Hey, I apologize for the major delay but life has been busy. But, I have given you all a wonderfully long, angst filled chapter and hope to have the next one up in the next few weeks as I try to keep up with my other stories. Just a reminder I, Cat, have taken over for my dearest friend Caroline the original author of this devastatingly dramatic story and continue to have her help edit these chapters. Keep reading, thanks for the perseverance and continued loyalty to my friend's beautiful story.
Jonathan didn't ever recall finding beauty in anything, ever. He'd always thought that everything was made up of matter and there was nothing more to it than the genetic makeup or the scientific explanation for it. Even in the Shadowhunter world, magic was just magic. It's just there, normal for the world he lived in. He'd never looked past the fundamental meanings of anything, never found a reason to. Always disregarded the philosophical point of view as mindless ramblings from those who were too stupid to comprehend the real meanings of things. He'd never believed that beauty could soothe. At least until now.
He watched the way his bride moved through the ruins, her jeans pressing against her tightly corded thighs as a result of his few short training sessions with her. The way she stepped tentatively over rubble like a doe stepping through the tall grass, beautiful and graceful, tugged at some dark primal part of him. He was mesmerized by how her slim body looked before she stepped, placing her foot carefully among the rubble, hugging her elbows like the very walls would lash out at her. Her hair was wild, hanging around her face in a curtain and Jonathan kept catching himself trying to catch a glimpse of her eyes to gauge her reaction.
They eluded him though, she always managed to keep her eyes turned toward the ground, her hair between him and her eyes. He stood at the edge of the ruins, waiting as Clarissa explored; watching as realization sank in that this was where her long lost brother lived when he was a child.
After a while, not a word spoken between the two of them, Clarissa came to stand beside him, looking over the blackened ruins and not at him. The slight breeze blew back her mane of fiery curls, away from her face as he tilted his head to watch her out the corner of his eye.
"This is where you lived?" She questioned quietly, still not turning to face him, her gaze still trained on the horizon where the sun still had hours yet to take its place.
"Yes. If you could call my wretched childhood a life," he said, bitterness tainting his voice as he recalled horrid memories of being shackled to a wall, face pressed against hard stone, hot, black blood pouring down his back.
"Was it really that bad?" She whispered and this time so quietly even he had to struggle to hear her.
Anger rose up, unbidden in him, as he turned to his sister, snapping her out of her trance as she spun to face the blackening rage evident on his face. Memories flashed, skin burned, anger broiled and the need to take his sister all pushed at the edges of his control.
"What did you think, Clarissa? I lived in the lap of luxury because I'm part of some 'magical' world?" He snapped, taking a step toward her. "You having lived your life ignorantly and sheltered does not mean mine was lead the same way. I was beaten," he snarled, taking another step forward, forcing Clarissa back toward one of the two remaining walls. "I was whipped." Another step and the look in her eyes sent feral glee and primal need spiraling through him. "I was alone." He'd backed her against the charred wall and the little gasp of breath sent his senses on a rampage.
He brought his arms up to cage her in, pressing her further against the north wall of his husk of an old house. Her arms were still crossed over her body, as though she could protect herself from him. He scanned down her body, catching the slightest tremor of fear course through her before snapping his feral gaze back to hers. What he saw halted his anger, bringing it to a screeching stop.
Tears, real tears brimmed in her beautiful green eyes, staring back at him with pain. He didn't release her from the wall but straightened his back, titling his head to the side in curiosity. Had he truly scared her that much? Yes, others were supposed to fear him but seeing it on Clarissa's delicate face sank a seed of absolute wrongness deep into his gut. He didn't want Clarissa to be afraid of him, he wanted her throwing herself down at his feet to do with what he pleased.
"I'm sorry," Clarissa said softly, shaking her head. "I didn't-I didn't know. No one should have to be alone through that or experience it at all but my life wasn't all luxury," she said and he had to admire how she never let her tears fall, her rising bravado sparking his lust. "My mother and I barely made rent every month. We lived off her paintings in a tiny brownstone, not an actual house. I had my life hidden from me!" She snapped and her sudden irritation made something dark raise its head inside him.
"Then I was ripped from the only life I did know by a mad man and his psychotic son who turned out to be my brother. My best friend is imprisoned and dying! And I'm being forced to marry a sociopathic murderer and—"
She never got the chance to finish, or maybe Jonathan just didn't want her to but he'd cut her off by crushing his lips to hers, flattening her back against the wall. He could feel the heat between her legs flame, her fingers going to fist in his silvery curls at the nape of his neck. He growled low in his throat, a dark laugh, as he felt Clarissa thrusting her hips forward into the curve of his. Her breath blew hot and short against his cheek as he slid his hands down to her buttocks, lifting her up and pressing her against the wall.
