the rune. Hanging up their battle gear, he walks back over to the side of the bed his sister slumbers on. Her damp red hair spills down her shoulders and her cheek rests on her hand, her legs tangled in the sheets.
He runs a hand through his damp hair, staring at his little sister. He saw the fear in her eyes earlier, the little spike of color through her irises that tells him he's stepped across a line once again. He doesn't exactly care he's crossed a line but he likes to know when he has. After today he has to take her to the battlefield, teach her how to use her ability to the best of its power. She doesn't know how much damage and healing her abilities can do.
He perches on the edge of the bed, watching as his sister's chest rises and falls with slow breath. He's confident she can win this war; since the last war meeting the Clave has been able to take back three Institutes. He had been furious, demanding to see the three officers who were holding those Institutes; he slit their throats for their failure. He only found this out last week, before he took Clary to Hawai'i; finding this out is what spurred him to get Clary to fight with him. Her runes don't work on his dark army but they work on her and himself and if she knows how to use them, she can fell an army within minutes.
The Clave will not be able to stand on its own two feet once he's brought his sister into the picture. They've barely been able to control their current soldiers. With Clary gone, they have no advantage, with that werewolf gone they have no one to hold together the Downworlders with the Shadowhunters. Most of the Downworlders have actually joined his side. A lot of Shadowhunters who supported his father and the Circle have turned from the Clave, even those who don't support the Clave have joined.
The mundanes have already been easily taken care of. He'd sent teams out to slaughter the world's leaders and seize control of all military bases, weaponry, and government buildings. Surprisingly the mundanes were easily subdued, it's embarrassing really, he would have expected them to put up at least some type of fight but no, he's now in control of every mundane country on this planet, the only thing left is to take down the Clave and with his growing empire it is becoming more and more difficult to resist him.
Idris is still under the Clave's jurisdiction, holding borders, closing off Portals, not letting anyone or anything in or out of the country. The Shadowhunters that have joined him, he's had all of them turned to the demonic alliance. He obtained the Mortal Instruments long ago, at the beginning of this war, so if he feels the need to turn anyone back to seraphic alliance he can, actually he's had them stashed in the training room this entire time. He went on all these missions, retrieving the Mortal Instruments, killing world leaders in the hours he disappeared two weeks ago.
He left for the three days to deal with the Kremlin and the Shadowhunters running the Moscow Institute. He was a little miffed to find the house pretty much torn apart in his sister's attempt to get outside but the anger dissipated when he found her passed out on the training room floor, still clutching a dagger. He wondered what she was doing, passed out in there when he looked up and saw a target strapped to one of the beams with daggers stuck firmly in the colored rings.
He looks back at his sister, still sleeping heavily and rises from the bed. He strides over to the door, pulling it open he walks out into the dim hallway. The time difference makes it around ten p.m. and the sun has been down for a while. He slips into the kitchen and finds one of the maids cleaning the counters. The little blond girl doesn't notice him until he strides past the counter she's cleaning to the wine cabinet.
She startles and her eyes widen. "Master Jonathan! I did not know you were back," she says, her voice high-pitched and annoying to him. He grits his teeth before grabbing a wine glass and bottle of Dal Forno before crossing back to the door leading to the sleeping quarters. He stops and turns back to the maid, his expression a pleasantly fake smile, though the maid does not know it's fake.
"Well I am. Get a message to Michael saying so and that we're ready." The maid nods and he disappears behind the door. In his room he leans on the door, locking it behind him. His sister is still asleep on the bed. He sets the bottle and glass on the table beside the bed and peels back the covers. The tight shorts his sister is wearing show off the curve of her ass and the tight shirt hugs her hips and bust. His hand trails down her stomach to the button of her shorts, which he pops open, sliding them down her legs and dropping them on the floor. He pulls up her shirt, shifting her slightly and she whines in her sleep as his cool fingers brush her stomach.
