Fructus Arboris Venenato

by winniethewriter

Takes place before the events of CoB. In the war between Valentine and the Clave, Valentine wins. Complete Summary inside.

11. Golden

The day has finally come. After three months of waiting, which I eternally apologize for but I've been distracted with life and my other stories. But, just for my special, devoted readers, I made the chapter extra long. And deliciously conflicted. *rubs hands together evilly* But, I do hope you guys enjoy this chapter and I do have to put up some warnings for this chapter as well.

-Non-con sex

That's it actually. Thought it would be more but guess not. Anyway, hate me if you want for letting you wait so long, so, so sorry but I devoted this whole past week to finishing this chapter and editing it, do hope you'll enjoy yourselves. Sorry if it's a little disturbing for you but hey, you've been reading this long...

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The day was bright, sun blazing through the Gard like a cleansing beam as it peaked over the mountains. Only, in the Gard, no one slept, bustling about and rushing to finish last minute preparations for the ceremony, the wedding. Banners were hung throughout the main hall along with olive and ivory, gossamer curtains decorating the pillars. Reflective gold dust had been sewn into every bit of fabric. The seats were draped in charcoal and pale olive, the carpet of the aisle pure charcoal. The soft gray arbor that had been erected at the end of the aisle was beautifully decorated in black roses, twining their way up and around the rounded structure. Hangings from the ceiling contained dried olives and soft white roses, the elegant counterpart of the black ones taking the centerpiece of the aisle. Dark green flowers had been set around the room for the occasional accent.

But now, the hall was empty, patiently waiting for its occupants to fill it up with noise and chatter and the union that was to take place today. The maids were rushing, cleaning rooms and setting the dining hall along with the butlers for the banquet afterwards. The guests residing in the City of Glass were just rising with the sun, whereas the servants had bene up long before the sun had shown its face in the sky. Most were filled with chatter and excitement at the news of a wedding but some, those who saw the amoral and incestuous ways were disgruntled and sympathetic towards the girl forced into wedded union today as they donned their suits and dresses.

Those within the Gard, unlike the city where negative feelings were a minority, were divided in feelings and ambitions towards the union taking place. The son strode happily, or as happily as one such as himself could get, through the blazing corridors, clad in his dark black suit, painted in golden outlines and runes. The son showed no emotion on his face though, striding past the servants without even a sneer in their direction. He was satisfied with himself, eagerly awaiting the moment when his sister would be bound to him and the sweet, long hours of this night he would spend bending her to his will. He smirked, oh yes he was looking forward to that.

The daughter, dragged from her intoxicated sleep, was swamped by maids, unhappily standing in the midst of chatty maids and servants, forcing her into a dress of ivory and gold metal work that hugged her breasts and small waist. It dipped in a sleeveless, sweetheart neckline, the sewn in push up bra putting her breasts and a healthy amount of cleavage on display as silk ties were secured around her neck to hold the dress up. A golden sash wrapped around her waist while the draped skirt swept down her legs until it swept back up and cinched on her right hip. The skirt was inlaid with threads of bendable, thin wires of golden metal that made swirling designs and revealed the occasional rune within the pattern if one were to look hard enough. She was not happy at all, terrified and furious maybe, but not at all happy. She constantly reminded herself it was for her imprisoned friend, for her mother but it never soothed the burning blush coloring her cheeks in hatred or the trembling of her body. Not even her dark haired friend could soothe her, not when she knew what would do tonight, when the lights were off and the partygoers were gone, when she was alone with him.

The mother, much like the daughter, had been dragged from her bed at dawn. Her husband had overseen her dressing, sitting with a satisfied smile in the corner while her hands were bound in thin cuffs behind her back and her open backed, sleeveless forest green dress was forced up from her legs to settle around her chest. She cursed and spat at Valentine but really she was terrified for her daughter and what she would suffer by the end of the day. She wanted desperately to escape with her daughter, wholly intact. It was wrong to make the two siblings marry and even worse, fornicate. She continued struggling until she saw it was a waste of energy and ceased. Her ex-husband smirked before rising from his place of shadows. One way or another, she would have his head roll that much she was sure of.

The husband was overjoyed to have his family back, his family uniting with one another. Now only if his wife wouldn't resist him any longer, everything would be perfect. But she continually forced him to bind her and weaken her. He was satisfied when she stopped struggling finally. He watched the way her breasts heaved against the tight dress, remembering the long nights in bed they used to spend together. Maybe, much like his son, he could bed a certain redhead by the end of the night.

-Xxx-

Everything was perfect, Jonathan thought as he saw the doors at the end of the charcoal laden aisle open. Jonathan wasn't an emotional man, he doubted he even had emotion, but when he saw Clarissa standing there, decked in ivory and golden, green eyes blazing with what he lacked, framed by her curled red hair, his breath was sucked from him, his body growing hard. Her dress, sleeveless and revealing, hugged her breasts, pushing them up for his view. The metal work around her chest was golden and drew his eyes to her breasts before traveling up to her lit green eyes, and that half-panicked, half-infuriated face. Her small waist was clasped in a gold sash, trailing down her draped, ivory skirt. She was a vision of ivory light, the perfect contrast to his darkened charcoal, the molten golden in both tying the two together.

Her eyes caught at his, raging at him with thousands of curses and hidden pleas, begging him not to let this go through. As she walked up the aisle, soft music playing in the background, he saw that anger and fury drain away with every step, leaving behind the fear and pleading. He reveled in the look, couldn't wait to make the silent pleas into loud cries and shouts of pleasure, all disguised as his name. She reached the foot of the dais and began to climb the few steps toward him with a look from her mother.

He wasn't going to stop, Clary thought as she reached the top of the stairs. Jonathan really was going to bind her to him, make her his wife for the rest of her life. She almost gagged on the word wife as he took her hand, placing a long metal object in her other hand. She didn't dare look into his eyes, for fear she would fall in the deep abyss of their darkness, just as she had the night previous. Before she'd woken up alone in bed to pokes and prods from the multitude of maids and Isabelle. Isabelle mostly.

She stared deftly at the long metal object in her palm, remembering what her tutor Hodge had drilled into her. She had to draw two runes, identical to each other on Jonathan's arm and chest while reciting a passage from The Song of Solomon. The metal was iridescent and wrapped in gold that matched the metal work on her dress. She swallowed hard. Her kohl outlined eyes itched as she looked up at Jonathan's black eyes with panic.

She didn't want this, she couldn't let him chain her to him, force her to have his children. She shuddered. That would mean being bedded by him, having his hands all over her, his body inside hers, violating her and staining her soul. She shuddered, and along with the inevitable disgust came the growing wave of pleasure Jonathan had been cultivated these past few days. She hated that he'd even managed to instill anything but hatred and anger towards him inside her. She could feel his hands now, all over her, tightening on her waist, his tongue and fingers between her legs as her fuzzy head let him have free reign of her body. She shook her head slowly, a finite gesture only Jonathan could see.

"Jonathan, please." She hated the desperation in her voice, but what else would he respond to aside from her begging on her knees? Even then that would probably only turn him on. "Please don't make me do this."

Jonathan watched her eyes, the pleading and terror, the intrigue that had blazed only a moment ago. There was a small twinge in his chest, almost as though her rejection of him hurt. He was starting to respond to her, and not in the way he wanted. He believed that he had actually started caring, if only finitely, about her emotional state, her happiness. He frowned, brushing the thoughts aside and focusing on how stunning she looked before him, how the bodice of the dress hugged her breasts, how much he wanted to bury his face in her neck, on her lips, between her breasts, and how much he wanted to wipe the innocence from her eyes. He closed her fingers over the stele and leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"Draw them properly and say the words," he whispered, nipping her ear before he pulled away and bared his arm to her.

Her mouth opened and it looked like she was on the verge of tears, though she hid it from the crowd with the fall of her hair, as she bent over his wrist. He hissed at the stinging burn of the stele, only he didn't care about the pain, he felt… wrong and hurt that she didn't want to be with him. He shook the thought away, enraged that he would be thinking so weakly, as he unbuttoned his shirt so she could duplicate the rune on his chest as she muttered the words shakily.

Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame.

She seemed to choke out the words, barely holding back tears and he had the sudden urge to lean down and wrap her up in strong arms, rock her back and forth while whispering in her ear. He brushed the thought away, of course he was growing to care somewhat about Clarissa, she was going to be his wife after all and he wanted her to come to him for everything, but that didn't mean her feelings for him mattered to him, all he needed was her lust and loyalty. He only wanted to possess her and as he took up the stele to draw the rune on her wrist and her chest, repeating the words as the inky black runes formed in stark contrast to her pale, freckled skin. Her skin was soft and supple to the touch, just as it had been lest night and shuddered at the thought of her velvet muscles wrapped tightly around him. She shivered as his fingers brushed the curve of her breast. As he finished the last of the rune, he couldn't help but want Clarissa to be looking at him with those multifaceted emerald eyes.