His tongue stroked inside her mouth, tasting her, savoring her. He could feel his groin heating, growing tighter and his need to rip her jeans from her pale legs and take her in the midst of his handiwork grew right alongside it. He'd enjoyed burning this place to the ground and he would enjoy even more to corrupt his sister in this place. He could feel her arousal building, pushing her against him. He was pleasantly surprised as her leg came up almost in an unconscious gesture to wrap around his hip.
He pushed at her, crushed her to him as his hand wound in her fiery locks and clamped down on her hip, pushing up her shirt. His cock burned and ached, urging him forward as he pressed against her own growing heat. He wanted nothing more than to fuck her, right then and there but he believed that saving her for their wedding night would be so much more satisfying. The longer he built up the tension the sweeter the release would be. But the intense heat and feeling only lasted for a few moments before Clarissa's entire demeanor changed, even as he growled and pinned her back against the wall.
She squirmed and he loosened his grip ever so slightly but she shoved him away, her face flushed pink and breathless. Her bright green eyes flared with rage but Jonathan could see the subtle hint of desire and arousal in their green depths. He smirked at her as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Don't ever touch me!" She snarled, anger flashing in her eyes but he could see the little spark of desire that she was trying to hide. "I should have known better than to feel sorry for someone like you!"
His smirk never faded, only grew as he once again backed her against the wall. Her hands shot out, trying to push him away again but this time he wouldn't stand for it. He took her wrists and pinned them over her head, his form towering menacingly over Clarissa's slight form. Looking down, he saw her breasts swell and he couldn't resist stepping forward so they pressed against his chest.
"You should know better Clarissa," he said darkly, relishing the fear in her eyes, the smell of arousal coming off her in waves. "I don't stand for disobedience, especially from my wife," he growled, dipping his head to graze his nose along the column of her neck. He felt the muscles in her shoulders strain, attempting to yank her wrists from his grasp. He laughed at her attempt, loving to see his prey struggle. Though Clarissa, he wouldn't be watching bleed out slowly anytime soon.
This one, he took a deep breath, the smell of her vanilla soaps tightening his groin, he would have writhe beneath him in pleasure.
"I'll never truly be your wife and I'll be dead before you can get me into your bed. You incestuous bastard!" Clarissa tried to use her legs to push him away. He grinned darkly at what he got to do next. He took his knee and firmly shoved it between her legs, moving her body up the wall so she stood on her tiptoes. He reveled in the feeling of her heat radiating onto his knee, doing nothing to hide her arousal.
"Oh, little sister, you really shouldn't lie. I can smell your desire. You want me," he said. Before she could do anything else he took a step back and flung her over his shoulder. She screeched, trying to fight him off as he carried her over to the horse. "Oh, hush now Clarissa. We need to get back so you can get fitted for your dress."
-Xxx-
Clary eventually got Jonathan to put her down, sadly it was back in the Gard in her bedroom. The embarrassing part? Valentine, Isabelle, and three more women were standing in her room with white fabric and measuring tapes hanging around their necks as her brother carried her in over his shoulder.
Valentine smirked even as Clary's face flamed red when she'd stopped kicking at her brother.
"Jonathan," Valentine said. "I do believe the proper way to carry your bride is across your chest, not over your shoulder."
"I'm aware father," Jonathan said, flipping her down onto the bed where she braced herself on her elbows, glaring dagger at both silver haired men. "But Clarissa likes the view so much more over my shoulder."
His black eyes cut to her, his smirk malevolent and lusty as she tried to back away from the two men. It took her a moment to figure out what Jonathan meant but when she did, she glared so furiously at him he arched an eyebrow.
Valentine, the sick man, only laughed. "Well, I suppose we should leave so Clarissa can get fitted for her dress."
Clary hated them both. She let herself get played by her brother. For a moment she had actually pitied him only to be molested against the wall of his old home. He took advantage of any weak feeling she displayed and it only made her resent him even more.
She needed to get Simon and her mother out of here, only then would she be at ease. Instead, for all her struggles she felt terribly weak and useless. She couldn't even keep her brother from kissing her… or the little rush of desire she felt flood her veins at the feel of his lips. She'd squelched the feeling immediately, or at least tried to but it'd lasted longer than she'd wanted it to.
