WARNING: Non-con and incesty-ness. If that offends you, don't read.
The child born with this blood in him will exceed the power of the Greater Demons of the abysses between worlds. But it will burn out his humanity, as poison burns the life from the blood.
- City of Fallen Angels-
Clary was startled into awareness when a great chime echoed out from the grandfather clock pressed up against the library wall. Shaking her vision back into focus she found herself on the couch at the center of the library, an open book she had pulled at random off the shelf sitting on the small table in front of her. She vaguely remembered shuffling in here, her movements stiff like that of a zombie. She'd come to the library because it was the only room in the house that seemed sealed away from sound.
In here, she couldn't hear Isabelle screaming.
Valentine had ignored her at first. He'd set in on Izzy wringing every scream and agonized sob he could from her, ignoring his daughters own bawling. It hadn't been for several hours, when it had become clear that Isabelle wouldn't betray the others no matter what was done to her, that Valentine grew irritated and ordered Jonathan to unbind Clary. He'd claimed to be sick of the pathetic sight she made, ashamed that something so weak could have possibly come from him. Her brother had cut her loose quickly but hadn't followed her back up to the house as she'd expected. He remained with Valentine to attempt again to get the information they wanted from Isabelle.
Clary had wondered into the library in a state of shock, unable to speak or even cry anymore as she passed a bookshelf and grabbed one of the thousands tomes, settling down onto the couch. A voice deep inside her murmured that comfort would come with the familiar, and she'd tried to read, but found herself scanning over the same sentence again and again without it making any kind of sense and had eventually given up. After that her eyes had wandered to the blazing fire in its great hearth and she had slipped into what some might have even described as catatonic. Eyes blank and wide, mouth slightly agape, body still save the fine tremble that danced through her frame.
Now, looking at the clock, Clary realized she had been sitting in this same spot starring into the fire for nearly two hours. She knew she was doing it because of Izzy, because she felt so sick with grief and horror that she hadn't even been able to process it. She'd simply slipped away into empty nothingness and lost herself there. Part of her wondered if this might become a skill she could utilize. After all, if she were comatose as her mother had been, Valentine would have little use for her and Jonathan would move on to more entertaining playthings.
"There you are." The voice made her stiffen, bile rising up in her throat like acid. She didn't move to turn, but felt him behind her like a great, vacuous presence. A black hole that leeched away the joy and hope that she was slowly forgetting how to feel anyway.
Jonathan leaned over the back of the couch with a smile, his arms slipping down to encircle her shoulders and draw her toward him. She went rigid at his touch, and recoiled at the sight of the blood that stained his long sleeves up to his elbows.
Isabelle's blood.
"Our father wishes to speak with you, little sister," he said into her hair, smiling when she only whimpered at the contact. "But I think he can wait a while longer. He's still busy with the Lightwood beauty." He gave a low whistle. "She's tougher than I imagined, I'll give her that, but perhaps not a beauty for much longer."
When she didn't respond he sighed against her cheek.
"I can't believe I'm saying this Clary, but it looks like you're finally getting your chance to be of use to this household. Valentine is even going to give you back your steele. For good if you do well."
"Why would he do that?" she asked, still feeling dazed. Jonathan reached around to grasp her chin, forcing her to turn and look up at him, his expression cold as always.
"Why, sweet sister, we have exhausted our options with Izzy. Short of bringing in my special toys, which stand the chance of crippling her beyond the ability of speech, we have you. Your ability to create runes." He grinned, leaning down to nuzzle his cheek against hers and sending a shudder of revulsion shooting down into her gut. "Valentine has a few suggestions you might try out first."
"Get away from me," Clary snapped, slapping away his hands and forcing him to step back. She leveled her eyes with his and made sure that her tone spoke of the hatred and disgust she felt for her family right then. "I will not help you hurt Izzy. If Valentine thinks he can get me to-"
Jonathan's hand slipped up her shoulder and went suddenly around her throat to cut her off. Clary let out a soft sound of alarm. He chuckled when she scrambled up to sit against the back of the couch so that he wouldn't strangle her. When it was clear his point was made, his hand fell away and he stepped around the couch, leaning forward and gripping the cushion on either side of her.
"Listen to me closely Clarissa." He spoke in an even tone that somehow seemed more threatening for its calmness. "Our father has spent the night with that girl, and she has been a wonderful example of love and the strength of women and all that bullshit, but it's time to finish this."
"Was that supposed to convince me to help you?" Clary asked scornfully, trying to play tough though she was trembling trapped between him and the couch.
Jonathan sighed and leaned in closer, his hand whipping out to grasp her around the throat again and force her to look up at him. "Then think of it this way. If you go down there and create a rune that say…makes her tell the truth, this will be over and she will no longer suffer. If you don't, our father will torture her until she is useless or dead." He smiled then, and tilted his head. "You do understand that we don't need her, right? That we don't have to keep her alive. Sure, father wants the Lightwood children found, but only because he knows they plot against him. He thinks that if left alone they will one day rise to strike him down. Paranoid fellow, that one. The point is Clary, you can save her life. She might not have a good one, but she won't be dead, and if you're quick, she'll have most of her pieces in tacttoo."
The cold empty pit returned to Clary's stomach now and she nodded mutely, relieved that doing so made Jonathan release her throat and move away. He made a good point, the bastard. If she could create something, anything that might save Izzy, she had to try and it had to be quickly. She would get no better chance than this.
She let Jonathan take her down into the cellars again, running to keep up with his long legged pace. She felt her gut clench as they came to Izzy's cell and flinched back from the horrible pained sob that echoed out from the doorway. Jonathan grabbed her shoulder and walked her in with rolled eyes, shoving her into the room.