The ones that were bowed to the ground. Once he was finished, he slipped the ceremonial stele into his pocket before crooking his finger under her chin, bringing her eyes up to meet his.

Clary trembled at Jonathan's touch; she felt the burning runes branded into her skin, marking her as his property for the rest of time. Her eyes were torn from the ground, where Jonathan's immaculate shoes rested not even centimeters from hers. She could have sworn she heard her mother sobbing but when her eyes jumped to hers, apologetic and pleading, Jocelyn sat stoically beside her father, her hand locked inside Valentine's much larger one.

"Look at me," she heard Jonathan murmur and for the first time, she heard something other than anger or smugness in his tone. It wasn't his quietly whispered command that drew her attention, it was the slip of raw emotion, true emotion she heard in her brother's voice.

She turned to look at him, his black, black eyes cracked with something other than hatred or cruelty for one fleeting moment as he looked at her before he resumed his typical self-satisfied persona. His other hand slid down her chest around her waist, pulling her up against him before he bent his head and claimed her lips for his own.

Jonathan took his sister's mouth with a passion, determined to drive out whatever he'd been feeling when he saw the look of pure devastation on Clarissa's face as she'd turned to her mother. His arm slid around her waist to lock her to him as he kissed her for everyone to see, for everyone to know that Clarissa was his property. He nearly lifted her off her feet as he slipped his tongue inside her mouth, making her gasp and clutch his suit jacket. Then he pulled away, breathing raggedly as he watched Clarissa's eyes flit away from his.

Some part of him registered victory, he'd finally gotten her to submit to him, at least for now, but another was angered that she hadn't returned the kiss, hadn't done anything other than endure it. No matter, by tonight he'd have her begging for his touch.

Clary trembled as Jonathan led them down the steps and back up the aisle. Her eyes flitted around nervously, finding her mother for a moment before the crowd and Valentine's large frame swallowed her up. She heard music and cheers, people reaching out to pat her shoulder in congrats only to be warned off by a deadly look in Jonathan's eyes. He led her into a small antechamber where they would wait for the guests to seat themselves at the tables in the dining room before they walked out, smiling and waving like a normal married couple.

Clary's breath caught, nearly suffocating her as she wrenched away from Jonathan once the door was closed. Anger was a living thing inside her chest, right along with the sheer terror Jonathan could surely see. She hated him for this, hated him and her father for ever daring to touch her and her mother's lives in New York. They'd been perfectly fine! It wasn't paradise, as she'd regrettably admitted to Jonathan, but it was better than having Simon locked in a dungeon, dying and being used as leverage to coerce her into marrying her homicidal, demonic, sociopathic brother.

She could feel him, feel his gaze boring a hole into her back, the entire length of exposed flesh right down to the small of her back. She felt naked in the damned dress and she wanted to slap Jonathan, or kick him in an unsavory place, might save her the horror that was to come tonight if he was too sore down there, and not in a good way. Maybe if she kicked hard enough…

Jonathan watched the length of Clarissa's back tremble and turn red with a blush. He wondered absently what she was thinking, why she'd ripped away from him. Then again, he had a well educated guess already lined up. He knew she hated him and had been dreading this union since the moment it was announced but he saw past the green fire in her eyes. There was more to her feelings than just hatred and disgust. There was lust, and he fully intended to capitalize on it.

Her fiery head was bent, back to him and arms wrapped around herself like she could protect herself from him as he slid up behind her. He reached out and slid his fingers down the silky expanse of her back. A wicked smile slipped over his face at the sudden shiver that went down her spine before she spun around, knocking his hand away.

"Keep your filthy hands off me," she snarled, stepping away from him.

He tsked, closing the distance she had just gained.

"Now why would I want to do that?" Jonathan purred, tracing his finger over the inky black wedding rune on Clarissa's chest.

Clary smacked his hand away, hating how sultry his stare had become… and how enticing it had become for her. His mere touch should elicit disgust, not desire. She trembled with the knowledge that he'd actually penetrated her defenses. She knew tears shone in her eyes but she refused to let them fall.

"Because you're a despicable demon that shouldn't ever be in contact with humans," Clary spat, forcing cutting conviction into her eyes, pushing down the tears.

Something flickered across his face then, too quick to identify but Clary turned away from him, fully intending to leave the room, wedding and building. Possibly go throw herself out the window or lock herself into a cell with Simon, she might as well be in a cell now she was truly a prisoner of far worse circumstances. Her heels clicked loudly on the tile floor before she was pulled to a halt.

Jonathan's iron grip was wrapped around her arm, holding tight enough to leave a bruise.

"Clarissa." Clary froze at the way her name rolled off his tongue in a gentle purr that seemed to slide down her spine. "Aren't you weary of the game yet? Why not just relax and enjoy the party? It is not like I can do much to you in front of a crowd. Nothing I want to anyway." His last words were murmured to himself but his voice was so molten and liquid that she practically melted on the spot.

He couldn't imagine how tired she was, how weary she grew of this violent back and forth that sucked up her energy but for everything that was moral, she couldn't stop fighting him. That would make her… wrong. Wouldn't it? She sighed, dipping her head. Maybe she could indulge herself in the party to try and regain some energy for tonight. She shuddered with disgust, at least she hoped it was all disgust, and gingerly tugged on her arm, asking for release.

To her surprise, the man behind her let her go but his body crowded hers, the warmth pouring off him onto her exposed skin, heating her blood. She flinched as his hand slipped inside hers before he led her out into the dining room, where all the nosy, loud, overbearing guests were seated. Everyone stood and applauded as Jonathan walked her out.

Jonathan managed not to sneer as the guests, mostly Dark Shadowhunters, stood and cheered as he seated himself and Clarissa at the head table with Valentine and Jocelyn. His sister had seemed to withdraw into herself, acting like a quiet and docile wife. He frowned, inwardly, finding himself missing the usual fire she conducted herself with.

Jonathan stood, Clarissa with him, a soft smile playing across her lips that had him wanting to kiss it away, to make a dreary but obligatory speech. He caught the edge of bitterness seep into his sister's smile out of the corner of his eye before he sat back down. Valentine stood in his place. Before he started to speak though, Jonathan reached over and tugged Clarissa's chair up beside his.

"My son and daughter, one I've raised with my own two hands and the other I've just barely met," Valentine began, holding his champagne flute idly.

Clary tried not to glare down the table at the man. The way Valentine put it, one could almost believe that she wasn't his daughter by blood and she hadn't just been forced to marry her sick brother. A normal couple. She felt a knot of hatred coil in her chest, even as Jonathan's heat rolled off him as he slid an arm around her waist. She bit her lip to keep from snapping at him.

"But I love her already, with all my heart." That was a lie, Valentine didn't have a heart. "And along with her, my beautiful wife returned to me," Valentine spoke and his voice echoed through the cavernous room without any lost sound. He swept an arm to gesture towards Jocelyn who sat broodingly to his side, not even making an effort to appear happy and content. She looked heartbroken and hateful.

"Now I won't take up much time, because we all know we're looking forward to seeing the happy couple cut the cake and have their first dance." Valentine paused. "Removing the garter."

A few wolf whistles and whoops of approval sounded from the crowd. Clary noticed Jonathan's arm tightening fractionally as dread settled in her stomach. She'd forgotten about the garter. Valentine had insisted on some mundane traditions, despite this being a Shadowhunter wedding. He'd wanted to give it a 'comforting' and 'familiar' feeling since she'd been raised as a mundane.

Jonathan let out a soft purr of appreciation for the one mundane tradition he could appreciate. It gave him an excuse to get under Clarissa's skirts. He traced his fingers over Clarissa's hip in contemplation. A smirk slipped across his lips as he thought about the full body blush that would creep over Clarissa as his hand slid up her leg, her thigh to where the thin ivory-gold band sat around her supple skin. He dipped his head, so the crowd before him couldn't see the lust blazing up in his eyes.

"A mundane tradition I'm sure my son will enjoy. But I would just love to say that I'm overjoyed to have my family reunited again and that my son and daughter are now joined closer than ever." He raised his glass. "To the happy couple and the many heirs they'll have."

A collective murmur ran through the crowd, repeated 'happy couple's as they raised their own glasses. Jonathan picked up his champagne flute by the stem, raising it like the rest of them. He noticed Clarissa didn't touch the alcohol and had a fleeting disappointment wing through his chest that she wouldn't be giggly and tipsy by tonight. He liked hearing her giggle. It was soothing and caressing, as though sweeping him away from his past and the pain. Something told him he should be shying away from that sort of thought but he took so little joy in anything else that he thought to allow himself this one peaceful sound, echoing through his mind.