And she could see it on her brother's face that he knew of it as he walked out the door. She was still lying braced on her elbows when her brother and father vacated the room. She thought she had peace only to have Isabelle and the three woman descend on her with grimly perky smiles and white fabric and pins.
The women got Clary up on a small pedestal in front of the three faced mirror. From there she was, strangled with fabric, poked, prodded and pushed to the ending point of her tolerance. But, acknowledging that these women were slaves to her father, only doing as they were told, she kept quiet, trying not to snap at her friend as pins were shoved into the dress and her skin.
As the hour wore on, she learned to block out the pinpricks only to have her mind turn to what this dreaded wedding meant for her. An eternity tied to her monster of a brother. Her brother! Her life was going to be a living hell. Her shoulders almost slumped at the thought that it was her fault Simon was locked up in the dungeons, her fault he was suffering and her own fault she was being bound to her brother.
She had to find a way out of this, she had to get her mother and Simon out before the wedding, before her brother had a chance to take her to bed. For if that day came Clary didn't know if she'd be able to live with herself and the disgusting feeling she already felt coursing through her every time Jonathan touched her, the contempt of herself that her brother could elicit even the slightest drop of pleasure from her.
She would find a way out because if Jonathan bedded her, she'd be damned for the rest of eternity. Opening her eyes, not realizing they had closed, she turned to Isabelle, the scar on her cheek faint in the morning light, enough so that Clary could see how beautiful she had been before the accident. Her heart ached at her friend's loss, sorry she hadn't been there to help save her. She was completely focused on the dress but when Clary cleared her throat, Isabelle looked up with dark chocolate brown eyes.
"Isabelle," Clary began, feeling hesitant at her sudden realization that her friend had suffered so much. Her heart ached for Isabelle. "Do you—do you think you could take care of my friend? He's a mundane that's being held prisoner here. He's really sick and with the wedding drawing nearer I have a feeling Jonathan will not let me attend to him as much."
Clary hated to admit that her brother exacted any degree of control over her but unfortunately, it was the truth. And she would die before she allowed him to make her his bed slave. She bent her head, embarrassed that she hadn't found a way out for her mother, Simon and herself yet. Or having to ask for help.
Isabelle studied her carefully for a moment, her long, elegant fingers pausing over the whisper of fabric on Clary's slim waist. The silence grew in length, crushing her chest in embarrassment. She nearly jumped when Isabelle snapped for the other three women to leave the room, saying that she could finish the dress herself.
As soon as the door closed, Isabelle stood, rounding the pedestal to stand in front of Clary. Her dark brown eyes deep, almost sad, reflective. "Of course Clary. I hate how Valentine uses mundanes for his experiments as though they are lesser than us. They are the ones we are to protect, not use as cattle," Isabelle said, quietly, forlornly.
Clary wanted to console Isabelle but there was something so distant, as though a memory was creeping up on her, threatening to consume her, that Clary did not say anything, unsure how to give comfort to someone who seemed so… broken. Before Clary could decide to attempt to console Isabelle, the black haired girl turned, digging into a pocket of her dress and pulling out a small green bottle. Round and translucent, it was unmarked, smooth.
Isabelle took Clary's hand gently, placing the bottle in her open palm. "What's this?" Clary asked quietly, gently rubbing her thumb over the smooth surface.
"A preventative," Isabelle whispered, as though the women could still hear them. "We all know Master Jonathan wishes to bed you and produce an heir. I couldn't conceive that you would actually want to provide the sick man with a child."
Clary stared at the bottle, gratefulness and relief welling up in her throat. She bent down, careful of the pins stuck in her dress and to the dark haired girl's utter shock, hugged her tightly. "Thank you, thank you so much, Isabelle."
Isabelle only pulled back, nodding as though in shock and quickly finished the dress, taking away the final fitting to do touch ups. Clary collapsed on the bed, her hands holding the bottle of preventative to her heart, dread welling up at the inevitability of her brother forcing her to bed. Even if she did offer herself up, which she would never do, that wouldn't stop the wedding. Jonathan would still go through with the wedding. He would want her to be his in every way possible.
Clary held the bottle against her heart, trying to think her way out of this. How was she going to get away? Get her mother and Simon out at least if not herself? How was she going to get away from the dark temptation that was her brother?
-Xxx-
Magnus tried to send the fire message a fifth time to no avail, the paper spit back out onto the floor, covered in soot. He turned sadly to the rest of the gathered Downworlders, a grim look on his glitter lined face.