Isabelle was no longer on the rack of hooks. She'd been placed on one of the many tables, strapped down by thick leather across her wrists and ankles. It looked like the kind of thing one might find in an old asylum, rusted and metal and horrid to look at with all the reflected blood pooling around her. Christ, Clary couldn't imagine how Izzy was even still alive with all that blood. Valentine had not been gentle. Her clothes were soaked through with blood, torn open where he'd decided to start cutting into her. There were long, deep gashes lining her ribs, almost as if he'd tried to cut them out. A strip of skin along her stomach was simply missing, exposing the muscle beneath. A patch of blackened flesh oozed across her shoulder and the side of her neck where she had been burned. Clary couldn't tell from her spot but it seemed that she might have even been missing the tip of a finger. That made the world spin a moment before she grounded herself.
Valentine did not waste time. When he saw Clary, he gave her only a moment to absorb what had become of her friend before striding over and grabbing her by the shoulders to walk her up beside the gurney table. Jonathan moved with them, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall to their left to watch. He looked far too pleased by her horrified expression and she wondered how much of the damage was his doing.
"You understand what I want from you?" Valentine asked.
"You want me to hurt her," Clary mumbled. Izzy was awake it seemed and looking up at her through the one eye that wasn't swollen shut.
"I want answers, Clarissa. No more stalling." He suddenly smiled and she was repulsed by how much of that smile reminded her of Jonathan. He was his father's son after all. "My men have captured a good number of her friends out in the trees. Some managed to flee, but we have enough to get answers. If this girl won't tell me the things I want to know, then someone in her troupe will."
"Then why even bother with her?" Clary took a step back away from the table and motioned toward the door. "Why not just go to the others."
Valentine sighed, straightening himself to his full and menacing height, and fixing his daughter with a stare that froze her in her tracks. "I will get to them shortly. Right now Clarissa I would like to see this gift of yours put to use. Prove to me that you are not completely worthless."
She could only stand there as Valentine drew a steele from his belt and held it aloft, arching a brow when she didn't take it.
"You will earn your keep here somehow Clarissa. This is how you start."
Her father grabbed her wrist and dragged her back to the table, wrapping her fingers tightly around the steele. He pointed the crystal end at Isabelle keeping his bone-crushing grip on Clary's wrist and stared at her.
"Well? I want her to speak the truth Clarissa. I don't even mind if you force her to speak through confusion rather than pain, but she will talk and you will stop stalling."
"I don't know how-"
Clary shouted out in surprise when he slapped her, clutching her cheek and Valentine pointed to the beaten and horrified Izzy.
"Do it Clarissa."
Clary stared down at Isabelle wishing for anything that this had never happened. That Jace had never been foolish enough to go off alone. That Izzy and Magnus and Alec had never been forced to disappear for fear of Valentine. That Simon hadn't been kept in one of these ghastly rooms for months. She wished that she didn't have to see that horrible look of betrayal in Izzy's eyes now, the fear.
Why? They asked, Why won't you help me?
That's when she felt it. Clary sucked in a breath and felt the tingling of warmth and power drift through her, down her arm to the tips of her fingers, then out of the steele. Slowly she was etching out a curving of lines. They swept between one another, looping and twirling until finally meeting in the middle as a single connected pattern. The rune glowed just a moment as it sank into her skin and its purpose enacted.
Isabelle, who had been watching in terror, suddenly let out a long sigh, her tensed body going limp and relaxed on the table despite her many wounds. She closed her eyes a moment and simply laid there while Valentine stepped forward, gripping the side of the table in anticipation, perhaps he thought she would just begin spouting all the secrets he'd yearned for. Jonathan had uncrossed his arms and now watched curiously until Izzy's good eye popped open again and fell on Clary.
Her mouth opened, bobbing a moment and releasing a pitiful whispering croak. She paused to swallow and Clary leaned closer, wondering if her gift had worked. If she'd just saved her friend. It was confirmed when Izzy managed to get out two short words.
"Thank you."
"What was it?" Jonathan asked impatiently, "What did you do?"
Clary smiled then, turning to her father and looking him dead in the eyes. "I took away her pain. She'll be at peace until she is released or killed, either way, you cannot hurt her anymore." Then she leaned forward and up onto her toes to stare levelly at her father, at least as best she could from his bent position over the gurney table. "Is that useful enough for you daddy?"
At first she thought he would hit her again. His face certainly seemed to twist in rage then and his fists, resting on the table went white from his grip. He did not strike her though, despite what he might have wanted. Instead, Valentine smiled very tightly to his son and stood straight.
"Take away her steele, she won't be needing one again. I must see to our other guests, it seems there is much work to be done." Clary watched her father move to the door feeling lost and a little frightened by his lack of retaliation. When he got to the door however, he paused.
"Jonathan, I'm leaving you to decide how much she deserves. The optimist in me believes you might get her to apologize, but I can live with her regret for now."
With that he left them and Jonathan strode forward to slip the steele from her fingers before she had even turned to watch him. The demon boy was smiling to himself, perversely happy, though Clary didn't understand what had just happened. Hadn't she just openly defied her father, in front of his son no less, and the "enemy", why had he not attacked her? Why hadn't he at least yelled?
Jonathan slipped her steele into his calf-high, black boots and grabbed her wrist. She winced at the contact, still sore from her father's grip, but he ignored it. Without so much as a word, which further put her on edge being that this was Jonathan who loved gloating, he pulled her from the room and the still smiling Izzy who had finally fallen asleep.
"What are you doing?" she demanded, pulling against him all the way down the hall, though it did nothing to stop their progress. Jonathan was checking doors as he dragged her down the hall. He peeked through the small cell windows and dismissed the ones that were taken. Clary hadn't realized until now how many prisoners her father kept. When had they gotten so many? How had she not even noticed? Had she really become that withdrawn to have missed it all?