He traces one of her scars, thrown on the side of her stomach. He remembers making that, Clary doesn't, it was the day he put the persuasion rune on her neck and convinced her she killed that vampire, and angel boy. He frowns and pulls the covers back over her body then walks over to his closet, stripping his shorts and shirt as he goes. He throws them in the closet, leaving him in his black boxers. Closing the door once again he slips back over to the bed and slides between the sheets; he fills his wine glass halfway with Forno. He leans back against the headboard and glowers at the far wall, taking a sip of wine.
Why does his sister have to be so difficult? Why is she so beautiful at the same time? She's his weakness. He won't let anyone touch her, especially with all he went through to get her here, in his bed. She shifts beside him and brushes her hand along his torso. He shudders, just the mere touch over her skin rattles him. He downs the rest of his wine, hoping it might make him slightly tired, seeing as his body is still raging with the after effects of what he did to her in the shower.
He lowers himself down, propping his head on his palm so he can watch the soft rise and fall of his sister's chest. He can see scars on her shoulders peeking out, white against pale skin; they stop at her neck, where one of his marks still sits-blue and purple. He never cut her face while he tortured her, never touched her beautiful porcelain, freckle sprayed face. Clary sighs in her sleep and rolls over, her face now inches from his nose. He uses the backs of two fingers to brush away some curls that have fallen in her face.
The room is dark and the curtains are drawn so a normal Shadowhunter would not be able to see but being what he is with his heightened senses he can see every inch of his sister's beautiful face. Moments of quiet pass before a sound escape's Clarissa's lips. She moans quietly, arching her beautiful back forward. He dips his fingers into the small of her back, caressing her creamy skin. She sighs, shifting forward before rolling back over to face the other side of the bed.
He frowns and slides across the bed, closer to his sister. He hooks his fingers in the top of her panties, pulling them down slightly so he can see her pale hips. The black ink of his name sits a dark contrast to her pale skin. She branded herself as his, he smiles to know that somewhere in her subconscious she at least likes him enough to brand herself with his name. He runs a finger over the calligraphy J, C, and M, making Clary gasp.
His name falls from her lips in a breathless whisper. How is he supposed to sleep when his love is mewling his name in her sleep? He teases his fingers across her back a few more times, earning another sigh before rolling onto his back, his shoulder and hip pressing against his angel's back. Propping his head up on his arm he stares at the blank ceiling, wondering when he'll have Clarissa paint some wondrous portrait to stare at during the night. He supposes he'll need to give her back her art supplies. He's tried to keep his closet locked, in vain until he found his sister's stele, which was only last week. It was an ingenious hiding place really, he was sleeping on it for a month before he realized it was stuck in the bed frame.
His fingers mindlessly twist in the red locks spilling next to him. He needs to talk to Michael tomorrow about where they are weakest. He hasn't been updated in a week in efforts to keep Clarissa relaxed. He met Michael on his way to Paris, meeting him when he finished off Sebastian Verlac. Michael never liked his brother and shared most of Jonathan's views on the Clave. At the ball when he danced with his sister, Michael had been docile, kind even. He holds a better innocence than Jonathan's ever been able to but under that Michael is almost as viscous and fierce as he is.
His sister murmurs something beside him and begins tossing fretfully, her breaths become shorter and labored; he sits up as she rolls onto her back; her head tosses back and forth, her face contorted in pain before her eyes fly open and she bolts upright, screaming. Jonathan reacts on instinct and quickly snakes an arm around her waist, pulling her against him and he covers her mouth with his hand to quiet her. She grasps his wrist until she runs out of breath and sags against him, panting.
Clary tears his hand from her mouth, drawing her knees up to her chest. She's not crying, just panting hard. He pulls her back into his lap, drawing her hair back so he can press his cheek on hers. When she doesn't react, he turns her around, forcing her legs apart and away from her face. He brushes his thumbs over her cheeks, her eyes squeezed tightly shut.