"I cannot contact Jocelyn, Valentine has Idris too tightly secured for any message to get through," Magnus said, his gaze sliding over the werewolf, Lucian, who clearly had a powerful affection for both kidnapped Morgenstern women.
Lucian stepped forward, turning toward his gathered pack and the other Downworlders. Raising his voice, he sounded like a king commanding his court. "Then we have no choice, we attack Idris and bring down Valentine. We're freeing the Shadowhunters and bringing Clary and Jocelyn home."
-Xxx-
The roar of the engagement gala for the two Morgenstern siblings could be heard throughout the Gard and city below. The extravagant string orchestra demanded by the Nephilim king played graceful, powerful music, flooding the senses, that was endless. Dancers, dark Nephilim, swept about the dance floor; some chattered excitedly at the prospect of seeing their future rulers, others curious to finally see the elusive siblings. They'd heard the girl, the king's daughter, had become a growing problem but this marriage was meant to tie her down and provide heirs for the Morgenstern rule. The rest of the revelers huddled in corners or by the drinks table, disgusted at the incestuous union.
The girl, the princess, the Shadowhunters had begun calling her, was locked in her room, listening to the angry ravings of her brother, the prince, at her door. She was both terrified and stubborn, refusing to go to the ridiculous gala but really, she dreaded what the gala meant, her impending binding to her monster of a brother. The imminent possibility of carrying his child and living a dull, half-life as his bed slave. She was terrified of the demon inside him but what scared her even more was what she'd felt the last time he kissed her. She'd felt desire and worse yet, lust.
She'd slipped into the maroon gown before she withdrew into herself but after a few moments of staring at herself in the mirror, she'd locked her door and curled up in a corner, terrified of what the horrible gala meant. Her hair was done by Isabelle, half of it up in an intricate braid while the other half framed her face in large, red curls.
"Clarissa! Open this door!" She heard her brother shout from behind her locked door but Clary didn't answer, pressed up into the corner by the bed.
She heard a sigh of exasperation and the click of the lock before the door flew open. Before she could do anything her brother was looming over her, menacing, trapping her in the corner. His black eyes danced with malice and anger as he reached down and dragged her roughly up from the ground.
"When I give you an order I expect you to follow it," he growled in her ear, hand locked like a vise around her arm.
"How'd you get in?" Clary asked, appalled to find her voice trembling.
"Do you seriously think, after keeping you locked in here for seven days, that I would allow you to have control over the lock?" Jonathan grit through his teeth, his mouth uncomfortably close to her ear. She caught the flash of metal as Jonathan slipped something into his pocket but then she was being dragged out of the room and down the hallway.
She didn't bother to struggle against him, knowing it would only result in his anger and possible violence, but let him drag her along, her heels clacking aggravatingly loud on the tile floor. His grip around her wrist was iron clad, and after a moment, began to ache at the ferocity of the grip. Her brother was clearly angry.
There was no pause, no door or stop that gave Clary the chance to prepare herself for the chaos and noise of the horrid gala, already in full swing. One minute they were in a hallway, the next, they were in a sea of people, loud, well dressed, obnoxiously nosy people, craning their necks to get a look at her. A sudden chill ran down her spine and she instinctively sidled closer to her brother, who smirked down at her and slid his arm around her waist, stopping to speak eloquently with another Shadowhunter.
Clary immediately regretted recoiling from the gaze of the partygoers, preferring their intrusive stares to Jonathan's muscled clamped around her waist, holding her prisoner against him, but small and petite as she was, she could do nothing against the honed, deadly muscle cording her brother's body. She resigned herself to remaining stiff, uncomfortable and clearly ill at ease by her brother's side. She tried to summon disgust and hatred, and she managed, but what petrified her was her inability to stamp out the small flame growing in her stomach at Jonathan's touch, the feel of his toned body pressed against hers; and throughout the night, though Clary wouldn't notice, she began to relax into his larger, stronger frame, but Jonathan did, and was extremely satisfied by the fact.
Jonathan practically had to drag her from group to group of people, for she refused to comply with any of her brother's demands. She would not become Jonathan's trophy wife, or wife period, so she would not fall into such habits before they were even married. Jonathan, still irate at her earlier disobedience, continually growled threats in her ear if she didn't relax and do as she was told but Clary was struck with a sudden streak of courage and completely disregarded any of his demands, despite the threats her brother issued.