"Finally," Jonathan sighed suddenly, pushing open a door into one of the rooms and jerking her in with him. He slung her around into the room sending her stumbling back. When he closed the door behind her, they were lost in darkness.
"Jonathan?" she spoke softly into the damp, cold blackness around her, hearing only the softest rustling of his clothes as he moved. He could see her, she knew, even without the light. His eyes were different than hers, enhanced by the demonic blood running through his veins. "What are we doing here?"
"Well, darling sister," his voice made her jump when it came from directly in front of her. "You've been bad and I am here to punish you. I thought our father made that pretty clear."
Clary screamed when the demon rushed forward, forcing her back against the wall behind her. His hand came down over her mouth to quiet her. With a whispered word the witchlight torches sprung to life around them and he smiled down at her a moment.
"I'd give you a spanking Clary, but something tells me Valentine will require something a little more impressive. Besides, you might like it too much."
She clawed at his hand until he released her mouth with a chuckle and arched an expectant eyebrow.
"What are you going to do?"
To that the demon laughed and pulled away from her to move to a table. This room was fashioned much like the one that Izzy was locked in. There were damp stone walls, tables of wicked looking tools and constructions of torture she had no desire to explore further. Jonathan however did not grab any of the horrible blades and pliers. Instead he lifted a length of rope and turned back to her.
Clary didn't bother asking anymore questions, she just ran for the door. It took her brother only a moment to catch her and drag her back away from the door with more laughter. Her wrists were swiftly and tightly bound together in front of her, despite her struggling. Jonathan might as well have been fighting a child because even if she hadn't been small and underfed, he was still so much stronger than she could ever hope to be. Their father had seen to that before he was even born.
Jonathan pulled Clary to the center of the room and tossed the loose end of the rope above them through a big metal hook that had been bolted into the ceiling. Wrapping the rope around his forearm so that she couldn't wrench it away from him, he pulled it taught until her arms were forced above her head and she was dangling there on her toes. The rope was then secured to another metal ring on the wall and the demon turned to inspect his work.
"I'm going to whip you now." He said this so plainly, as if they were discussing the weather and Clary's chest constricted in fear, her body trembling. "Perhaps the next time our father asks you to do something for him, you will listen." He chuckled darkly. "This is what happens when you're naughty, Clarissa."
She scoffed at that, watching him as he moved back to the table and rooted through the tools to find a worn length of leather. As it uncoiled she realized it was a whip and closed her eyes a moment in prayer. She didn't know who might listen to her. It wasn't as if any of her prayers for freedom or kindness had been answered before. He moved up behind her, his warm breath stirring the fine hairs at the back of her neck. She could practically hear the smile in his voice.
"You hold to this tightly now, Clarissa." He wrapped his fingers over her bound hands, closing them around the cord of rope. She whimpered softly then as he drew away and she heard the whip hit the floor with a soft thump. It sounded so innocent, so harmless, until suddenly it cracked through the air, snapping down across her back like fire.
Clary let out a scream, but it was cut short with the next snap of the whip, her breath forced out of her in a pained exhale. When she managed to draw air back into her lungs again, the sound was laced with a sob, and Jonathan laughed.
"Don't be melodramatic. That was only two."
"Don't," she gasped when she heard him raise the whip again, but it cracked loudly through the room like thunder and she let out another scream.
Again and again he struck her, laughing when it made her shriek in pain. How could he do this? How could he take such delight in her misery? She knew there were people in the world who enjoyed such dangerous games. People who delighted in pain, or the causing of it. She also knew such people acted with the consent of their partners and stopped when things became too much for them to handle. Jonathan was another beast entirely. Heartless and cold and enjoying every moment of her fear and pain, because he was a sadist.
Clary was openly sobbing now, screaming and thrashing though it gained her nothing. Jonathan was merciless, laughing as she pleaded with him unintelligibly through her sobs. He didn't stop until the door to the cell opened and Valentine gazed in at them from the doorway. Jonathan wound the whip around his arm, almost nervously, waiting for his father's reaction as the heartless man gazed at his red-faced weeping daughter without expression. After a long moment, he looked at Jonathan, nodded and closed the door behind him, moving on to his next victim. Apparently his son's work had been approved.
Clary screamed in surprise and pain when the whip cracked across her back again, unable to thrash any longer. Her arms ached from their strained position and her back was on fire. All she wanted to do was curl up into a ball and go to sleep. She could already feel the warm wetness of blood dripping down her back, and feared what she would look like once this was over. How horribly scarred she would be when this was all over? At the thought of this her sobbing grew louder and she closed her eyes tightly to ready herself for the next lash. It didn't come.
"Would you like me to stop Clary?" His voice had an oily quality, feigned amiability. At the moment though, she didn't care.
"Yes…Yes, please stop," she whimpered breathlessly. Behind her, Jonathan moved closer and she felt the rough edge of leather where the whip met the handle slide down her ribs.
"Well you know me, I won't do something for nothing. What will you give me for my mercy?"
"Jonathan please, just let me down." Her head was hanging but he stepped around to lift her chin with the end of the whip and smiled like the devil.
"Why would I do that? If I'm going to let you down and risk our father's anger, it will have to be for more than your begging. What would that say about me?"
"What is it?" Clary demanded then, exhausted and aching. "What do you want?"
Jonathan's smile grew malicious as he leaned forward. Keeping her head up with the whip, he brushed his lips across her cheek. "Offer me anything, like you did before. Promise me that you will not fight, that you won't run away. Offer me that and I'll let you down." He tilted his head and met her eyes, his own black and pitiless windows to Hell. "Don't, and I'll continue with this until I tire myself out, and that won't come for hours yet." He forced her head up a little more, eyes blazing with cruelty and malice. "I can hit you harder you know. If I wanted, I could cleave you to the bone with every swing."