"There was so much blood, too much death," she mumbles and violently rips away him, standing from the bed, hugging her elbows. He frowns and stands along with her. What's wrong with her? What happened? He reaches for her but she jerks away, keeping her face turned to the floor. He reaches around her and takes her wrists, enveloping her in his body. She thrashes violently but he tightens his grip until she slumps against him. Stop struggling.
"It wasn't real," he whispers. "It wasn't real."
"It could be," Clary whispers back.
"No it won't, I won't let it," Jonathan replies. Angel, what happened to her? It went from moaning his name to screaming in the dark. Her breaths are still short and panicked and it's angering him, digging at his demon. He hates the sight of her stress, hates how he doesn't know what is scaring her half to death and he wrenches her around, crushing his lips against hers.
He smiles as he feels her crumple against him, leaning into his body. He walks backward to the bed and spins around, his lips still holding hers as he pushes her down onto the mattress, holding her hands still as the last of her fight drains out of her body. His demon rages madly, demanding he take her right here, terrified and vulnerable but he reigns it in, not wanting to hurt her any more than she's hurting now. He pulls back and sees her trembling outline in the dark, he can hear her heart hammering and her breath slamming loudly. Her green eyes are wide and blaze hotly as he looms above her.
"You're going to make me aren't you? Even if I don't want to you're going to force me into servitude whether I want to or not," his sister says quietly, defiantly.
Now it makes sense, the war. She's afraid of the war, what he's going to force her to do. His silence is answer enough for her and she begins to squirm beneath him, nervously, reaching to pull her shirt down but finding he's robbed her of clothes. Her twitchy actions are eroding his control, somehow annoying him, unnerving him and turning him on at the same time. Her fear is a complete drive for his lust, her vulnerability is wonderfully beautiful. He can feel his demon screaming for her, demanding he ravish her until she can't walk for a week, to ravage her heart and mind and body until all she can do is crumble at his feet. Her frightened eyes flick up to his again but now they hold a twinge of defiance and that tears it for him.
He crushes his lips to hers with fiery passion, lust tearing up his body in ripples as his sister struggles meekly beneath him. His hand quickly pushes down her body and into her underwear. His fingers brush against hot, pulsing skin. He presses the pad of his middle finger directly onto her clitoris and rubs relentlessly. She shudders powerfully and her reaction in turn makes him shiver. His free hand cups her cheek and massages her cheekbone.
After his erection grows taut and painfully sore, the hand in her panties rips them off, tearing the fabric from her legs and dropping it on the floor. He grips her thigh, digging his nails in and she moans. Her own hands slip up to his back and her cut nails dig into his skin. His hand runs down from her cheek to her chest and rips off her bra. His finger at her clitoris is wet and burning hot, he uses that hand to rent his boxers off. He slams his erection into his sister who screams into his mouth. She's wet and hot and tight as he thrusts up and out. His mouth leaves hers and pushes rough kisses onto her jaw and throat. He draws some of her creamy skin between his teeth, sucking hard and marking her as his, because she belongs to him, she's his and he owns her.
His sister arches up into him as his thrusts stay slow and rough, drawing a low moan from her with each stroke. He moves his mouth down her throat, dragging his tongue along the sensitive flesh, where Valentine taught him is the easiest to slit, down to the valley between her breasts. He kisses over her tender, creamy skin to her nipple and teases it with his tongue before drawing it into his mouth. He hears her gasp and a malicious glee rises in his stomach along with waves of uncontrollable pleasure, feeling, knowing his sister is terrified of his ferocity and yet cannot get enough of him. Running one hand down her upper arm, pushes it from his body, his fingers gliding over the smooth skin of her forearm until his fingers lace with hers, stretched out to the side of their bodies and his fingers tighten with every thrust in and loosen every withdrawal. His teeth press around her rosy nipple just hard enough to make her whine before he makes his lower lip linger behind as he pulls his mouth up her body. He jerks his hips up to the side while driving into her and she screams with pleasure, this is what he did to her that morning after she gave up. His hand slides down to the back of her knee and hauls it up his torso. His other hand crosses her back to her opposite shoulder and presses her down, onto him. He throws his pelvis against hers, hard, and she throws her head back in a scream. His own dark pleasure bursts but he stays silent, eyes closed, listening to the ragged breathing of his sister in the after effects of a powerful orgasm, which he gave her.