He wouldn't do anything to her in front of all these people, some, from observation, who clearly still had doubts about putting Valentine Morgenstern and his ilk in power. He wouldn't risk showing weakness in front of these people, and his own sister's disobedience would be viewed as a weakness, that their family wasn't completely rock solid. Which got Clary thinking as to where her mother was at that moment. Valentine would have surely forced her to come to this dreadful gala, as a show of a united front, him with his 'wife' and Jonathan with his bride-to-be/sister.
Clary strained her neck as she looked for the elegant, telltale crimson hair, so unlike Clary's ugly carrot orange hair, that indicated her mother. She could see nothing in the sea of people, restricted even more so by her brother, holding her tightly to him, uncomfortably so. She wanted to snap at him, ruin his perfect façade of a loving family, of two people in love, ready to get married and continue their family bloodline, but something stopped her. Most likely the fact that if she botched this, Simon would die and her mother would be condemned to imprisonment. Not that she wasn't headed straight for the latter but she would prefer the prisoner in this horrid place to be her rather than her mother and Simon.
She sank back down into herself, realizing how weak and useless she was; she hadn't even tried or thought of a plan to get herself, her mother and Simon out of here. Why couldn't she think of some way to get free of the two wicked Morgenstern men? She sure as hell had the incentive. Her mother chained to a bed post and beaten because she wouldn't go to bed with Valentine; Simon locked in a rotting prison cell, an experiment, his condition worsening with each passing hour, barely clinging to life; and herself, forced to marry the demon of her brother and carry on the Morgenstern line, which meant, Clary shuddered, sex.
She hadn't realized the enormity of this situation before but it hit her full force now. Valentine was forcing her to marry for an heir to the Morgenstern line because her mother refused to provide one. That meant, not only being married to her brother but having to have sex with him, most likely more than once. She'd have to carry this monster's child for nine months, and birth it, most likely forced to provide more afterward.
Clary stopped in the middle of the floor, her brother attempting to pull her along to the next group, but her body turned to stone, her stomach rolling into knots. Sex, with her brother. It was incestuous, disgusting, amoral… and yet there was some flash of excitement flooding her veins, heating her blood and causing it to pool low. She nearly bent double to hurl all over the disgustingly pristine, polished tile floor. But she managed to contain herself, just as her father came out of the crowd, dragging Jocelyn beside him in much the same manner as Jonathan was doing so with her.
Jonathan tugged at her harshly, causing her to fall against him, unbalanced, while he supported her weight. "Jonathan, Clarissa," he said, his voice deep and clear but Clary could hear the agitation underlying his tone. "So glad you could finally join us."
"Apologies Father, Clarissa had a little difficulty getting into her dress," Jonathan said, casting her a look that dared her to defy him in front of their father, a look that promised retaliation.
Tired with his threats, Clary only nodded but she could feel her skin begin to itch where he was touching her when she saw the concealed bruise on her mother's face and bared arms. No one would see them if they weren't looking but Clary was and hatred burned in her gut as she saw the defeated look in Jocelyn's eyes. Had Valentine finally broken her? Did her mother consent to returning to bed with the monster is Valentine just to save her daughter?
Clary desperately hoped not. Even if her mother did take to bed with Valentine once more, Jonathan would find one way or another to marry her. She doesn't want her mother taking the unnecessary punishment, let alone have to have sex with Valentine. She needed to get her mother alone to talk with her, but she seriously doubted the men were going to leave them alone at any time tonight, let alone together.
Clary tugged at Jonathan's restraining arm, wrapped firmly around her waist but his nails dug into her skin, causing her to hiss in pain and glare at him. He was still talking to Valentine as though she, nor Jocelyn, didn't exist, but he acutely was aware of her struggles against him. Her mother looked just as uncomfortable, tucked beneath Valentine's shoulder like she might bolt at any moment. Good for her mother that Valentine still believes she'd fight, but not for their plans of escape.
The two men seemed very much aware of the women wanting to get away from them and all too aware, for Clary's liking, that the two women might get a chance to talk. In retaliation, they kept her and Jocelyn close to eithers' body and a good two feet away from each other. Her skin started itching noticeably, a pressure was being applied to her skull, making her sick from Jonathan's touch. She needed to get away, if not to talk to her mother then just to get away from Jonatan's consuming, possessive touch. Clary looked up at her brother, hating her height that made her feel like a kindergartner asking a teacher something.
"Jonathan," Clary said, tugging on his arm for emphasis. He turned his black, glinting eyes on her and for a moment, instead of the hatred she needed and wanted to feel, she felt a slow burn begin in her stomach at the intense, smoldering look in his gaze. She quickly pushed it away.