Clarissa was quiet a long moment absorbing this. She knew what he was really asking, what he really wanted her to do. He'd probably been thinking of a way to get it out of her again since she blurted it out in Izzy's cell. It had been stupid to put such a disgusting thing into his head. Apparently he was willing to resort to torture to get it.
"Come on Clary. You were willing to do it to save Isabelle. Why not yourself?"
"What about Valentine?" she asked weakly, though she already knew it was useless.
"He will be busy for hours. You know that."
Her voice broke as she labored to speak, "I can't…You know I can't. "
"You know I was completely serious. You can make the promise or I can whip you bloody…well bloodier. What's it going to be?" His voice dropped down an octave and he leaned closer. "Do you see that?" He pointed to the wall of carefully organized tools of torture. "I'm using it next."
Coiled neatly between two pegs was another kind of whip. It had multiple short tails rather than the one, and each was tipped with a shining, silver barb. The barbs held her rapt attention. A rush of cold swept down her body as if she'd been hit by a wave of icy water. Jonathan paused, looking over her face and laughed.
"It's true. People can turn completely white with fear." His smile melted away completely and his dark eyes blazed black fire. "Nine tails it is then, since you seem so taken with it."
He moved to the table without another word and set down his whip. Clary began to struggle again, hopelessly tugging at the ropes around her wrists. When he reached for the cat o' nine tails, her heart began to pound so forcefully in her chest that it felt as if it might birst through her ribcage.
"Wait!" she cried watching him test the uncoiled tails with a quick snap of his wrist. They whistled through the air and when the barbed ends crashed thunderously against the table she saw bits of the wood fly off to the stone floor. The demon's eyes snapped to her, resolute and cold, and Clary felt as if she was drowning in her terror. He really meant to do it! He was really going to hit her with that thing!
"Don't, please!" As Jonathan moved behind her and raised the whip her body tensed painfully in fear and she let out a strangled cry, words tumbling blindly from her lips before she could stop them.
"I promise!" she cried frantically, "I won't run, I'll listen, just please." Her voice cracked again. "Don't hit me with that thing."
For a long moment there was only silence and Clary hung there willing her heart to stop pounding, for her lungs to take the air she needed, but it was impossible with him standing behind her so quietly. Silence from Jonathan was suddenly more frightening than his threats. She flinched when she heard the nine-tails hit the metal table. Jonthan was in front of her in a flash. He searched her face a moment, then pulled a folding knife from his pocket. In one quick slash he'd severed the rope above her, leaving her wrists bound together. Without the rope's support, her knees buckled and she crumbled into his arms with a groan. They stood there a moment as she tried to find ways to move that didn't set her back and shoulders on fire.
Jonathan utterly surprised her then. With a sigh at her patheticness, he put his blade away and slipped an arm behind her knees, lifting her into his arms. He carried her like a bride to the metal gurney table against the far wall, sitting her gently on the edge to pull out his steele.
"What are you doing?" she asked skeptically before she saw what he was carving into her forearm. Rather than symbols for pain, as her panic assured, they were runes for healing. She didn't thank him, she couldn't bring herself to do that, but nodded and they lapsed into silence again. After a moment, when she was no longer hissing in pain with every movement, Jonathan leaned forward, bracing himself on the table with a hand on either side of her.
"Well?" The moment of tenderness was officially over.
"In here?" she asked leaning back away from him. "Right now?"
"Is there somewhere else you would like me to fuck you?"
A shudder of fear and sickness passed down her spine with his blunt question. She knew he was doing it on purpose, pushing her to see how far she'd bend. This was all some devilish game to get her to crumble in front of him. Jonathan loved his gloating.
"No," she snapped. No she could not imagine a single place where she wanted him to do this to her, nor did she want this at all. She'd promised though, and breaking this promise would mean torture in a very real sense. Was this not also torturous though? Wouldn't this leave her with just as many scars? She knew it would, but another voice at the back of her head was speaking. It was a quiet voice, sickly and dripping with fear, a voice that only cared for self-preservation.
Let him, it whispered. Give him his way, let it be over with. He grows bored with things so quickly, and you are what he couldn't have. Give him what he wants and he'll grow bored with you too.
Clary hoped this was true, because she couldn't imagine doing what she was about to ever again. In fact, she couldn't really imagine doing it now. Jonathan, however, was growing impatient and his fingers found their way around her throat, a place they seemed to favor. He lifted her face to search her eyes so closely he seemed to look right through her.
"So?" he asked, tilting his head when she sucked in a shuttering gasp, "Will you make the first move, or should I?"
"Untie my hands."
"No," he said it with a smile. This was more cruelty, more teasing. Apparently he didn't mind if she was uncomfortable, he was aiming to make her so in fact. "I don't trust you yet."
"Then let me earn it. Untie them and I'll prove-" He cut her off with a short laugh.
"You can prove yourself through obedience. So, start by unbuttoning your blouse."
"Jonathan…" Clary began softly, pathetically.
"Clary," he countered, meeting her eyes levelly, "Do as you're told."
For a moment she only sat there, tears welling in her eyes again, then with a soft little sob, she moved her trembling fingers to the first button on her blouse, pulling it open. He didn't speak as she did this, simply stood there, black eyes following her progress. Halfway through, the ropes and awkward position of her wrists made her stop, but Jonathan was not discouraged. He gently moved her hands aside and slipped his finger around the next button, popping it free, then the next. When her blouse had been unbuttoned, he trailed his fingers up the pale strip of exposed flesh, and she went rigidly stiff, unable to do anything but watch him with wide eyes. The room was silent but for their breathing and hers was picking up speed as her fear mounted.
Jonathan ignored this and instead, pulled the two sides of her shirt open, tugging at the material and tearing it like paper from her shoulders. Clary let slip another fearful whimper when his hands settled on her waist and he lifted her back to her feet in front of him. With the gurney digging into her back and the demon trapping her in place, Clary felt like a caged animal. She wondered how much more she could take. Already she was fighting with herself not to attack him in blind panic and try to run, knowing she couldn't get passed him even if she tried. It was a terrible thing to know you were powerless.