The feast began then, and Clary was disgusted at the gluttony displayed before her while the prisoners downstairs were starving to death. Clary sipped from her champagne flute, which she had filled with water after taking one look at the alcohol, sitting innocent and bubbly inside, and then proceeding to dump it in the closest potted plant that had been brought in for the wedding. People around her devoured the food offered up, not like animals or pigs, but finely trained dogs that had been starved for sustenance, terrified of upsetting their masters, they ate slowly but greedily. She barely touched the food given, while Jonathan only ate one or two servings. Clary ended up, as the feast lasted for a good hour or two, swirling her tasteless water in her glass, staring, empty eyed and apathetic, at the guests consuming their obsession to please their master.

Jonathan managed to hide the sneer with a charming smile as the Dark Shadowhunters indulged themselves in their lord's hospitality. What lap dogs, looking to please and obey. Fools. Jonathan took a swig of champagne, glancing idly at his new wife beside him. He saw her discreetly dump the champagne into the olive plant and smiled, admiring her subtly, for any other wouldn't have seen the action, but he did. He could see the disdain written across her fine, regal features but was relieved not to have it directed at him, as well as pleased that they shared a common view on the people spread before them like a chess board. Her elegant profile intrigued him, his eyes floating from her straight nose to the swell of her lips, lips he very much wanted to kiss at the moment but he was having too much fun watching her without her seeming to notice.

His eyes followed the drape of her hair down her bare shoulder, noticing how she'd moved it just so that it covered the rune on her chest. He sighed his exasperation quietly. Eventually she would give in to him, even if not tonight, he wouldn't release her from his bed till she did and he had the utmost confidence in himself that he could do wicked things to her that would make her submit. He shuddered at the thought, taking another sip of champagne to heighten the buzz in his veins. Oh, yes, he could practically feel her writhing beneath him now, screaming his name, mewling like a kitten as he tortured her relentlessly with his body. He also looked forward to the imminent challenge of getting her into the bed sober, he always liked a challenge.

Clary could feel her brother's eyes on her, his heated gaze travelling over her face and down to her chest, where she'd covered the rune with her fall of red hair. He'd removed his arm some time ago to eat, which had surprised her. A demon like him, she would suspect he lived off the damned souls of others, not human food, but no he ate, and Clary touched scant few things. Only eating enough to sate what little appetite she had as she watched the sun in the windows move from late morning to early afternoon. She could barely see her mother down the table, blocked by both Jonathan and Valentine but what little she did see of her, Jocelyn was acting much like her daughter. Refusing to touch neither alcohol nor food.

Soon, too soon, the plates were swept away and the removing of the garter was taking place. An orchestral set, playing from somewhere unseen, started up as Valentine stood and announced the ceremony was to begin. Clary stared in horror at the empty dance floor, a lone chair being brought in. She snuck a glance at Jonathan, who was outwardly grinning, like a little boy on Christmas morning. He stood first, extending his hand toward her like a proper gentleman. She snorted inwardly, Jonathan a gentleman, the very idea was laughable.

She reluctantly took his hand, letting him pull her up and guide her over to the chair in the middle of the dance floor. She felt Jonathan's hand like an iron shackle around her wrist as he set her down on the chair. A slight tremble had set into her body as she looked up at her brother. His eyes were a bright, vivid black as he knelt down. Before he could start, Valentine called for attention at the front table. Clary, slightly relieved by the delay, turned towards him, well aware of Jonathan's hands resting on her knees.

"Now, I've never understood why removing the garter was part of mundane tradition," Valentine began. "But as I look now on the newlyweds, I can see that it is to display the bond and love between them as the bride allows the groom to remove a piece of her clothing. Since none of us are very familiar with this type of ceremony, allow me to explain what happens. In light of being an ancient race, us Shadowhunters, we thought to go about this tradition the old fashioned way. The groom, my son, will remove the garter, under the bride's skirts, with his teeth and then proceed to throw it into the crowd of single men we have here tonight. This custom, in mundane culture, is meant to signify luck for the single man who catches the garter. Whoever catches it is said to be the next married."

With that, Valentine sat down with a satisfied smirk as all the males seemed to perk up their ears like ravenous hyenas. She heard Jonathan's quiet growl and couldn't tell if it was from the prospect of retrieving her garter with his teeth or in disapproval of throwing her garter to other men, being the possessive man he was. But he let his hands drift down her legs as cat calls rang out. Clary wanted to pull back, wanted to stop him but something about the look in his eyes, about the way his hands caressed her calves, lifting her skirts held her still. Before Jonathan was enveloped in her skirts, he looked up at her with a wolfish grin that sent shivers down her spine.

Jonathan was near giddy as he felt Clarissa's skirts settle over his back and he was met with a dimly illuminated tent made by her skirts. Soft light filtered through the ivory fabric, making a gold sheen coat Clarissa's delicate, trembling legs. He grinned, trailing his fingertips down her soft skin. He felt her shudder as his fingers closed around her ankle, straightening her tightly clenched legs. He pressed a kiss to her ankle, hearing a soft sigh from her, he grinned against her skin. He drew his tongue over her shin, getting closer to the garter sitting high on her thigh.

He reveled in the heat coming off her thighs, the soft, breathy gasps and sighs only he could hear. He saw the lacy panties covering her hidden treasure. He placed slow, scorching kisses on her leg, swirling his tongue over the skin. She gasped, trying to pull her leg away but his hand tightened around her ankle. He nipped her in reprimand. His teeth closed around the thin strip of fabric, dragging it down her leg. Her muscles clenched and he groaned, as though he could feel those muscles wrapping around him in ecstasy.

Clary was drawn tight, stiff as Jonathan emerged from her skirts, garter hanging triumphantly from his mouth, reminding her when he had removed her underwear the night previous. He stood and threw the garter into the crowd before sweeping her up and kissing her passionately. She heard a din of shouts and cheers as Jonathan held her close. Pressed against Jonathan's chest, his lips scorching hers, she had to melt and sink into him, remembering to conserve her energy, remembering that if she didn't cooperate, Simon would die.

Jonathan set her on her feet but didn't relinquish his hold on her waist, or her lips. She was forced to endure it, letting him mold his mouth to hers before she finally had to push him back to come up for air. Panting, she rested her head on Jonathan's chest, closing her eyes as she tried not to scream in frustration. Why did he conjure such a wild fire in her body when he was her brother, a demon? She hated him for it, hated him for taking her hostage and obsessing over her like some sick puppy dog.

Damn, she cursed herself. She shouldn't be comparing her brother to anything as remotely cute or loving as a puppy. Jonathan was a ruthless killer with his own agenda and no regard for others' feelings or lives. That's just the way it was and Clary refused to live like this. She had to find a way out, she had to escape with her mother and Simon, but now Jonathan had officially tied the knot of the noose around her neck, he'd know she'd be even more of a flight risk. And there was no way he was letting her out of his sight before he got what he wanted in the bed tonight. She shivered and held back tears as the music started.

She was vaguely aware that Valentine had announced the first dance.

Jonathan inhaled, taking the scent of his new wife into his lungs as his hand settled over the small of her back. He pressed her to him, smelling the faint scent of arousal wafting off her. He smiled into her hair, her forehead still pressed against his chest. He couldn't wait to get her in bed. He felt the way her body trembled against his as he swept her around the dance floor and, amazingly, felt a pang in his chest as he realized she was quietly sobbing. He held her tightly, making sure his body blocked any possible view of her tears and was struck that he would want no one else to her see her like this, to see her weakness and vulnerability. Those were things only meant for his eyes.

Clary hated how good Jonathan smelled, like dark spices and pine, it was utterly intoxicating. Not to mention the way he was holding her, arm cradling her body to his, tucking her neatly beneath his shoulder as he swayed to the music with her. She wanted to slap him for showing some shred of tenderness hours before he was to throw her in a bedroom and violate her. She bit her lip, stifling the quiet sob from coming to her lips and cutting her tears short. She kept her head pressed to his chest, even as the song changed and more guests flowed out onto the floor, spinning their partners around while Jonathan seemed determined to keep her pressed against him.

Some time passed before Jonathan leaned down, breaking the blissful silence she had fallen into, almost believing that she was in the arms of someone who didn't plan on ruining her life further, or that she was dancing with poor Simon. Her heart hurt to think about him, but she did it anyway to distract from the panic and screams building inside her.

"You're awfully quiet," Jonathan commented.

"Don't ruin it or I might have to smack you in front of everyone." Clary drew back to look him in the eyes. "You wouldn't want that now would you?" She challenged.

Jonathan grinned wolfishly, tugging her closer. "You have no idea what I want," he murmured, his voice sultry and low, causing her to shiver. Okay, wrong thing to say, Clary thought.

