Chapter 48: Clace. Jonathan and Valentine. Oh my. Clary and Jace reconnect. Jonathan and Valentine have father and son time.
I do not own any of the characters, only the illustrious Cassandra Clare owns them. I do, however, own this particular story, so please don't be lame and copy/paste it elsewhere.
Thank you for the follows, likes, and reviews! It really means a lot!
Previously: "No, Jace. I don't want to be alone. I want you with me in the bath, in that bed, in my life. With me. I don't ever want to be away from you again…"
Clary opened the cabinet and pulled out body wash, shampoo and conditioner. She set them on the side of the tub and turned to face Jace. "I chose coconut, like the bath oil, is that okay with you?" He nodded and leaned against the counter, watching her carefully. Let her take the lead. She's been traumatized. She walked up to him and started unbuttoning his shirt. He gently put his hands over hers, stopping them. "Clary, are you sure you want me in here with you? Uh, without clothes. I mean, will you be able to control yourself? I'm pretty sexy…" He smiled down at her and laughed when she rolled her eyes. "Yes, Jace. I think I'll be able to handle it. I just need to be close to you, relax with you." I love her so much. She continued to unbutton his shirt and slid it down his arms, running her eyes over his toned chest and abdomen. Blushing, she looked up at him with her emerald eyes, unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. Oh god. He kept his eyes locked with hers and pushed his pants and boxers to the floor and kicked them aside. She leaned forward and placed chaste kisses on his chest, wrapping her arms around him, stroking his back. Jace felt his arousal rekindle with her touch. I want her. He pulled back and reached for the belt of her robe. I need to see her. Touch her.
Jace paused and looked at her for permission. Clary furrowed her brows, sucking her lips into her mouth, then nodded nervously. Is she scared? "Clary, if this is too much, I can stop. I don't want you to feel pressured, sweetheart." Clary sighed and untied the belt to her robe. "I want to continue, Jace. I'm just nervous you'll not like what you see–" How can she think that? Clary put her hand up when Jace scoffed indignantly. She pulled her robe off and let it fall to the floor and looked away from him, biting her lip. What the fuck? Jace's eyes welled with tears and he put a fist up to his mouth as he looked at Clary's naked torso and thighs. There were several scratches, hickeys, and bite marks on her breasts, stomach, thighs, on… her naked mound, the lips of her sex. Had he fucking bitten her THERE? There were hand shaped bruises on her thighs and hips, where Jonathan had squeezed her too hard. How could he do this to her? She's so small and delicate. He's a fucking monster that needs to be put down. Clary dipped her hand into the bath water and pulled out a washcloth. She trembled and rubbed it across her chest and neck, washing away concealer, revealing more hickeys and bite marks. She then stepped into the tub and sank down, allowing the bubbles to cover her. "I know I must look hideous to you." What?
Clary wiped her face clean of her makeup and took a deep breath, closing her eyes. "He was– rough last night. Brutal. At the wedding reception, Valentine drugged me and tried to–" Jace tensed up and growled then quickly stepped into the tub sitting in front of her. "Let me finish, Jace. He tried to take me somewhere, to rape me. He called me by my mother's name and– but Jonathan showed up. The drug overwhelmed me and I overdosed because of the alcohol. The medical team at the mansion saved me and I woke up in my room, feeling better. Later, Jonathan came to me and fawned over me, as if he were worried. Then, when I told him I was okay, he basically attacked me. I relented because he would have forced me, I'm sure. He has before. He fucking thinks he owns me… he marks me to prove it." She opened her eyes and gestured to her chest and neck. "I understand if you don't want to stay–" Jace shook his head and scooted towards her in the tub. "Clary. I hate him for doing everything he's done to you. He is fucking hideous. But, don't think that you could ever be anything but beautiful to me. These marks will fade, sweetheart. My feelings and desire for you will not." Hold her you dipshit.