When Jonathan grabbed the front of her jeans, the panic slipped into control and Clary jerked back violently away from him, making the gurney bash loudly against the stone wall. The sound echoed threateningly around them in the otherwise silence and Jonathan caught her before she could begin to flee him. Rather than cursing her as she'd expected, the demon laughed.
"You act as if I'm going to eat you alive," he smirked pulling the button of her jeans free and unzipping them with a deft tug. "What exactly do you think I'm going to do to you, Clary?"
"I don't know." She managed to reply, her voice choked by the tears she was fighting to keep back.
He chuckled at that, tugging down her jeans and lifting her back up to sit on the gurney. "You don't know." He repeated slowly as he pulled the denim from her legs to toss it on the floor beside them. "But you assume I'm going to hurt you?"
"I don't know." She mumbled again, at a loss for words. Her mind was racing, her emotions ripping wildly through her almost too quickly to identify. Jonathan, seeming to understand and enjoy this fear-induced state she was in, continued.
"Do you think I've never known a woman? I'm different, yes, but I'm still a man Clarissa." He leaned forward to draw the lobe of her ear between his teeth, making her suck in another soft gasp. One hand rested beside her on the gurney, while the other trailed up along her thigh. This time he spoke softly against her ear as he nibbled around the cusp, his warm breath sending chills dancing across her skin.
"Is it that you don't think I know how to please you?" he asked, and his voice had gotten deeper, more of a purr than anything. "You think that because I am so adept at causing pain, pleasure would escape me?"
"No, Jonathan I-"
"You're wrong." He said, bending his head to graze his teeth along the column of her throat. His fingers brushed the soft cotton between her legs and Clary went into another spasm of panic, though Jonathan was ready and held her easily in place with a laugh. "Valentine expected me to excel at all aspects of my life. It is simply my way. I suppose I'll have to prove my skill to you though, won't I? That's fine, he also taught me to relish a challenge."
"Jonathan!" Clary cried out when he suddenly grabbed the back of her knee and jerked her forward. Without her hands to steady her, Clary fell backward into the arm he had ready to catch her, and was lowered onto the gurney. He then grabbed the sides of the table and turned it against the wall so that it jutted out and she took the moment of freedom to scramble up and push herself back against the cold stone. He watched this all in amusement and climbed onto the gurney at its farthest end, letting her panic and press back into the wall more frantically as he crawled up to meet her.
Forgetting her promise, Clary finally lost it and rolled to the side, meaning to dash for the door before he could grab her but Jonathan, laughing as if they were only playing a game, wrapped his arm around her waist and slung her onto her back again, climbing on top of her and pinning her bound wrists above her head.
"Where are you going?" he asked playfully, "We've only just started."
"Wait, Jonathan," she began, shaking her head and trying to tug her wrists from his planted hand. It was like fighting a stone statue, he was immovable.
"No more waiting," he sighed and leaned down to flick his tongue across the line of her collarbone, kissing it softly after, "Aren't you tired of the suspense? Don't you just want it all to be over?"
"I don't want it period you fucking psycho."
Clary hadn't meant to say it, and she regretted the words immediately when Jonathan's black eyes snapped back to hers and narrowed. He burst into movement then, taking the short, extra length of rope that hung loose from her bound wrists and tying it to the support bar on the gurney above her head. With her arms secured, he sat back on his knees above her and pulled the knife from his belt.
"I'm sorry!" she cried immediately, eyes bulging in fear. Would he really cut into her? "Wait, I'll be good, I'm sorry!"
Jonathan scoffed at this and instead brought the knife to the connecting cord of cloth that held her bra together in front. With one sharp tug, he cut through the material and her bra fell open. Clary sucked in her breath in shame as he tore away the rest of the thing and tossed it away with her jeans.
For a long moment there was silent stillness in the room, as Clary was frozen and Jonathan seemed entranced by the sight of her nearly naked. With a soft sound she couldn't translate he leaned down over her, though she was very aware of the knife he held tightly in the hand that was braced beside her head. The demon didn't hurt her though; instead he kissed her collarbone, then lower, planting each kiss sweetly after a sharp nip of his teeth. When he made it to her nipple Clary flinched away from the contact, but had nowhere to go. Jonathan met her eyes then, smiling over the dark pink flesh as he swirled his tongue around it and drew it into his mouth, closing his teeth just tightly enough that it made her gasp. He seemed to like it when she made that sound.
He smiled as he sat up and grabbed the back of his collar, pulling his shirt over his head to drop it beside them. Already stunned into silence, she could only stare at him and his nakedness. Clary had never seen Jonathan unclothed before, truthfully she liked to imagined that beneath his clothes his flesh was black and slimy, or covered in scales. She had always imagined that at least some part of him was demon, that he couldn't possibly be attractive everywhere, but she was wrong. Beneath his black shirt was smooth, taut skin and an expanse of lean muscle. He was a testament to his profession, hard and toned, and like all Shadowhunters his chest and arms were a lacework of rune scars, as if they had been carved there in some tribal ritual. They melded with other scars, from battles no doubt, that for a moment Clary was tempted to reach up and touch, but one look at Jonathan's heated expression and she was snapped back into reality.
Jonathan grabbed the back of her knee and now lifted it to bend her leg up against her chest, keeping it there with his body when he leaned down over her. His hand then trailed slowly down the back of her thigh and found the cotton that was her only remaining bit of clothing.
"You don't have to be afraid of this, Clary." His assurance was nullified by the blade he was moving between her legs. She tried to thrash away from him, but he kept her tightly pinned, and the leg he had bent over his shoulder assured that she could not even close her legs. "I'm not going to cut you, but if you don't stop struggling I might accidently."