Jonathan felt the next hours drag by as the sun began to set outside and the dancing continued. He pulled Clary off the side a few times, Valentine occasionally coming over to speak with them as the cake was served and consumed, neither of them ate very much of it. Jonathan always watched closely when Jocelyn and Clarissa huddled together beside them, whispering in undertones, nibbling on the sugary desserts, so quiet Jonathan could barely hear but from what he did catch, they were talking of nothing of consequence. The one thing that did catch his ear, and made him immediately draw Clarissa away into his body was when he heard her speak of how much she missed the mundane locked in the dungeon, of wanting to free him and leave.

His fingers dug into her side as she tried to shoulder her way out of his grasp, causing her to gasp. He slid his hand up her waist, fingers brushing her corseted breasts. She smacked his fingers away, skin making a loud crack against his knuckles. The action sparked something in him and his body blazed. Her fire was back, after what seemed like such a dampened little Clarissa for the majority of the wedding. Now she was fiery and angry, Angel, he couldn't wait to taste the hatred and lust on her lips later tonight. He looked up at the clock, hanging like a big silver platter above the main doors. He grinned.

Or maybe in just a few minutes. He nearly jumped from his seat like a giddy little boy as Valentine stood to announce the departure of the bride and groom. The moment Valentine finished, Jonathan jumped up from his seat, tugging Clary with him and sweeping her up into his arms. He ignored the cheers, the look of dread and disgust on Jocelyn's face, Valentine's smug look of approval, all he could focus on was Clarissa's small whimper and her tight, trembling body.

He was out of the ball room and in the hall before anyone could blink. Grinning like an idiot he closed the bedroom door behind them, locking it with a heavy metal key and shoving the key into his pocket. He gently set Clarissa on her feet, making sure his smile was gone, replaced with a sultry stare that did his raging body no justice. It was dark, dark enough that he knew only he could see at the moment. Smirking, he thought to take advantage of this situation.

He slid off his suit coat, throwing it to the corner of the room while moving around the still Clarissa. She gasped softly, her head swinging around toward the noise. Just for the fun of it, Jonathan laid his fingers over Clarissa's spine and his body flamed at the sound of her quiet yelp as she jumped forward, away from his fingers.

"Jonathan?" His name was a whispered plea in the dark, one that he fully intended to act upon. She really was terrible at hiding her feelings. Though he may have been confusing a plea to stop with a plea to continue. In Clarissa's silky voice it was very easy to confuse the two. He wanted to play with his prey, much like he'd slowly watched the rabbits bleed out, dragging out the enjoyment he got from it, he would drag out this scared, gentle Clarissa as long as possible. For when she came to the realization, or assumption really, that she was in real danger, she'd become that fiery leopard that he wanted to play with. He wanted the bruises and scratches marking his body as a tale to their rough play. He wanted her marks all over him and he wanted his marks all over her.

Jonathan leaned down, watching the dim green of her irises spark in the darkness. He blew a hot breath across her cheek, drawing a breathy gasp and a turned cheek from her. She backed away, one careful step at a time. He could see the muscles coiling, the delicious tension that he would unravel beneath his fingers. He loved teasing her, loved getting a rise out of her, making her lose control and that beautiful red blush that covered her body when she regained it.

His hand slipped up to cup her cheek, sliding beneath her silky hair that would soon be tousled and messy. She tried to back away but his fingers curled around the back of her neck. She pressed back against his hand, trying to flee but he took a step forward, feet on either side of hers as his body curved over hers, so much taller. He feathered his lips across her forehead, her cheek, her jaw before she finally reacted with a strangled moan, yanking away from him.

"Jonathan," she said and this time the conviction in her hard voice slid down his spine like delicious fingers. He resisted the urge to lean his head back and groan. She was winding tighter.

"I like the way my name slides over your lips," he murmured, taking a step forward to close the space she'd opened.

Fear skittered down Clary's spine, her body aflame and flickering between that blue, ice cold fire and the red hot inferno Jonathan had set off in her body with those tender, gentle kisses he'd brushed over her skin. It was wrong, utterly wrong for him to be doing this. Why did he even want her? Did he really need to have the only woman nature forbade him to have? Her heart stopped as a thought passed across her mind, even as Jonathan's looming, hard figure brushed up against hers.

She felt sorry for him. Sorry he'd been so deprived as a child that he would sink to the level of desiring his own sister. She couldn't imagine what kind of childhood one had to suffer through to think this was okay. Then again, she'd seen a glimpse of it in the burned out husk of a home when he'd taken her riding. She'd seen the hurt and pain flashing in his dark black eyes before they'd burned like hellfire, spinning on her and scorching over her. Though, what kind of person was she? To allow herself to be drawn in even in the slightest by his teasing and coaxing. When had she even begun to react to his actions? Her thoughts went back and forth in a tennis match like that, frantic, desperate, terrified and sympathetic, so distracting that she hadn't realized she'd melted into one of Jonathan's kisses.

His mouth was warm, deceptively welcoming as his tongue danced over her lips and teeth, coaxing a low moan from her throat. Encouraged by the sound, Jonathan's fingers tunneled a little deeper into her hair. His body a hard line pressing against her soft breasts, forced against his chest. He was hard in all the places she was soft and she hated it. Hated how her body molded to the firm line of his. She made a sound, placing her hands on his chest and pushing him away. Only, he didn't budge, more like she propelled herself backward.

When she looked up, all she could see, now that her eyes had adjusted to the moonlit room, was the glint of Jonathan's white gold hair, flashing like gems, and the hard gleam of his oh, so black eyes. Nothing else, aside from his large, consuming outline, backlit by the moon spilling its light in through the only window, could be seen. She didn't recognize this room, she thought, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. It was smaller than the prison cell of a room she'd been held in these past weeks. But smaller in a good way, cozier, and she dreaded to think she'd be locked in here with him for the Angel knew how long. From what she could see of the bed, in was low to the ground, coming to her mid-thigh, which was still fairly low considering how short she was, swathed in black silks and piled with pillows, protected by transparent curtains pinned to ornately carved bed posts.

By the time she looked back, he was in front of her, crowding her, making her body vibrate with fear and that damned heat, spreading like wildfire through her body. She wanted to hit him. She did. Only before her hand could connect with his jaw, he caught her wrist in a grip, much like an iron shackle. Funny really, how she was now shackled to him in both figurative and literal worlds. His soft lips, and Clary despised how they were so soft when he himself was so sharp and hard, came down over her exposed wrist. He nipped her pulse, causing electric jolts to jump through her. His teeth scraping made her closed fist open, revealing the tender palm within, like a flower reluctantly and confusedly blooming in the middle of winter. Only what the bloom was met with certainly wasn't the icy bite of winter wind or freezing touch of snow but warm, caressing breezes and searing, liquid heat as Jonathan slowly licked over her palm, breath blowing over her skin as he went.

"Hitting isn't nice Clarissa," he reprimanded, acting as though the incessant tugging of her arm from his grip was nothing but the tickle of a feather, pleasant but annoying. But she had to keep fighting him because if she didn't keep up her anger and disgust, she feared her knees might buckle and she just might succumb to him, which horrified her. Especially as he took one of her fingers into his mouth, sucking on it until he forced a soft mewl of protest to slip from her lips.

Clary was immediately mortified of the sound, trying desperately now to draw back, to get away, to run out of this room, snatch up her mother and Simon and disappear. But Jonathan was like Alcatraz, inescapable and dangerous, only he didn't simply use pain and threats and imprisonment but the archetype to all of those. He used pleasure to get what he wanted, and tears welled at the thought that Clary was actually succumbing to him. Or at least dangerously close to.

"But your little sounds are," he said around her fingers, scraping over flesh with his teeth. He sucked, his deep voice reminding her of when his low timbre had vibrated through her body from down there. She couldn't help the shudder that ran through her. "I wonder what kind of sounds you'll make—" Jonathan released her fingers but not her wrist, "—when I have you beneath me. I already know the sounds you make when I'm eating you out." He tugged on her wrist, causing her to stumble forward and land against his chest.

His crass language should have snapped her out of her stupor, into which she'd fallen, for she never normally liked those kinds of terms but with him, the way his deep voice echoed through her mind and her body, made her legs almost turn to jelly. This weak, breathy moan escaped from her lips, to Clary's utter chagrin, and Jonathan's apparent satisfaction. A wide smirk slowly trailed over his lips. No, no, no, she was supposed to be fighting and kicking and screaming, not melting under his touch.

She yanked her wrist as hard as she could, knowing it would bruise at least, but she didn't care as she bolted for the door. She didn't know it was locked, for she hadn't heard her brother lock it, lost in her fear upon entering. So when she tried to tear the door open, she was only slammed back against it by the force with which she'd pulled it. She was dizzy and her arm ached. She couldn't hear Jonathan either, and that terrified her, she couldn't see him, she couldn't hear him. And that lacking knowledge is what caused her to scream as two hands slammed onto the door on either side of her with a loud, resounding crack.