"Yes, sweet sister," he asked, tugging her back to tuck under his shoulder. He seemed to have sensed her reaction to his gaze, which she hated but his attitude seemed to have softened from his earlier anger.
"I need to go to the ladies room," she said, trying to sound sweet and innocent, making bile rise up in her throat.
He smirked. "Nice try, but no," he said, turning back to Valentine.
She tried again. "Jonathan, I'm not kidding. I need to go," she said, sounding to her own ears like a whining child.
"Go ahead Jonathan," Valentine chimed in, his hold tightening noticeably on her mother who winced as though in pain. She restrained the fire that was sure to have snapped in her green eyes. "The place is well guarded and Clarissa will be perfectly safe."
She could hear the entendre in her father's words. The place is locked up, she won't be getting out. Jonathan sighed and released her, much to her relief. The itching stopped and so did the headache but she still felt nauseated at how utterly possessive her brother's touch was. She sent her mother a look, hoping she could find a way to slip away from Valentine to speak with her but her fall back plan was just to speak with her in her suite, that is if she could find time to slip away from Jonathan, who was sure to get extra clingy and protective the closer they grew to the wedding date. The closer they got, the more eager Jonathan grew and he saw the more anxious and flighty Clary became.
She slipped away in the crowd, heading toward the side wall, toward a shadowed alcove after weaving around to be sure Jonathan lost sight of her. Cool air washed over her as shadows blanketed her body in the alcove. Pressing her forehead against the cool wall, she tried to even her breathing which had become ragged and stressed with emotion. Why couldn't she only hate her brother? Why did he have to elicit a response, even a small one, from her body?
She managed to quell the fire building in her stomach just as a warm hand settled over her bare shoulder. She jumped and spun around, fully expecting Jonathan or Valentine but was relieved to find Jocelyn's warm smile. She nearly sobbed with relief as she wrapped her arms around her mother, holding her close but conscious of her bruises.
Clary tried to restrain herself but the words came pouring out. "Mom, I'm so glad you're okay. I missed you so much. I hate this, I hate Jonathan, I hate Valentine, I hate this palace. We need to get out," Clary sobbed then pulled back from her. "We are leaving, we have to find a way out. Valentine has Simon locked up, he's forcing me to marry Jonathan! My brother! What kind of—"
Jocelyn held a finger to her daughter's lips to silence her, her warm smile still in place, but now it was tinged with sadness. "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry," Jocelyn said. "I'm so sorry I didn't tell you about all this. I never meant for any of this to happen. I was trying to protect you and keep you safe but now you're only being forced to marry a demon. We'll find a way, I promise."
"But how?" Clary stressed. "How, mother? Jonathan has me on lock down and keeps closer watch over me the closer we get to the wedding and Valentine has you chained to your bed most of the time. Then there's still Simon, locked in the prison cell in the dungeon. With all the guards and Jonathan and Valentine, how are we supposed to get out?"
Jocelyn pulled her into another hug, stroking the mass of somewhat tamed red curls. "We'll find a way, I promise. We need to—"
Before Jocelyn had a chance to finish telling Clary what she needed to do, a darker shadow, two actually, loomed over them. The two women immediately broke apart, Clary pressing her back against the wall but pulling her mother back into the alcove to shield her from Valentine. Jocelyn of course had nothing of this and stepped beside Clary.
Jonathan smirked down at Clary and reached into the alcove to circle her arm with his iron grip, drawing her out and into his body while Valentine blocked the other half of the alcove exit. His other hand settled over the small of her back, pressing her pelvis forward toward the bulge in his slacks. Clary had been glaring at him but when she felt the specific part of his male anatomy, she had to duck her face to hide the blush and sudden crash of fire in her stomach that she utterly hated.
Jonathan bent his head, so his mouth, his soft mouth, the only soft part of him, brushed against her ear so only she could hear. "If you were looking for a dark place to scurry off to, you could have just asked. I would have made it much more enjoyable."
Clary was glad her fall of russet hair was between her and her brother's sight because it hid the furious blush creeping over her cheeks. Jonathan just chuckled at her resistance, kissing her cheek with those warm, soft lips before pulling back to sweep her under his shoulder. Clary couldn't bear to look at her mother, shame coloring her face, at both her reaction to and her affiliation with her brother but she heard Valentine speak.
"What were you two trouble makers speaking about?" He said well naturedly and Clary could hear the clack of heels indicating Valentine had pulled Jocelyn out of the shadows of the dark alcove.