He can't help but enjoy the feeling of his sister's tight muscles clamped around his member and he stays there, savoring the feeling until she collapses, panting and sweaty. He pulls his now satisfied erection out of her, still looming menacingly over her. His hands move quickly to grasp her wrists and pin them above her head. Her eyes shoot open, completely petrified, as she should be when his demon is raging and burning with desire. He leans down to her ear, licking her neck before bringing his mouth to her cusp. "I will make you do whatever I want, whenever I want because I own you. No matter how much you defy me, no matter how hard you fight, I always win, I always get what I want because you belong to me. Just as I belong to you," he whispers, malice and danger dripping from his words. He can feel her body tighten beneath him in utter fear.
He grins devilishly, satisfied with the affect he's had on her. She's a strong defiant woman and he loves that, worships it frankly but he is the dominant and he gets his way, no matter what. He'll let her be the angel that she is supposed to be as long as he gets to be the demon. He releases her wrists but she does not move an inch, he doesn't believe she even breathes. Pleased with his work he stands, leaving her still wet and panting on the bed, he deliberates between taking her again and showering but the thought of her exhausted, aching body and the echoes of her screams turns him to the bathroom.
Slipping inside, he leaves the door cracked and turns on the water, ice cold. His blood rushes, boiling and black through his veins as he tries to stamp his demon back down. The chilled water touches his burning skin and he immediately calms down. His platinum hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat and he runs shampoo through it to wash the sweat out.
Once he's back in his boxers, he looks back to the bed to find Clarissa once again passed out on the edge of the bed. She's barely breathing, her chest rising and falling shallowly. He frowns and walks over to her, pressing two fingers to her pulse. He finds it strong and steady and lets out the breath he didn't realize he was holding. If she's going to have nightmares now, because of this war he might as well help her get some real sleep before the nightmares become a problem, as he's learned can be completely traumatizing to his little sister. After all he cares about her wellbeing and doesn't want her to be fatigued because of him. He'll put another sedative rune on her, to make sure she actually gets some decent sleep, the sedative rune not even allowing dreams to disturb the sleep.
He riffles around in his nightstand for the stele he unpacked. Coming up with the obsidian instrument, he brushes the hair away from his sister's neck and inks the rune onto the skin behind her ear. She lets out a sigh and her breathing evens out. Affection swells in his chest as he sees the peaceful look crossing his sister's face. He doesn't believe he can love, demons are incapable, so said Valentine, but he's become attached to his sister; a need is what she is and he believes that is the closest thing to love he'll be able to accomplish.
He takes a long, deep breath, blowing it out along with the scent of his sister's post arousal. His senses, Valentine had told him as a child, are completely heightened. Valentine had no idea this would be an effect of the demon blood until Jonathan had told him that he could see a horse with a rider a few miles from the house Valentine was keeping him at. Valentine and looked at him incredulously before sending Hugin out to check. Upon the raven's return Valentine was amazed and proud that Jonathan had enhanced senses. He knew this of course though he thought it was normal for Shadowhunters to see miles away and smell things only animals can and hear the shallow breath of a frightened animal.
His eyes trickle down his sister's naked body, lingering between her legs. He can see the stickiness running down the insides of her thighs, leading back up to the apex of them. The sedative rune he placed on her neck lasts for at least ten hours, all of which his sister is going to be unconscious. He'll clean her up before settling her into bed. Picking up her limp body, he carries her into the bathroom and fills up the tub halfway with warm water. Pulling his boxers off once again, he settles in the water, Clary in his lap. Her head lulls against his chest as he quickly runs the soapy hands between her legs and down her thighs.