She felt his breath along her neck, hot like that of a predator gearing up to devour his prey. And Clary was his prey.

Jonathan kept his arms caged around the petite woman, shivering against the door as he smiled down her back, the long, naked expanse of her back. He couldn't wait to taste every inch of her skin.

"Where do you think you're going? We haven't even started," he whispered devilishly, his body growing hard at the mere idea of what torment he was going to bestow upon her next. He leaned down, pressing his lips to the nape of her neck after swiping her hair over her shoulder. He continued his open mouthed, scorching kisses down the line of her spine. Clarissa was practically trembling as his hands left the door and came around her hips, flattening over her stomach as he had to go to his knees, the short little thing she was.

On his knees, somewhere he'd never thought he'd be, but was oddly satisfied with this position, his hands slid down the front of her silky dress, down her thighs, the taut muscles tensing before he moved them down her shins, his mouth pressed and working against the small of her back, right above the curve of her tight little ass. His hands finally reached their destination, the hem of her long skirted dress before they slipped under, pulling the skirt up to reveal her pale but corded legs. He was glad he was able get in training with her before the wedding, already stealing some of the softness from her and replacing it with velvety steel muscles.

Clarissa gave a shocked gasp as he lifted the skirt over his head, finding the soft, ivory panties she'd been made to wear. Hands curved around the front of her thighs, two long, skilled fingers hooked in the waist band of the delicate panties and began to pull. Clarissa's hands came around her hips to stop him but he growled like an unsatisfied wolf before nipping her harshly on the back of her thigh in reprimand.

"Leave it," he rumbled.

"Jonathan." His name brushed past her lips. "I'm not—I'm not your dog," Clarissa murmured, trying to sidestep his strong hands but he held her in place. He didn't listen, he was too mesmerized by the soft skin now bared to his mouth. Her panties were around her ankles, catching on her shoes and making it impossible for her to take a step away from him without tripping. He licked the curve of her bottom slowly, letting the sensation wash over him.

He felt her knees trembling beneath his hands as they slid back up her legs, settling over her hips. The slight squeak from her lips only enticed him further. His own lips moved farther down her bottom as he yanked her back against him, away from the door. His lips found that liquid heat, the desire for him, between her legs and there was no way she could deny her wanting him, at least physically but for now that was enough as parted her legs slightly to latch his lips to her core. The answering jump of shock and the soft cry of pleasure and protest made his body harden.

He growled at her taste, so rich and enticing as he suckled on her, listening to the breathy moans and feeling the sudden jerks as she tried to pull away from him. None of it could stop him though, he continued plundering the soft, tense bounty between his bride's thighs. He speared his tongue deep into her heat, flattening his tongue as he pulled out to give a rough lick over her slit. As much as he enjoyed tormenting her with his mouth, he wanted to be inside her, with her beneath him and writhing in pleasure.

He nibbled on her, using his sharp canines to make her jump. He loved to make her jump, her high, delicate squeaks along with them made his body ache. The sounds she made varied so much and he wanted to hear all of them as he forced her to succumb to him. To submit. He noticed that she'd given up trying to get away from his mouth, her cheek pressed against the door as if she were listening for someone in the hall to come and stop him. Well, no one would stop him, not when he was getting what he wanted. He'd easily kill anyone who came between him and his desires.

Clary had to bite her lip, hard enough to draw blood, to stop the majority of her moans and sighs. Her body was as taut as a thin string weighed down with a hundred pound stone. She couldn't imagine worse torture. The only thing that was getting her through this now were thoughts of Simon. How as soon as Jonathan was done with her tonight, she could go release him from the dungeon. She turned her face into the door she was clinging to desperately as Jonathan's tongue slid inside her with heated ease once more, and she had to repress a low moan.

Her stomach roiled as an unpleasant thought disturbed the assault of sensation Jonathan was forcing on her. At least she'd taken the preventative Isabelle had given her and if it worked, she wouldn't become pregnant with this monster's child, at least this time. She couldn't imagine having to carry his spawn around inside her for nine months. Having to birth the thing and hold it in her arms. If Jonathan was like this what would his child be like? She'd never be able to live with herself if she allowed Jonathan to procreate. He was a cruel and manipulative bastard that didn't deserve to be alive.

Clary's hands curled into fists as one of Jonathan's hands slid down from her hip to cup her mound, fingers playing in the tight little curls before slipping down to tease her bundle of nerves as his mouth worked on her from behind, slowly weakening her defenses. She'd stopped struggling, not knowing what his retaliation would be if she fought him, but she wanted to, desperately. A moan broke from her lips to echo in the otherwise silent room; a smile was pressed against her core. Something tugged at her memory then, as the smile held even as he continued pleasuring her, though she wanted it to be untrue.

Valentine was the one who poisoned Jonathan's blood. He'd had no choice in becoming what he was. His father had damned him from before the moment he was born. In a sense, it wasn't Jonathan's fault he was like this but then again, he had the choice to become a better person, he could have chosen not to stand by his father's side and take his sister to bed, allow his mother to be chained up and beaten. Her heart cried out for a moment, both in pleasure and sorrow, cried out for a lost brother and a lost life, even as that brother, sick as he was, used his mouth to do wicked things brother's should never do to her.

She released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding when Jonathan pulled away, fingers curling around her thighs. He tugged her skirt from over his head before he licked up her spine, sending shivers over her back. Then he stopped, just stopped his movements, his body still and relaxed, as though he were absorbing the moment. Clary stood, frightened to death of what he might do next but what he did do next scared her more than she thought possible. He pressed his hot forehead against the small of her back, his breath ghosting over her skin as his arms circled her waist, hugging her to him like she was something precious.

"Take off your shoes," he said. He was still on his knees, still holding her hostage against his body and it scared her, how he could go from an uncaring monster, bent on taking what wasn't his to a tender, quiet man, speaking in soft tones a matter of seconds. Like a tiger, hunting and ferocious one moment only to fall to the ground and roll over for a belly rub, mewling like a kitten instead of the great ferocious beast he really was. She had the urge to listen, to do what he wanted to see a genuine smile on his face. She didn't know why she wanted to see him smile, or to even please him but he'd seen so little happiness and enjoyment in his life, at least from what Clary had been told, that maybe he did deserve at least some satisfaction.

Out of curiosity, she toed off the short heels, stepping to the ground, now shorter than before, Jonathan's nose grazing her lower back instead of the small of it now. He let out this sound that was sort of like a sigh but not really, nuzzling his face against her back. Clary didn't want her heart to melt, if only a little at the sound, but it did. His gentle touch was even more painful than the harsh one because when he was being cruel and severe, Clary could summon the will to hate him and resist him but when he was gentle, she only saw the abused little boy that she'd glimpsed in the ruins of his house.

To stop herself from falling even farther into that dangerous abyss, she yanked away from him, having to step out of her panties as she turned to find him still on his knees, staring up at her. His black eyes were slightly different from before but only for a moment. They, almost immediately, turned lusty and hard. He rose to his feet, towering over her so that she cringed back into the door. There was no escape now, the one moment of tenderness was gone and Clary couldn't see it coming back. She was damned now, a prisoner about to be violated.

"No more fun and games Clarissa," he whispered, stepping towards her to pin her back against the door. "I want what I earned."

Those words washed away the last of any tender or sympathetic feelings she'd had for him a moment ago, replacing her open mouth and soft eyes with a scowl and disgust.

"You didn't earn a damned thing," she hissed. "You stole and manipulated. You pillaged and burned my rights without a thought to me or my family."

His smile was cruel and sharp as he lunged forward, swiping at her legs so she went down, right into Jonathan's arms. He strode across the space between the door and the bed and threw her down onto the surprisingly plush mattress. She didn't have the nerve to get up or even raise herself to her elbows as she saw the malicious glint in his eye.

"Oh but I did Clarissa. I went through so much to convince that old tyrant having you marry me was for the betterment of the bloodline when all I really wanted was you. All to myself. It took time to convince the old bastard that he saw the sketch of that filthy mundane in your room and that he thought of using him against you to make you marry me. I think I well-earned what I worked for."

Clary felt hatred blaze in her chest as she tried to kick out at him, but he only caught her ankle, raising her leg to make her skirt fall down her leg. A furious blush crept over her cheeks as she remembered Jonathan had removed her underwear and could probably see where she was most vulnerable.

"Don't you dare say a thing against Simon!" She snapped, yanking on her foot, which he surprisingly let go.

"I can say and do what I damn well please," Jonathan said though not in the snap of anger that belonged with those words but a whisper of satisfaction. He reached up to loosen his tie before undoing it. He left it hanging around his neck as he went to unbutton his dress shirt. "And what will please me is you."