"Nothing that would interest you, Valentine," Jocelyn practically spat and Clary longed for that kind of freedom but if she struck out against Jonathan or Valentine, Simon would be punished and she wasn't willing to risk Simon just for a snappy retort.
"What about me, mother? Anything I would be interested in?" Jonathan questioned, his hand slipping down from her back to caress her back side, as though deliberately trying to inflame the stupid little fire in her stomach. He moved his hand even lower, down her thigh, like he knew she was beginning to become bothered by his touch.
"You even less so Jonathan," Jocelyn snapped before Clary heard a whimper of pain and Clary's head snapped up to see Jocelyn pinned against the wall by her throat, Valentine's hand spanning her mother's neck. Clary jumped forward but Jonathan whipped her back against his chest, his hand spanning her own throat, his fingers gently caressing the skin but still tight enough to get his threat across.
"Don't interfere Clarissa, it's rude," Jonathan purred in her ear, his fingers playing against her skin, distracting her. But Clary managed to pull her thoughts away from what should have been Jonathan's sickening touch.
"Don't you touch her!" Clary hissed, pulling against her brother, only to have him tighten his fingers around her throat until she was forced to back up against Jonathan so as not to choke.
"I told you to be quiet Clarissa. Do not make me punish you," Jonathan said in her ear, his voice not changing but she could hear the threat dripping from his words.
She was nearly on her tiptoes, pressed back against her brother, trying not to have her throat crushed and the worst part, she could feel his arousal through his slacks, pressing into her back. She heard Valentine whispering to Jocelyn, so quietly she couldn't hear him but the entire time Jonathan continued to rub his nose up and down her neck, his hand trailing possessively over her body.
She leaned her head back against Jonathan's broad chest, snapping her eyes shut as she attempted to block out the terrible fire his fingers were leaving all over her body and focus on Valentine, his hand over her mother's throat. She whimpered helplessly, trying to thrash against her brother but his hand only tightened over her throat before finally she heard her mother's gasp as Valentine drew away from her and Jocelyn gulped air into her lungs, massaging her bruised throat. Clary managed to open her eyes, barely able to see her mother when Jonathan had tilted her chin practically to the ceiling. She shuddered involuntarily when Jonathan nipped the side of her neck.
"Well now," Valentine said, straightening his suit coat. "I believe we should all get back to the party. Jonathan!" Valentine snapped.
Jonathan slowly drew his lips away from Clary's neck, where his teeth had been grazing roughly. His canines were sharp and Clary wondered if he would have bitten her. He certainly was a soul sucking demon, Clary wouldn't doubt it if he were a bloodsucker as well. Jonathan's black gaze narrowed on his father, arms still wrapped around Clary like giant steel bands or deadly anacondas, ready to squeeze the life from her.
"Save that for after the wedding, please." Valentine sniffed, as if something amused him. "Or at least until after the gala. Come along Jocelyn," he said, wrapping her in his arms and dragging her away, most likely to lock her back in her room now that she'd become a problem.
Jonathan hummed in Clary's ear, making her jump. Now that Valentine was gone, Clary could feel the crushing weight of her brother's presence and she had to fight not to tremble at what he would do, now they were alone.
"What am I to do with you, Clarissa?" He whispered, lips touching her cheek.
"Let me go," Clary replied, tugging against his arms.
"I don't think I ever will"
-Xxx-
The rest of the gala passed in a blur, dancing, champagne—lots of glasses for Clary to drown out the contempt building in her stomach—people, cheering, music and Clary couldn't tell anymore if Jonathan was groping her or just holding her hips as he swung her around to the music. Her mother was nowhere to be seen after the little exploit in the alcove but with the amount of champagne in her system, Clary couldn't conjure the worry enough to try and pursue her mother's whereabouts. At some point Clary realized it was probably not the smartest idea to have consumed an exuberant amount of alcohol in her brother's company but it was too late.
Jonathan had already guided them back to her bedroom, the door shutting behind her with an ominous and somewhat exciting creak. Like being trapped in a room with her brother sent a wave of adrenaline through her.
She felt light headed and like a laugh was bubbling up in her throat but she had no idea why. She jumped approximately two feet in the air when she felt Jonathan's arms snaking around her waist and tugging her over to the bed. He dropped her on the bed, her body practically naked in the skin tight, maroon sheath dress, to Jonathan's eyes. He looked down at her, male amusement glittering in his eyes.
"Well isn't this familiar?" He said, crouching down in front of her, running his hands up her legs, under her dress as he slipped off her torture devices Isabelle had called shoes.