Clary gasped as he pulled her forward onto his lap, her thighs straddling him as the water sloshed around them. He hardened painfully when her center made contact with him. Fuck. She's going to make me cum, just touching me. I missed her so much. She smiled down at him and wrapped her arms around his neck, softly kissing his lips. Jace lightly moaned and kissed her jaw and neck as Clary tilted her head back. "I have missed you so much, Clary. I love you, baby. I love you. Love you." Clary rolled her hips, pressing herself harder onto his arousal, as his lips traveled down to her breasts. He cupped them and massaged them, gently kissing and running his tongue across the marks left by Jonathan. Clary sighed and ran her hand between them and stroked his rigid cock, beneath the water. "I love you too, Jace Herondale. Love you. Love you." Jace groaned and slowly sucked her nipples as she gripped and stroked him. He lifted his head and kissed her deeply, pushing his tongue into her mouth. Clary released him and held his face in her hands, passionately returning his kisses, pressing her breasts against his chest, and grinding her heat against him. She slowed her kisses, as he slowed his; panting and smiling against each other's lips. Heaven.
He pressed his forehead against hers and rubbed his nose against hers. Clary giggled and kissed him again. "Jace, will you wash my hair for me? Like you used to?" He grinned at her and nodded. "And then what Red? Can I wash your beautiful body too, baby?" She nodded and squealed as he turned her around and settled her back against him, between his legs. He wrapped his arms around her, cupping her breasts, nuzzling and kissing her neck, as he whispered sweet, loving things into her ear. She hummed and leaned back against him, running her hands up and down his thighs. "Let's hurry Jace. I want to get good and clean so we can get filthy in that giant bed out there… then take another bath." God I love this woman.
Jonathan sat in his father's den, across from his chair. Throne. He swirled his glass of bourbon and stared morosely into the fire. His tuxedo jacket lay in a heap next to him on the couch and his dress shirt was rumpled from the night's events. Where the fuck is she? He had just stepped off the helicopter when he received a summons text from Valentine, "to discuss next steps…" Jonathan pinched his nose and closed his eyes. "I belong to no one and never will." Jonathan scoffed and sipped his bourbon. She had willfully defied him, running from him. Again. Jonathan had to admit that he admired Clarissa's fire and bravery. She would need both to help him run the Morgenstern Empire, when he took over. He just would not stand for her to keep trying to leave him. She must be made to accept her place, as his wife. His property. I must find a way to keep her with me permanently. His pharmaceutical team had come up with some interesting drug treatments for controlling unruly patients. Perhaps Clarissa may be a candidate.
He had spent the last few hours working with the Alicante Chief of Police, reporting and cultivating the story of his wife's savage kidnapping at the hands of her "obsessed ex-boyfriend and stalker", Jace Herondale. He gave interviews to the press and shared photos and edited footage of Jace taking Clary from the gala. Everything he wants shared should be public knowledge soon. The Morgensterns, being the most powerful family in Idris, basically run the media and own the police. He dared kidnap the newly found Fairchild heiress and beloved wife of the Morgenstern heir? There will be no place to hide after the TV stations run the stories. Jace Herondale fucked up tonight. I'll get my wife back and he'll get what's coming to him.
Jonathan was pulled from his thoughts when he heard his father enter the den behind him. It's about fucking time. Valentine silently swept past him, walking straight to his liquor cabinet, pouring himself a generous glass of his best bourbon, over ice. His father turned around and slowly walked to his chair and sat down. He wore a black velvet robe over his fancy silk pajamas and matching slippers. He looks ridiculous. Jonathan nodded at him and raised his glass in salute. "Father, you look well for a man that was shot three times in the chest. Cheers to Kevlar." Lucky asshole. Valentine chuckled and raised his glass, taking a long drink from his glass and Jonathan did the same. "Amatis has style, you have to admit, Jonathan. But, I'll never understand someone who doesn't take the head shot. The Kevlar saved me, for sure. The doctor gave me some ice packs to use intermittently. It helped."
Jonathan hummed, got up and took his father's empty glass, adding more ice and filling it for him. He poured more in his own glass. "I never liked mine on ice. I prefer it neat." Valentine shrugged, accepted his glass and swirled the ice, waiting for it to chill. "To each their own son. So, I just got off the phone with Chief Dieudonne. He debriefed me about the kidnapping spin story and the involvement of the press. Well done. You did exactly as I would have done. There's no way Herondale will be able to get her out of Idris now. Their faces and the kidnapping footage will be all over the news. I'm proud of you." Too little too late.