Clary trembled as she tried to scramble back on the bed, away from the hungry predator stalking toward her. Jonathan undid the last of his buttons, his shirt hanging open to reveal pale, rune carved and rigid muscle. Somehow, it shocked her that beneath his clothes Jonathan was physically beautiful. By the way he's acted and been, it would have been easier if he were horribly disfigured or out of shape but no, he had to be painfully beautiful when he wasn't looking at her like he was now, he had to be perfectly sculpted and all hard.

If he wasn't her brother, she would've have loved to have his body pressed against hers, would have accepted it willingly and melted beneath him. But he was and he was about to dominate her. She watched in horror as he shrugged out of his shirt, tie still hanging loosely around his neck.

"Don't look so shocked Clarissa. It's nothing you haven't seen before in training," Jonathan chittered, hands going to the button of his slacks. Clary had to look away when he tugged his pants down, stepping out of his shoes. "But this, I would hope this is a first, if not I think I'd have to track the man down and kill him."

Jonathan loved how innocent she was, that she couldn't even look at him in his boxers, that brilliant red blush creeping through her body. His eyes followed it down to her breasts, where the wedded union rune stuck out like ink on parchment. He wanted to see where else the blush went. Climbing on the bed, he kneeled over her, his black boxers a sudden hindrance that he wanted gone, but he wanted Clarissa completely naked first.

He leaned down, pressing his chest over her heaving breasts and he was satisfied to find them swollen, waiting for his attention. The metalwork on her dress was cool to the touch but soon heated with his fire. Her head was still turned away, refusing to look at him. He loved that he could make her change between fiery leopard to mewling little kitten in a matter of seconds. He'd seen the change in her when he'd begun unbuttoning his shirt. All her fight and anger over the mundane boy had left her with embarrassment and red cheeks. At the moment, she seemed in some type of paralysis, unmoving and refusing to look at him. She didn't even move as his hands slipped beneath her shoulders to slowly untie the laces at the nape of her neck, the only thing holding the dress up as the thin silk ties slipped from her skin. She seemed resigned to remain motionless as his hands came around her front. He went to peel the dress down her slim body but her hands stopped him as she held the dress to her chest, her hands clamped over her dress.

"Don't," she said, her voice low and mean before she turned to look at him, fire blazing in her eyes. "Get off me," she hissed and that's when she moved. Jonathan, being relaxed and overly confident he could take any fight she put up, wasn't prepared for the knee to his stomach. It didn't move him but his breath left in a gust of air. It even stung a little.

He whipped the tie from around his neck, grabbing her hands before she could hit him. "Now that was certainly not nice Clarissa," he growled, wrapping the tie around her wrists. He yanked on it harshly for her punishment, listening to the soft yelp of pain as her wrists were forced together. He pulled it tight with his teeth, glaring down at her. He held the strip of remaining fabric in his fist, tugging it up to straighten her arms above her. "This is your punishment now, you won't get to use your hands because you play foully."

He looked down at her and was surprised to see tears glimmering in her eyes. He lowered her bound hands until they rested on her stomach, between his thighs.

"Please don't do this Jonathan, I'll do anything, anything but this. Please let me go. Don't do this," she whimpered, tugging on her arms, wanting him to release her. He frowned.

"Why would I do that, when I have you exactly where I want you?" Jonathan asked, honestly confused.

Clarissa apparently had no answer and turned away, but he caught the glistening track of tears down her cheeks. Jonathan sighed, leaning down to kiss the tears away. "I'll wipe those tears from your eyes soon enough," he whispered, tilting his head to kiss her full lips. She didn't fight him for once but seemed to sink into the kiss, resigned and withdrawn, having apparently realized she could do nothing to stop this. He tasted blood on her lips, that sweet, coppery tang of blood that he knew was from the nervous wearing of her lip throughout the entire wedding ceremony and feast.

She didn't respond, only laid there, taking it like it didn't set her body on fire. He growled, biting her lip hard enough to create a fresh rush of blood. She seemed to understand the warning as she turned her head to him and kissed him back, albeit weakly. He'd get her to scream his name by the end of the night, her unresponsiveness would not last for long.

Clary felt something black and heavy pile inside her chest as she kissed her brother back, some part enjoying what he was doing to her while the other screamed and raged in protest. He'd bound her up, just as she knew he would. She couldn't get away from him, just as she knew she wouldn't be able to. She couldn't stop him, just as she knew she couldn't. But she wanted to fight him, wanted to stop him but Simon kept floating to the forefront of her mind. What would they do to him if Jonathan didn't get what he wanted?

She tugged on the tie securing her wrists to see how firm it was. Her wrists didn't budge but the movement caused her hands to jerk up, grazing Jonathan's erection. She pulled her hands away as if she'd been burned and placed them on his chest, trying to push him away but he wouldn't move, he was like a brick wall. His skin hot and hard, sculpted in all the right places and she closed her eyes for a moment imagining that this was someone who loved her and cared about her. Not some psychotic brother bent on possessing and defiling her. She curled her fingers against the bare skin, giving herself, just for a second, to the feel of his soft lips so she wouldn't go insane with fear.

Jonathan took this as encouragement, hands slipping back to her dress, silk ties hanging undone around her neck for him to pull down, hands bunching in the silky fabric before he began to tug the dress down her body with care, apparently not wanting to rip it. She almost snorted at the thought he was being gentle with her dress like he wanted to preserve it, like he actually had a sense of sentimentality. But once the dress was past her hips she began to tremble and really struggle beneath him. Jonathan slipped the dress off the rest of the way, breaking the kiss for a moment to drape the dress over the nightstand before coming back to her.

She tried to kick out at him but he only sat on her thighs, making it impossible to move them. It was like having a ton of bricks piled on her legs in the form of a hard, curved bottom. She shuddered at the thought he would most likely be naked in a few moments. He grabbed the stray strip of fabric hanging from the tie around her wrists, tugging her arms straight once more. He bent his head down, pressing an almost tender kiss to the insides of either of her wrists.

"I'll give you some options on how the rest of this night can go Clarissa," he murmured against her skin, seeming to enjoy the feel of her skin against his face like a cat would enjoy rubbing itself upon its owner. Only at the moment, the roles were reversed and this cat owned her. She tried to pull her wrists away, which as expected was useless. She knew she was naked, completely naked, but he wasn't and he didn't seem to be scrutinizing her. His eyes were closed, cheek pressed against her forearms.

"One, if you keep struggling against me, which I would enjoy very much, I will be forced to tie your hands to the headboard. Which would be very unfortunate because eventually you are going to want to have your hands all over me one way or another. Two." He licked her pulse, soothing the aching bruise forming on her wrist, eyes still closed in reverie. "You can be a good little girl and I'll untie your hands if you behave and play rough with me, but cooperate. Or three, I can flip you over, give you a firm spanking then proceed to tie you to the bed to do with as I please, you struggling or submitting either way wouldn't matter for that option. I might just end up spanking you anyway, tied or untied."

He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.

"Any way, I will be having you tonight but it's up to you how much freedom you get while I do it."

Clary stared up at him, horrified, shocked and awed, still distracted by the sheer intensity of his masculine beauty. He looked to be genuinely enjoying himself, rubbing against her skin like it was a silk sheet. He was actually giving her a choice? Was this some kind of trick? Would he completely disregard the option she chose, even though all sounded sickening and traumatizing to her, and do whatever he pleased? That was the kind of man she knew him to be, so did he like playing games of dominance and submission with her? Or did he genuinely want to know what she wanted? The lesser of evils one would say because she knew she wasn't getting the option she truly did want, to be home away from him with her mother and Simon.

"You—you're letting me choose?" Her voice was shaky and cracked from the small tears Jonathan had kissed away earlier. He leaned down, pressing his cheek against her chest. She thought she almost heard him purr.

"Of course I am Clarissa, my goal tonight, aside from taking you, is drowning you in pleasure. I want to know which option sounds the most pleasurable to you. Some of the conditions though will be based on your behavior, unless you find being restrained pleasing, then that benefits me all the same. So what will it be?" His voice had turned from that hard, piercing quality to that cool, watery tone that washed over her skin like a healing salve, making her feel calm and delighted, which it absolutely should not.

He was really making her choose how he would rape her? She cringed, both physically and mentally at that abhorrent word but that was what this was. One way or another, he was raping her because she didn't consent, even if she'd been made to do this through coercion. She began shaking her head, even though Jonathan couldn't see it. How could she choose? She didn't want to be restrained, tied down and vulnerable to any and everything Jonathan did to her. She did not want to be spanked, certainly not, but there wasn't much she could do on that account if he really wanted to do it, which is what it sounded like he wanted to do. Did she want to see him as he stole her innocence? If she was on her back when he took her, she'd be able to see every demeaning moment up until he deflowered her. On her stomach, she wouldn't see it coming, which was scary in and of itself but at least she wouldn't see it and the disgusting look of satisfaction and glee on her brother's face as he penetrated her.