After, he gets her in a pair of his boxers and one of his shirts; he still only has on boxers. Slipping her between the sheets, he pulls them up around her shoulders after sliding in after her. Now he can go to sleep, knowing his sister won't be having nightmares, well deserved sleep considering he did not get a wink last night. He has no idea why he couldn't sleep just that he couldn't. Clary doesn't even twitch as he begins to fall into sleep but he pulls her close and nuzzles his nose in her hair. She stills smells faintly like him, with that delicious thought running through his head, along with an array of creative and dirty thoughts he falls asleep, listening to his sister's heartbeat.
Clary wakes sometime after Jonathan's rough claiming of her body. She can still feel his mouth all over her skin and his pulsing member shoved deep inside her. She shudders and turns over, her nose brushing hot, bare skin. She jerks back, only to find Jonathan asleep beside her. She couldn't really see anything last night but she does remember his dark eyes burning in the dark right before he crushed his mouth to hers and shoved her to the bed.
She settles back down on the bed, more comfortable that she's seen the clothes on her body. Her fingers trace light circles on his chest as she recalls the night before. He had seemed angry with her when she woke up screaming. She can't even recall the exact events of the dream but she remembers the feeling it gave her. Complete and utter terror, she remembers blood and death and grief and then the dream circled back around to her nightmare in the dungeon. That memory combined with the gore of the new dream had ultimately petrified her with fear.
She remembers waking up screaming and her brother's hand clamping down on her mouth. She remembers ripping away from him and his arms circling her waist. She saw anger and annoyance and lust in his too dark eyes then the next thing she knew, he was on her and in her, slamming roughly and powerfully. She remembers all too well the feel of his mouth and his hands. They were desperate and powerful, his animalistic need, his demonic, dark side pulsing through his skin.
She remembers his mouth on her breast, biting and teasing and making her scream. His hand sliding up her arm and holding it away from her body, his fingers tightening with every stroke of his hips. His swollen lips capturing hers as he forced himself on her and she let him. She buries her nose back in his skin, the tip of her nose cold from exposure. Her brother moans and shifts upward before settling back down, flexing his bicep underneath her back.
She slips a leg around his, soaking up his warmth. The chill settling on her skin evaporating with her brother's natural heat. Sensing her presence, he rolls over, running a hand down her thigh and wrapping it around his hip. The fear from last night though has dissipated, leaving only the desire and pleasure she felt. All his demonic natures area gone for now, his movements are slow, lovely and meticulous as his hands trace spirals around her body under the clothing she wears.
"Good morning," he whispers, kissing up her nose, cheeks and jaw. Clary's eyes are still closed as she wrinkles her nose, a smile crossing her lips. She giggles quietly as Jonathan's mouth touches her lips, he moves them up and down, softly and pleasantly. His hand cups her cheek and she responds in kind, pressing her stomach against his abdomen.
He pulls back and Clary sighs wistfully. "Morning," she replies. She slips her hands down his chest and pushes away from him, swinging her legs off the bed and walking over to the closet. She pulls on some loose cotton shorts and a nice t-shirt. Jonathan's hands slide down her shoulders, gently pressing her backwards into his chest.
"I'd put on a tunic and tight pants if I were you," Jonathan whispers. Clary pales slightly; the war.
"We're leaving today?" Clary says quietly, her warm feeling turning to ice and dropping in her stomach. Jonathan's mouth warms her neck.
"Oui, mon soeur en quelques heures."
Clary's heart sinks, she doesn't want to relive bloodshed. She doesn't want to have to kill people for her brother but his reasons, those he's revealed, are justified. She has to do this or Jonathan will make her drink from the Infernal Cup, she has to because, though she would never admit it, it feels right.
She pushes Jonathan's arms off, gently, so not to provoke him into any kind of bad mood, and reaches for her battle gear hanging at the end of the closet. She dons the under layer of tunic and tight pants before slipping into the leather pants, buckling the belt. The clasps to her leather vest slip easily into place and she pulls down her weapons belt to ride low on her hips. The last thing she does is lace up the heavy boots to her shins.