Clary immediately sat up, pushing her brother away. "What do you mean?"
He smirked up at her, circling her ankle with his hand and drawing her leg up, forcing her to fall back on the bed. Standing now, her foot propped on his shoulder, he kissed his way up her calf, sliding the dress up as he went. Once he passed her knee, Clary began to shiver, his mouth streaking fire up to her core.
"You are once again intoxicated, little sister, in a tight little dress, in your dark little bedroom with my hands all over you," he whispered huskily, lips still pressed to her inner thigh, getting higher and higher.
She quickly withdrew her leg, scrambling as far from him on the bed as possible, her brain slow and groggy, remembering what happened the last time she was intoxicated, in a tight dress, in her bedroom with her brother. It was not something she wanted to happen again, and yet there was that little voice, that little spark begging her to let his lips caress her again, to make her convulse with pleasure.
She couldn't shut out those thoughts and felt like moaning just at the memory, watching as Jonathan climbed onto the bed and made his way to her, stalking her like a jungle cat. She pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle the giggle, she was remembering how she'd called him a cat demon. The morning after it hadn't been so funny but now that laughter that had bubbled in her chest wanted to burst out in laughing shrieks.
Jonathan clearly noticed the smile she was trying in vain to hide and dragged her beneath him by her ankle, her dress catching on the sheets and riding up her body to bare her hips and panties to him. He was so big! He completely blanketed her and his hand was moving up her thigh, just like last time. She lifted her hips in anticipation.
"There you go again, dear sister. Giggling and smiling." He leaned down, his silvery hair tickling her nose. She had to put her hands on his chest, wanting to push him away, but his fingers reached her core before she could do anything. "Do you still believe me to be a cat demon?" He asked playfully, mouth by her ear.
Clary nodded frantically, more to encourage his fingers than to acknowledge his question, which were beginning to rub her clit. She let out a small moan, grinding her hips down upon his hand shamelessly. Her whole body throbbed as Jonathan slid his fingers over her panties, hiking her dress up around her ribs, dangerously close to revealing her breasts. She bit her lip, shifting her hips as she tried to get more friction.
"What was it you were saying earlier? About how I'd never get you into bed?" He growled in her ear. His fingers pushed past her panties and she bunched her hands in the sheets. "Well now look at you, all wet for me."
Clary whimpered, her body screaming for friction, for the release that was so unfairly being withheld from her. Jonathan stroked her slit before plunging two fingers inside her, rubbing her clit with his thumb. Her back arched against the bed, Jonathan's body caging her in. He parted her legs further with his free hand, pushing her dress well above her breasts, her strapless bra defenseless against Jonathan's free hand.
His fingers slowed, almost pulling away and Clary made a sound of protest. His free hand trailed lightly over her bra before releasing the front catch, fingers sliding over her nipples and making goose bumps race along her skin. "What shall I do with you, my indecisive little Clarissa? You tell me you hate me and I only find you wet and ready for me."
She moaned, her body on fire, when she felt his nose nuzzle her stomach. His hot breath blew across her quivering abdominal muscles as he moved lower and lower, lower still… just like last time. Her hips pushed against his hand, his chin as he brushed it against her panties. A shiver went through her as he opened his mouth and grazed his teeth over the skin along her waistband.
She nearly choked when Jonathan's teeth pulled down her panties, his hand taking them from his mouth and sticking them in his pocket. A show of possession. Her body and her belongings were his to do with what he pleased. His velvet tongue rasped over her clit, causing her to cry out, arching off the bed.
Fire burned her skin, shooting sparks through her veins at Jonathan's touch. Something in the back of her mind nagged at her, about something important, but it was wiped away when Jonathan dipped his tongue inside her, sliding over her sweet spot to send a wave of pleasure coursing through her body. Clary was vaguely aware of her quiet, whimpering moans as Jonathan continued to lick and suckle to his black heart's content.
He suckled her clit, tugging until she was dizzying with ecstasy, or maybe that was the champagne, Clary couldn't tell but what she could tell was how amazing Jonathan's mouth on her felt. She nearly screamed as she burst, calling out her brother's name, riding the waves of pleasure hard. Her entire body shook as she watched her brother's grinning face rise from between her thighs through falling eyelids, growing heavier by the second. He kissed up her shaky stomach to her neck, touching his lips to hers before she collapsed in utter exhaustion below him, his body once again sheltering hers with delicious heat and muscle.
Her last thought was that her brother wasn't supposed to make her feel this way.