She choked on her next words, tears swelling in her throat. "I'll play, but do it from behind. And untie me." She tried to use her most authoritative voice, though it wavered a bit. She heard Jonathan's half chuckle, half groan of approval as he raised himself up from her chest. She felt sick to her stomach, like she'd just consented to have sex with him by deciding how they were going to do it. She felt dirty and unclean as Jonathan's hands slid up her arms to his tie.

"You have to promise not to hit anymore Clarissa," he said, his voice low and gravelly as he began to undo the intricate knot he'd made.

"How can you trust my word that I won't?"

"Because I'll punish you if you don't," Jonathan said immediately, unhesitating, his voice low and serious. Which was how she knew he wasn't kidding and he wasn't meaning the pleasurable sort of punishment. She could tell by the pitch of his voice, he meant literal, physical punishment if she struck out at him again.

"I—I give you my word I won't hit you again," Clary mumbled, taking her hands back as soon as he'd removed the tie.

"You can use your legs though," Jonathan murmured, rolling her over and she tensed her bottom, feeling exposed yet more covered than she had been before. At least her breasts and the thatch of curls between her legs were covered though she had no doubt Jonathan was lavish attention on them later. "I'll have fun with your legs."

She pressed her face into the pillows, arms braced beneath her body. She felt useless, like she should have put up more of a fight but the parts of her body where Jonathan had bitten her in reprimand throbbed, her arm and shoulder ached from trying to yank open the door, her wrist hurt. Fighting against him would be an utter waste of energy. There was a six inch thick door of solid wood standing between her and the hall, locked and the key she didn't know where. There was a killer in here with her, faster, stronger and altogether crueler than her. He was willing to punish her, hurt her. If she didn't do as he wanted either tonight, Simon would get hurt, or worse killed. Fighting would be wasting her energy, pointless when this was inescapable. She wasn't willing to sacrifice Simon's life and she knew she couldn't best Jonathan, and would only injure herself in the process.

Her body shook with silent sobs, attempting to block out the noise of Jonathan removing his boxers. She jumped, tensed, when she felt his warm hands on either side of her spine. He pressed his thumbs into the taut muscles and immediately she moaned at the delicious sensation. He ran his thumbs up her back, reaching her shoulders before he began kneading the knotted muscles with his strong hands. Almost all the tension drained out of her at his skilled touch. Another forced moan escaped as she turned her head. He wasn't supposed to be making her feel good. It was wrong.

"What are you—ah—are you doing?" Clary stuttered as he continued massaging the tension from her shoulders, her shoulder blades, her spine and back.

"I'm getting you loose and relaxed for me. You're so tight as it is," he whispered in her ear and she hadn't realized he'd leaned down so close to her. The thought made her shudder. He dipped his head and captured her parted lips. He worked absolute magic on her lips as one hand slid from her back down between her legs. Her eyes flew open at the touch, shocked and completely unprepared after his intoxicating rub down. She pulled her lips away from Jonathan's and jumped, bumping into his hard body hovering over hers. She tried to move away from his seeking, hot fingers but he was inescapable, the massaging hand on her back moving between her shoulder blades and pressing down, holding her almost immobile on the bed.

"Don't move," he chided, slipping two long fingers inside her surprisingly sensitive core. She gasped, trying once more to pull away or move but his hand on her back kept her pinned down long enough for pleasure to build. Jonathan allowed the pleasure to become her binding and released his hand from her back, blanketing her body with his as he pressed his mouth along her shoulder blade, hot, wet and dizzying.

Her body tensed as his fingers slid in and out of her with ease, stretching her body no doubt to accommodate his large size. Warmth built in her belly, pooling low as he continued pleasuring her. The ecstatic paralysis had her moaning like a wanton woman, causing a blush to creep over her cheeks. She couldn't stop the sensations from building, from suffocating any conscience or protests bubbling up in her mind. And she thought that was how Jonathan wanted it. He'd said he wanted to drown her in pleasure and she hated how good of a job he was doing.

His mouth moved over her skin, hypnotizing and slow, swamping her with sensations and making it feel as though he were stuffing warm cotton balls in her head. The heat between her legs built even as his fingers moved faster, pulling more moans and a sigh from her. It wasn't long before she had to bury her face in the pillows as an orgasm swept over her. She almost cried out at the sensation, wanting to cry as well that her brother could do this to her. She didn't want it to be possible but it was his fingers inside her, his body pinning her and his mouth all over her skin, soon to be his body inside her. She shuddered uncontrollably as wave after wave of pleasure rolled over her, living up to what Jonathan had promised.

"That wasn't even the fun part little Clarissa," Jonathan whispered in her ear. She could feel his arms, braced on either side of her, lift until she knew he was kneeling. He grabbed her hips and dragged her up to her knees. She didn't want to be on her knees, it made her breasts sway in the air if she braced herself on her elbows and opened her to him even more if she pressed her upper body to the mattress but Jonathan gave her no choice as his hand slid up her back and cupped her neck, pressing her cheek to the mattress. She whimpered, almost screamed in terror as she felt him press against her bottom.

She was still shivering in the aftershocks of the last orgasm. It all felt so fuzzy yet so sharp now she wasn't drunk or drugged during these orgasms, she was experiencing the full height of each and each shiver and moan would be burned into her sharp sober mind for the rest of time.

"Oh relax Clarissa. You're going to enjoy this and you know it," Jonathan practically groaned. He felt the heat of her exposed core bared to him over his hand and erection. He looked up the small expanse of Clarissa's pale back, at his hand holding her cheek to the silk swathed mattress. He might have been panting, his head was certainly buzzing with the ecstasy he'd given Clarissa, the moans and sighs and wiggle of her hips he'd gotten. His knee slipped between her legs and spread them farther.

He pressed the head of his erection to her core and caught the half sob, half moan from her mouth. Pushing through the tight folds of her body almost brought him to orgasm alone. To finally have her wrapped around him, vulnerable and exposed, submitting to him. He was practically drunk on the satisfaction and ecstasy of it. And he fully intended to return the favor. He pushed forward until he came to her thin little barrier, a flimsy protection against him but his ultimate goal was not even a millimeter away now. He heard the sharp intake of breath from Clarissa even as he leaned his head back in a groan as he broke through her virginity, stealing something from her for himself that she would never be able to get back.

He felt the hot rush of blood, heard Clarissa's shocked cry of pain before he halted his progress, leaning down and slipping a hand around her front, burying his fingers against her clit to distract her from the pain until it subsided and he could really do something. Her cries turned to soft gasps which was all the signal he needed to begin moving his body inside hers. He felt the one spot, where all her pleasure emanated from and adjusted her hips so he could rub himself against it, stimulating his own pleasure.

Clary couldn't see through the pain as Jonathan finally succeeded in deflowering her, destroying her innocence. But not long after he'd broken through, he'd stopped, letting her body acclimate to him. And what shocked her even more was when his hand slid down her belly to tease her clit, distracting her from the pain until it was gone. It astonished her really that Jonathan took her pain into consideration and even acted upon it, trying to relieve it. She didn't see what was pleasurable about sex, it felt uncomfortable and foreign to have a man's body inside hers. But when he moved, those thoughts were wiped away as his erection rubbed against a spot she didn't even know existed. She wanted to sob even more now that she knew he could produce such a powerful reaction, such a good feeling.

His hands, warm and firm had wrapped around her hips, moving her until she was panting, gasping at the sensations he was forcing through her body. She wanted to shake her head, to pull away but his grip wouldn't allow it. She felt the warmth turn to burning lava, slowly making its way through her blood stream until her body was boiling with heat. She could feel his throbbing body inside her, the throbbing echoing through her body like a heartbeat until she swore her own heart matched its rhythm.

Jonathan actually moaned as he set a medium pace, wanting to savor this but not go so slow he'd drive himself as well as Clarissa mad. Leaning down, he pressed his lips to the base of her spine, feeling the shudders run through her body as he drove into her. Her tight folds felt phenomenal, unlike any of the other women he'd bedded, Clarissa's felt right somehow. Her muscles clamped down on him as she went into another orgasm, trying in vain to muffle her cry with the pillows. He pressed his chest to her back, hands slipping beneath her as he continued to stroke into her hot, tight body.

Clary shuddered as his body pressed against hers, skin on skin. She had to reach a hand back, as though she could stop him, stop the assault of unwanted pleasure but it was useless. His pace was maddening, too slow and too fast all at the same time. Thoughts were spinning through her head, confusing her, pleading with her to make him stop, to make him go faster. She wanted to sob. She didn't want this, she never did, she didn't want to be his bed slave, his wife or even his sister. She wanted to leave, go home, take care of Simon but instead she was here, being dominated by a man who now possessed her. It was like the Dark Ages all over again, when a woman was powerless against a man, once their names were sealed together in marriage, the man owned everything.