He drained his glass of bourbon, keeping his eyes fixed on Jonathan. "So, what are your plans for when you find Clarissa and her detective? I'm assuming they are uh– making up for lost time as we speak. I remember how she sacrificed herself for his freedom. She obviously loves him. And young Herondale is quite taken with her, from what I've seen. Clarissa is quite the catch, hmm?" Jonathan clenched his fists and glared at his father. He could no longer tolerate his father speaking her name, much less hint at how alluring she is. "Clarissa will have to be punished, of course. I think I shall kill Amatis, or hobble her, at the very least. Let my wife know the consequences of her actions. She will need to be–" Valentine coughed and cleared his throat, unbuttoning the collar of his pajama shirt. "Yes, yes, son. Definitely use Amatis. I say kill her as soon as Clarissa is back at the manor… make her watch. Now about Herondale. If you kill him she will never forgive you or be cooperative. She is too much her mother's daughter. I would have him sent back to New York or keep him in the basement. Or use her New York friends against her… threaten her little Simon–" Valentine stood up and stumbled to the table by the liquor cabinet. He filled his glass with ice and water, drinking it quickly. He hummed and rubbed his hand over his chest. He made another ice water and drank it down. He blinked his eyes and started panting, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Jonathan stood up and walked over to his father, frowning in concern. "Father, you're not looking well? Perhaps you should sit down again."
Jonathan helped Valentine back to his chair. Valentine coughed and sank hard into his chair, his face flushing and slick with sweat. "I think I just need water. Where were we, son?" Jonathan smiled politely at his father as he sat across from him on the couch. "Of course father. Where were we? Ah yes… Herondale. Well, he has put his lustful hands on my wife. He's probably fucking her as we speak. She's beautiful. Perfect. What man wouldn't take her to bed if he could? Right, father? You even tried to at my wedding reception." Valentine jerked his head towards Jonathan, his eyes wide. Jonathan clicked his tongue. "My wedding reception– how fucking rude. So the detective will have to go, won't he? Just like you'll have to go, Father." Valentine began gasping, his face turning red as he stood up. He clutched his chest with his hands, his eyes bulging from his face. He dropped to his knees, gasping in pain, as Jonathan smirked at him. Fantastic.
Jonathan leaned back, swirling his bourbon watching Valentine struggle to breathe. "Oh father. You really shouldn't have drugged my Clarissa and try to fuck her. I've seen how your eyes have followed her… how you've brushed against her, touched her. I could have forgiven the wandering eyes and accidental touches. What I cannot forgive is that you nearly killed her by causing her to overdose, just so you could roleplay with someone who looks like your whore, Jocelyn. Clarissa means nothing to you, but a proxy for the woman you couldn't keep. Big mistake, dad. I love her. She is mine! You tried to take her from me… So, I put a little… well a lot of a cocktail my pharmacist cooked up for me on your ice cubes. It's a little something that when mixed with alcohol, can cause a heart attack. Which you are obviously having…" Jonathan shrugged his shoulders and laughed.
Valentine reached out to Jonathan, his hand brushing his son's knee. "Help me, son." He fell onto his back on the floor, his breathing diminishing. Jonathan sighed, placed his bourbon on the table and squatted down next to his father, taking his hand in his own. Feigning sympathy. He stared impassively down at Valentine, their black eyes locked with each other. Jonathan took a deep breath as Valentine's grip went slack and the life left his eyes. Jonathan stared into his father's lifeless black eyes, waiting for him to blink or sit up to backhand him. It didn't happen. He's gone. He checked Valentine's pulse and dropped his father's hand. The king is dead, long live the king.
Jonathan shuddered and wiped his hands over his face, pushing his hair back. He gently reached down, closed his father's eyes, and leaned down to his ear. "Sic Semper Tyrannis, Father." Jonathan walked to the table and picked up the ice bucket, dumping it and Valentine's glass in the fire. He was told the drug was untraceable, but didn't like loose ends. He would make sure to thank his pharmacist tomorrow, then kill him. Again, loose ends. Maybe Clarissa will be more comfortable at the manor with Valentine gone.
He slowly walked to the house phone and called the medical line, telling them of his father's condition. That they had been having drinks and he collapsed. Blah blah. He walked back to Valentine's body and pulled the phone and keys from his robe pocket. He'd have to call a meeting with the lesser families, business associates, and Morgenstern Enterprises PR department tomorrow about the shift of power that just occurred. He walked to the fireplace, smirked down at his father's body, then into the sizzling flames. "Ave Atque Vale, Valentine Morgenstern."