"Put it away," she implored. "You don't need that thing. Please, just put it away."
"Calm down," he laughed and she felt the cold steel of the knife slip under the cotton of her panties, brushing her sex. Clary let out a strangled scream, but Jonathan muffled it with his hand, jerking the blade to cut away her underwear.
"Jesus, I'm done with it, alright? I'm putting it away."
Her eyes were fierce and locked on him now, but Jonathan's attention was quickly moving to her naked body. She was utterly exposed to him and couldn't even cover herself with her hands. The demon's eyes danced across her skin, leaning back to inspect her fully. The corner of his mouth turned up in a wicked little smile that made her want to melt into the floor to escape him.
"You're beautiful, you know that?"
She turned her head to the side, looking away from him and stared at the far wall, covered in tools of torture. "Don't Jonathan."
"Don't compliment you?" he laughed without humor. "Someone has to. Listen to me." When she refused, he grabbed her chin and turned her to face him, searching her eyes intently.
"Do you think I don't notice how depressed you are? How lonely? You walk through a room and I can practically feel the cold leaking out of you." She tried to jerk out of his hold, snapping her teeth at his hand, but he only gave her a soft smack on the cheek and grabbed her again.
"You've shut off Clarissa. You lock yourself in your room, you rarely eat. Even Valentine has commented on how you're letting yourself waste away. He thinks you're trying to starve yourself, either for his attention or because you can't handle it anymore. Frankly, I think he's an idiot. You don't want to die. He doesn't understand you."
"And you do?" She snapped.
Jonathan met her gaze levelly, and gave a slow nod. "You're lonely, isolated. You think you are surrounded by enemies, people who want to hurt you, but you're wrong. You may not be his favorite person, but he doesn't want you dead, Clary. Our father isn't quite as heartless as you believe."
"He hates me." She countered, "He told me so himself. He blames me for my mother leaving him."
"And our mother was repulsed by me from the moment I was born. She hates me because of what Valentine made me. Get over it. I did."
Clary paused, mouth open, but she couldn't think of a way to respond to that. It was true, Jocelyn hated Jonathan for something he had no way of preventing. Because of their father's horrible experiments, Jonathan was born with a mother who refused to love him, who couldn't even bring herself to touch him. She couldn't even imagine what that would have felt like, having her mother look at her and knowing that she was disgusted by the very sight of her. How horrible would that have been? Was it any wonder he had become the person he was today? Knowing that he would never be loved by his parents, how could anyone survive that with grace?
She must have spoken her temporary pity through her expression because suddenly Jonathan cleared his throat. "The point is that you need comfort. You need someone to touch you and hold you and tell you that they can keep you safe."
"What makes you qualified for that?" she demanded, pity replaced by anger. Anger that he was right, but that he assumed she would accept comfort of any kind from him.
Rather than looking hurt or angered by this, Jonathan smiled, shaking his head as if she'd said something adorably foolish. "Because I am the strongest person you know. Not even Valentine could keep me from doing what I truly wanted. There is not a single person out there that can keep you safe the way I can."
Clary stared up at him in sadness and again pity. Was he so deluded that he thought this was protecting her? "You just whipped the skin off my back and now you've tied me down and cut off my clothes to rape me. How am I safe with you Jonathan?"
For the first time, Clary witnessed him at a loss for words. Jonathan sat there, starring down at her a long moment, looking almost confused. After a long silence however he leaned back down over her, kissing her before she could anticipate it.
When he pulled back, his fingers had tangled in the hair at the back of her head. "I have no intention of raping you."
"Then what is this exactly?"
He chuckled softly above her and leaned down to drawn her nipple back into his mouth. When he pinched the sensitve nub between his teeth the tingles that shot down her spine were so intense that she unintentionally arched up. This pressed their bodies together and Jonathan used this distraction to trail his little bites to the leg he had kept pinned with his shoulder.
"This is me proving that you'll like it just as much as I do." He murmured against her thigh, nipping the sensitive flesh there and making his way between her legs. Clary tugged at her wrists, forgetting a moment that she was still tied down. Unable to flee, she could only watch as the demon slowly nibbled his way to her mound. His black eyes snapped up to hers then as he kissed it, smirking at the way it made her shudder.
Despite her feelings for him, Jace and Clary had never slept together, they'd never been given the chance. She had never been touched there by a man, much less kissed, and now he was nudging her other leg wider and dipping down his head, all the while his eyes were locked with hers. Jonathan's lips moved lower and suddenly his tongue had slipped between the folds of her most private place, passing up between them to find her clit.
Clary let out a soft cry, but it was strangled by the shock of damp warmth and tingling that came from Jonathan. She sucked down a breath, shaking her head as the tingle steadily grew in intensity and she shifted her hips to avoid him. Jonathan however was quick to hold her still, trapping her hips against the gurney and going back to his work.
"Stop Jonathan, sto-aahhh," her words became a cry when she felt his teeth. He didn't bite her hard, thank god, but the pressure, even light, around her clit forced her spine to arch and her body to tremble so forcefully he had to tighten his grip on her to keep her still. The demon grinned and lifted his head to look at her once she'd calmed down enough to lie flat again, her chest heaving.
"Wow, you liked that didn't you?" She wanted to say no, but couldn't bring herself to speak. Her face was burning from shame and she just couldn't find the words.
Jonathan titled his head down, still grinning like the devil, and drew his tongue between her thighs again. Clary sucked in a gasp, jerking at her wrists and making the metal bang loudly. He ignored this and began to tease her, dipping his tongue into her and drawing at her with his mouth, catching her clit between his teeth and squeezing just enough to make her gasp and squirm and then starting the whole process again. He didn't stop until she was panting, her chest heaving up and down, her eyes closed tightly. Her skin was hot, and the tingle had become something entirely different. Something that made sharp, electric sparks zip down her spine and filled her with a buzzing pressure that coiled deep inside of her.