Jonathan's hands found the two swollen, welcoming breasts she'd tried to hide within the pile of pillows. He could hear and feel her panting, skin slick with sweat as a squeak of surprise and protest passed her lips, his hands cupping her small, prefect breasts. She tried to push him away, remove his hands from her chest by grabbing his forearms but they only acted as a brace for her as he slid deep inside her with a practiced ease.

Clary didn't want his hands on her breasts, didn't want him violating her even more than he already was but she couldn't stop him. He was too strong, built like a freaking tiger, holding onto his prey with a death grip and refusing to let go. She turned, looking back at him, tears in her eyes, even as another wave of pleasure shot through her. She saw his silvery blond head bent over her shoulder blade, felt his mouth doing wonderful things that should be illegal to her. She didn't want to admit it, but when she took away the disgust and hatred and shock, sex with him actually felt good now that he'd begun moving. She wasn't prepared for it to feel good and it made her crumble beneath his touch.

He was so odd and confusing, one minute harsh and commanding, demanding she get on her knees before him but the next, when he did take her, the quality of his touch belied his words. The touch was caring, tender, as though he really did care about her pleasure and he wanted her to feel good. It wasn't right that if he didn't speak, which he wasn't now, he was like a man worshipping her, lost in her body, caring and tender and loving even though he was anything but. If he didn't say anything, she would be lost to him and she didn't want to be lost, she wanted to run away from him, not sink into the sensations he was giving her. It was cruel and unusual torture. And she froze as his black eyes looked up, locking with hers, mouth still pressed to her skin. His eyes were a mix of pleasure and satisfaction, no malice, no dark glee and it broke her heart that he actually looked happy. It broke her heart to know that she was the only one able to bring him happiness and that he genuinely seemed to be enjoying himself, no ulterior motive or sick intentions. He was happy.

Jonathan looked up for a moment from the soft, slick expanse of Clarissa's back to see her head turned, emerald eyes fixed on him for a moment. The swirling green was a mix of despair and hatred, lust and ecstasy. And for a moment he caught the oddest hint of sorrow. Her cheeks were still tear stained from earlier and he didn't realize that he was panting as well. He took a moment to analyze the sensation of a tight chest, heaving lungs as he watched Clarissa turn away from him, burying her face back in the pillows. Every other time he'd had sex with a woman, he'd never felt over exerted, never felt it had been an effort but never had he felt the satisfying feeling of a chest tight with ecstasy and lust. The sensation was new but after a moment, very welcome. He could get used to being out of breath when he and Clarissa had sex.

He moved up her back, forcing her hips forward as he pressed his lips to her cheek, skin hot and damp beneath his lips. He could feel her muscles quivering beneath him in anticipation of another orgasm. His hands teased her nipples, pinching and pulling, Clarissa's nails digging into his forearms with a ferocity that made him growl. His own muscles grew taut, even as he rolled over, forcing Clarissa to lay on his chest. Forcing her to expose herself as he tore her away from what little shelter the mattress and pillows had provided for her.

She yelped in shock, tried to pull away from him, to get his body out of hers but his hands moved from her breasts to lock around her hips, holding her against him as his hips surged upward. He almost yelped in pain as Clarissa, now having more freedom to move as well, closed her legs, pinching him inside her body. His nails dug into her skin, hard enough to draw blood as he hooked his ankles inside her and forced her legs apart. Clarissa let out a sob, even as it turned to a moan when his hips surged upward, burying him deep inside her once more.

Her hand slid up his chest, fingers twisting in his ivory curls and fisted there, holding on desperately as he continued his relentless pace. Her face was turned into the bicep by her cheek, muffling the sweet symphony of sounds he was pulling from her. He buried his mouth in the exposed junction of her shoulder and neck, suckling until she groaned. He wanted to mark her, have his possession all over her body. Later, after she would fall asleep, he'd probably spend hours tracing the marks he'd left all over her body, admiring how he finally had a woman of his own, someone to warm his bed at night, someone he could hold close when the nightmares bombarded him…

He shook those thoughts away, now was not the time to be thinking of those kinds of things, not when he was enveloped in the velvet heat of Clarissa. He began circling his hips as he went deeper, wanting to hear her scream his name. His fingers left her hips as she began to meet his strokes, hips moving and circling, unable to stop themselves as he drove into her. He felt the warm liquid beneath his fingers, which meant he had drawn blood, as he drew them up her body, most likely drawing red streaks up her sides until he came to her chest once more.

This time she didn't try to stop him, apparently lost in the ecstasy, too far gone to fight him anymore, as his hands closed around the soft mounds of flesh. His fingers played and squeezed and pinched until she was pressing her head back against his chest, mewling like a lovesick kitten and exposing a long expanse of throat for him to nibble on. His teeth scraped, she groaned; his hips surged, she moaned; his hands squeezed, she mewled; and he couldn't get enough. He'd lost control of his body, lost in the sea of pleasure and satisfaction, as his hips surged wildly, Clarissa meeting him every time. He did something with his hips this time that had her whispering his name, over and over.

But he wanted her to scream it. One hand left her breasts, one remained to continue teasing, and slid down her flat stomach to where their bodies met. Two fingers was all he used, two fingers and two minutes of continued assault was all it took to get her to scream his name. He teased her clit, making her gasp, before his name was torn from her throat like she was desperate to breathe and his name was air. Her orgasm, and his that came shortly after her shout, tore through him, setting his body aflame as the heat and pleasure overtook him. He threw his head back against the pillows, moaning Clarissa's name as his body released itself inside her.

After, he lay silent, hands laying relaxed on Clarissa's stomach, staring up at the dark ceiling and the only sound their heavy breathing, Clarissa's occasional gasp as an aftershock caused her body to spasm. She released his hair, hand falling to the bed as Jonathan slowly pulled out of her, which in turn set off a whole new wave of aftershocks. He knew he needed to change the sheets, covered in blood and seed, but he was too achy and sore, too satisfied to move other than to allow Clarissa to slide from his chest, collapsing exhausted onto the bed beside him. She was still trying to get her breathing under control but once she did, she seemed to melt into the mattress, exhausted and most likely just as sore as him.

Clary curled in on herself, unable to believe how good her body felt. It shouldn't feel good, she had to keep telling herself that. He was her brother, this was wrong, this was wrong, this was wrong. But she felt so satisfied, so achy that she could barely move. She didn't move actually, for a long time, long enough that Jonathan probably thought she was now asleep, now her body had stopped quivering with pleasure and her breathing had calmed. She felt Jonathan shift beside her, fingers grazing over her hip. She resisted the urge to shudder, or sob as he pulled the silk sheet and heavy comforter over them.

Many places on her body throbbed painfully, the eight crescent shaped marks on her hips, the spot on the back of her thigh where he'd bitten her, the mark on her neck, the fingerprints on her breasts, her shoulder and her wrist. His mark was everywhere on her, just like he said. She sighed, reserving herself to sob or break down in private, away from Jonathan. She needed to sleep now. She was so tired…

Jonathan knew the exact moment when Clarissa finally drifted to sleep. Her heart beat slowed and her breathing evened. She'd been still for a while but he knew she was still awake, not anymore though. He gently wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her across the soft silk bed to tuck into his chest. She was so small it amazed him. But she had stamina, she hadn't completely collapsed after her second orgasm, which he'd expected, her being a virgin.

He buried his nose in her wild red hair, reveling in the warmth of her body. He could definitely get used to this. But now that he'd actually taken away her innocence, had gained her body, he wanted something more. He'd already completed his goal, and he always held himself to a high standard. He felt fulfilled yet empty at the same time. He enjoyed the peace sleeping beside her brought though, and this time they were both naked, sated and she wasn't pushing him away.

He wanted to continue like this, but he also wanted something other than Clarissa fighting him, even though he enjoyed it. He wanted her to give back everything that he was giving her. He wanted her to lure him to bed. Hell, he even wanted her in the driver's seat, but he'd have to work at that and he knew it would take time for her to completely and utterly submit to him. She was still holding out, only doing what needed to be done to get through the night and when he'd first seen her, first started playing the game of cat and mouse with her, he was fine with that.

But now? He knew it was a game of predator against predator, though where he was physically dominate, he got the feeling she was just as cunning as him. That she could and had played the game just as easily as he had. Two predators, a prowling tiger and a smaller, faster leopard, both dominate in their own realms but thrown together and told to compete against each other, it was a fight for dominance. And Jonathan wanted to win this one, more than he'd ever wanted something. This small, cunning and proud little leopard had claws in this game and he fully intended to play with claws of his own.

He just didn't know what would happen when either of them won.