She turns around to find Jonathan already bedecked in his gear. He gives her a reassuring smile; doubt and worry are evident on her tight, pale face. She hesitantly takes it, Jonathan pulling it to his chest and then kissing her knuckles. He takes her to the meeting room, the one he first took her to for the war meeting; where she condemned hundreds to slavery or death.
Michael's there, decked in classic black gear. He smiles when he sees her and she gives a hesitant smile back, unsure of how much he knows about the affairs of the past few months. Jonathan keeps her close, sensing her unease, as he and Michael and two other men discuss war locations. She catches a few words here and there. 'Weak', 'need,' 'runes,' 'Clary,' are all prevalent in their conversation. Clary shrinks back in shame that she'll be involved in all this but her brother's arm around her shoulders keeps her in place. She keeps her eyes on the floor, runes flashing before her eyes as Michael and her brother speak of problems in the war.
The angel Ithuriel shows her the runes themselves, does this mean that he supports what her brother's doing? An angel supports Jonathan's bloodshed and demonic takeover? If it even is a demonic takeover; he's triying to wipe out all the demons but he's turning Shadowhunters to their alliance. Is he working with or trying to kill the demons? He killed the greater demon in Paris but summoned the mother of all demons to create the Infernal Cup. Her runes won't work on demonically allied Shadowhunters so what good is she to him? Has Clary been given sole control over the runes she makes?
Embarrassment and shame color her cheeks as she thinks of what the angels may be thinking about her now. Will she be disgraced for what she is doing? Will she be denied heaven and seeing Jace again and be cast into hell? Is this wrong? What if Jace is watching her right now and he is disgusted by what she's doing? What if she'll be eternally damned for the part she's played in this war? What if this is the wrong decision? Should she be helping her brother? Should she be staying with him through this? Oh god, she's slept with him! Her own brother! She feels dirty and disgusting, imagining Jace watching her right now. Her mother, Simon, what would they think?
Horror crosses her face and Jonathan seems to notice, tightening his grip on her shoulder. What will happen when she dies? Will she be cast into hell? Has her brother corrupted her completely and irreversibly? Or is she supposed to help Jonathan? Valentine damned him, deciding his fate without second thought. Valentine doomed Jonathan to a demonic existence so maybe the angels left it to anyone but chance that his own sister become his counterpart to try and take away that evil from the world? Or battle it? Or help the corrupted soul sitting somewhere within the black depths of Jonathan's eyes? If there's anything to save. Or maybe she's just making excuses for herself and the angels hate her, Jace is disgusted with her and her mother looks down on her in scorn.
She wants to curl up and die thinking of Jace and all the things she's done to betray his trust, his memory. Clary stifles a gasp, so not to alert her brother. She was lying in bed with him just this morning, kissing him! He essentially raped her last night because she definitely did not want what he gave until it was already on her, consuming her better judgment, just like a demon. She's allowed him to own her. Her brother's forcing her into this, she isn't doing this of her own free will, she is only doing this to keep her free will, keep control of the weapon she wields because if she did resist and she became a slave to her brother he could use her abilities to wreak havoc upon the world. Raise Hell itself on earth.
Her stomach turns as she realizes who has his arm around her. A flush covers her neck as her breath begins to shorten. She tries to brush her brother's arm off but it stays where it is. Her ears are ringing as she terrorizes her own mind. The ringing pulses harder and faster and louder until she can't hear anything but the shrill pitch. She sees the meeting room but doesn't see it, everything flashing before her too quickly, runes, blood, glares, faces, brutal murder scenes, quick slaughters. Until she realizes her brother is saying something, pressing a stele into her hand and gesturing to the wall. She can't control her body as a Portal appears on the wall.
What! What is she doing? She shouldn't be helping him! Oh god, oh god, oh god! The other men in the room step through the swirling blue of the Portal, Michael looking back once before he disappears. Her brother takes her hand. She's screaming at herself to stop, don't go with him! This is betrayal, treason! But she moves forward and plunges into the Portal with her brother.