"You taste like sunlight, did you know that?" She hadn't noticed that he had stopped, too lost in the sensations that filled and confused her. Her eyes moved to him then and Jonathan smiled. "See?"
He kissed her then, his tongue slipping between her teeth when she let out an indignant cry and suddenly she was frozen, not knowing what to make of the tangy taste on her tongue. The taste of her own body. He pulled back to see her reaction but when he saw her face, his smile melted.
For a moment, Clary was scared she had angered him in some way, that he might lash out at her again, but the expression on his face was different than that. She didn't know how to read it, and all too suddenly he was leaning back down to kiss her again. This time it was gentle, entreating. He didn't bite her or draw at her lip the way he liked to. He simply kissed her, his tongue flicking out in question against her lips. She didn't part them, and when he grew frustrated his hand slipped down between her legs and she felt his fingers against her sex. Her eyes went wide and she opened her mouth, thinking that he was offering one torment or the other, but when she parted her lips he slipped inside her regardless. The pressure was strange, not painful, but different, and for a brief moment she couldn't bring herself to move, as if freezing would make it go away. Jonathan sighed against her lips and leaned back to search her eyes.
"Calm down, tensing up will only make it hurt."
"This…doesn't hurt." She faltered, trying to find just a small piece of her backbone and realizing what she was saying halfway through. It made him laugh softly and shake his head.
"I'm not talking about this." He said slipping his fingers out of her and pumping them back in. His thumb was on her clit, teasing it while he kissed her. "I'm just being gentlemanly and getting you ready. Though I'm sure there won't be a problem, you're already incredibly wet."
"Jonathan," she snapped, blushing deeply.
"Oh, look at Miss Innocent. What, did the Angel boy never whisper wicked words in your ear?" He smiled, nipping at the cusp of her ear and working her with his fingers. "He never fucked you, that's for sure. I told that old bastard you were a virgin."
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
"I believe that Hell is a big part of it."
"What?"
"Isn't that where demons come from?" He tilted his head to the side and squinted at her in curiosity. "So why would you ask what's wrong with me? I am simply wrong. Why else would I bed my own sister?"
"Will you really do it?" Clary asked, searching his eyes and hoping to find them filled with doubt. The demon however, only stared back at her and the hand that had been working her slipped away to unfasten his pants. That was answer enough.
She didn't get the chance to thrash around anymore, or curse him, or beg. All she heard was his zipper, all she saw were his black, fathomless eyes, and then it was too late. Too late to stop it, too late to talk her way out of it. Jonathan shifted, wrapping his fingers around the leg he had pinned and pushed forward and then it was all over. He was inside of her.
This invasion was worse than his fingers. She couldn't have brought herself to actually look at his cock, but it felt enormous. She cried out as pain swelled between her legs, arcing out along her skin to make her arch up, unintentionally pushing him deeper inside of her. Clary gave another cry as he pulled out of her and thrust back in.
"Jesus," Jonathan breathed, his forehead falling forward to rest against her shoulder as he began to fuck her. He began at a slow rhythm, pulling out of her completely and pushing back in to the base of his cock. Clary was beyond words now, too lost and startled. The world was melting in on itself and she had no power to stop it.
"Kiss me." The murmur came from against her ear, followed by a quick nip of the lobe to make her shudder. When she only shook her head, Jonathan frowned. He withdrew from her to thrust forward harshly, their hips snapping together and it sent another spark of pain through her. Message received, Clary turned her chin up to him and found his lips. He wasn't kissing her back, simply smiling as she ravaged him in hopes of pleasing him. If she did that, perhaps it would be over quickly. Already his enthusiasm was getting the best of him. His rhythm was increasing and each thrust drove her ravaged back into the cold steel making her wince. It wasn't until one particularly rough thrust, that she broke the kiss to make a soft sound of pain.
Jonathan paused, withdrawing and glanced down at the blood that colored the frozen steel beneath them from her back. He sighed and leaned over her. Clary panicked a moment, not knowing what he planned to do, but suddenly the rope binding her arms to the table went slack and she pulled her arms against her chest. Her wrists were still bound, but at least she could use her hands again.
"Is that…it?" she asked hesitantly.
Jonathan smirked, "Have you cum yet?" She blushed fervently and turned away and he laughed, "Then no. You're just taking the driver's seat."
She didn't understand that at first, her mind reeling with confusion as he grabbed her hips and pulled her upright. Jonathan shifted to sit on the table and pulled her across his lap as he did. When she was straddling him, and the warm flesh of his cock was pressed firmly against her, she understood.
"I can't."
"Sure you can," he smiled, taking her hips again. He rocked them slowly, sliding his cock along her slit. "It's easy."
"I've never…" she shook her head, "I don't know how."
"I'll help you." He smiled again reaching up to wrap his fingers around the back of her neck and pull her down into a kiss. Their tongues met, and out of obedience she didn't pull away. She kissed him back with everything she could muster until suddenly she felt him pressing into her again. Clary tensed, sitting up on her knees, but Jonathan chuckled and pulled her back down, reaching between them to guide his cock back inside of her.
"Hush," he murmured against her lips. "Stop fighting."
"It hurts," she whimpered back, her arms were bent between them, her hands in tight fists.
Jonathan smiled, tucking the loose red hair behind her ear and kissed her cheek. "It will pass." He assured and his hands were back on her hips, guiding them forward, rocking her slowly down onto his cock. Instinctively she tensed again and it made him suck in a sharp gasp before pulling her bound arms around his neck. Now to anyone who might stumble upon them, it looked as if she were the aggressor, holding him close, pumping herself onto his cock.
"Use your hips, Clary." He murmured, his teeth were at her throat, teasing the sensitive flesh there. She tried to comply, really she did, but each thrust was a swell of pain and grinding herself against him felt so much more twisted then letting him fuck her. It made it seem as if she liked it.
"Harder." He insisted, "Roll your hips, like this." His fingers still digging into her sides, he guided her along, rocking her against him, and each time she rolled forward to take his thrust his pelvis would grind against her mound, stimulating her clit. It was only an odd sensation at first, a tingling that made her shift and frown, but soon it grew to something more. Something that outshined the pain and made her shudder and gasp.
"There you go." Jonathan smiled, kissing her again to quiet her unintentional moans. She had quickened their pace without even realizing it, and despite how it made her heart ache, she knew that Jonathan would recognize it for what it was. That she was, at least in the most basic sense, enjoying this.
"Fuck," he breathed, closing his eyes a moment to savor the sensations, "Just like that, keep going." Her pace faltered as her body and brain fell into sync again and she realized just what was happening, that she was fucking him, but Jonathan's eyes snapped open and his grip on her hips tightened to keep their rhythm steady.
"If you want to stop, we can just go back to the whipping." He said it softly and a flash of cold fear sent her into a renewed round of grinding, rocking and bouncing on his cock until even the demon let out a sound of pleasure. She wasn't nessisarily quiet either, unable to keep back all the little gasps and cries that came with their fucking.
"Faster, Clary." He ordered and though she tried, she couldn't quiet do it. Jonathan wasn't fazed, he saw that she wouldn't comply and simply surged forward. Clary fell back against the opposite side of the gurney and he followed settling over her as he had in the beginning. Then he was inside her again, and pounding into her with abandon. Clary shouted, her voice rough, and husky, and broken, and still he continued. His force was hurting her again, but this time the pain was nothing but an addition to the pleasure. They mingled and each time he thrust into her and their hips snapped together, the swell of pain and pleasure caused her to cry out again. It got to the point that Jonathan had to reach up and clamp his palm over her mouth to quiet her, and even then in the damp stone room, her voice carried. Someone would hear them if she wasn't quiet, but she couldn't stop herself.
The swell of sensation was taking over, building between her thighs and spreading outward. There was a heavy electric buzz that started at her core and each time Jonathan pushed inside of her it intensified. Her skin was burning, her breath coming in shallow pants and she now clung to Jonathan because she didn't know what else to do. She was grabbing blindly, clutching him close, pressing her bare chest to the warmth of his smooth skin and moaning when his teeth found her between thrusts. The gurney was bashing loudly against the stone wall, the wheels squeaking against the breaks. Deep in the bowls of the cellar the creatures that could hear them were crying out. There was a howl that echoed through the stone, a sound like growling but from a throat that wasn't meant for such sound. Other things could hear them and they were taking notice, which meant that Valentine would take notice too.
"Jona…Jonathan." She panted against him and his kissed her, never slowing their pace.
"Mm-hmm?"
"We're…nnh…we're too lou-aaahh."
He simply grinned, and his head fell forward against her as he drove himself deep. Clary gave a hoarse cry as the buzz at her core exploded outward, rippling just below her skin to her fingers and toes. She felt a steady heavy pulse and deep inside she constricted around Jonathan, making him freeze inside of her and moan loudly. Her body clamped down on him as she climaxed and it took only a moment for him to follow.
Silence overtook the room, broken only by the heavy pants of their labored breathing. Jonathan slowly raised his head, searching her flushed face with a smile that spoke of triumph. He watched her a moment, her breasts heaving with her breath, the way her body trembled with the echoes of her very real orgasm. This wasn't something she could sweep under the rug, nor could she pretend that nothing had happened here. She came, just as he'd promised, she'd liked it, even if it was her body betraying her, she had enjoyed it and he had seen everything. He had made her scream and fuck him back. Suddenly Clary felt very sick.
"You're putting it together, aren't you?" he asked softly, brushing the damp hair from her face and chuckling. "You realize that things are different now."
"You raped me." She snapped, unable to look at him and the smugness of his expression.
"Did I?" he asked, lifting her chin to search her eyes. "Is that what this was?"
"Yes." She answered, but her reply was timid, unsure. Had it been something else? Had they really crossed a line here, other than the obvious? She wanted to say that this was all Jonathan's fault, that he had forced her every step of the way, and it felt as if he had, but she knew better. Deep down, she knew that some of that horrible blame was on her, that all her moaning and grasping made this into something she didn't want to categorize. Something twisted.
"Get off of me and get out." Clary said, her voice dripping venom that only made the demon laugh. Nodding, he leaned down and kissed her against her will then pulled his flaccid member from her to put himself away.
"Whatever you say Clary." He replied, still grinning, still high on his victory. "Until next time then." He said and grabbed his shirt, jumping out of her reach when she tried to claw at him. He left the cell in a fit of laughter and Clary saw red. She gnawed at the ropes around her wrists, wincing at the burned skin beneath them until they fell away. It took some time and as she tugged at the rope with her teeth, her eyes filled with tears and she began to cry. She sobbed as she freed her hands and stumbled off the gurney to find what was left of her clothes. She pulled them on jerkily, feeling as if she were suspended above her body as she made her way out of the cellar and back to her room. Suspended because this person couldn't possibly be her. Clarissa Fairchild would never do the things she had just done, she would never moan and scream for a demon and she sure as hell wouldn't sleep with her brother. This was someone else. Something else.
She was different now, changed, and she barely felt the pain in her back anymore, not against the aching hole that was growing in her chest, threatening to suck her down into herself. Into deep dark cold. She wondered idly if she would ever surface again, but exhaustion was making her curl into a ball on her mattress, ignoring her pillows and sheets. She wrapped herself into a tight, little ball and just lay there, sobbing into the cotton until finally, mercifully, she drifted away into heavy, black sleep.