"Clarissa, I'm tired of this. You will eat." Jonathan glanced up at his father as he spoke, sneaking a look at the silent red head across from him.
The family sat at the great dining table tonight. They were feasting in celebration of their latest victory. It had taken work, but Valentine had managed to get information that led to the finding of a rebel camp just outside of the Idris forest. The Lightwood girl had made a splendid captive, since she was good for little else now. Thankfully Clary's new rune had also faded after a couple days, and Izzy was no longer protected from pain. Jonathan had taken her out into the forest, snapping bones and carving skin like she was his great, chiming dinner bell, and just as he'd wanted, the silly emotional fools had rushed to her aid. They had killed most of them, a little over 40 men, women, and children who had hidden in the trees like vermin. The rest were taken to the cellars to be interrogated, and every once and a while a scream could be heard faintly from downstairs. It was delightful dinner music.
Valentine had even permitted Jonathan to join the fray, and god had it been wonderful. He could still feel the electric buzz of excitement that came with the slaughter, feel the warmth of blood as it washed over his hands, hear the screams and begging that came from those who fell beneath his sword and expected mercy.
It had been a wonderful day.
"Clarissa, eat." The room was filled with tense energy as their father threw down his fork and it clattered against the fine porcelain of his plate. His daughter remained silent and still, her face turned down and lost in the fiery tresses of her hair.
It had been one week since he'd gotten inside of her. One week since he'd made her pant and scream and writhe for him, and already he found himself musing over how he would do it again. Which ways would he take her, how much would she love it this time? How far could he push her?
"Jonathan," Valentine sighed, snapping his son from his wicked daydream. "Will you help her? It seems she is incapable of feeding herself. I have little use for a daughter that can be blown away by the slightest breeze."
Jonathan, sighed, pretending that this was a great and irritating chore, when in reality he couldn't wait to touch her. Clary was suddenly focused, her eyes snapping to him and narrowing as she followed his progress around the table. She didn't flinch away from him anymore, which he liked, but she was instead hostile. Her eyes blazed green fire as she glared at him, her lips curling into a sneer of distaste. When he reached out to place her fork in her hand, she jerked away from him, shoving her chair away from the table with a loud screech.
"Don't touch me." She hissed, but Jonathan covered his ire with a charming smile.
He planted his hands on the table, leaning down beside her to look directly into her eyes. With Valentine here, he couldn't put her in her place with direct words on what they had done together, but he could still hint at it, and in front of their father he knew it would make her squirm in her shame.
"Now, Clary, we're here having a wonderful family supper and you want to ruin it by acting out. I would hate to have to take you back down to the cells. You're old one is still open for you any time you need it." His lips curled into a smug grin. "I've just been waiting for an excuse to get you alone again."
"I'll eat," she said quickly, face flushing, and he fought back his laughter at her expense. She was far too easy to tease.
He slid into the chair beside her, loving the way her eyes kept sliding to him nervously, as if she feared he would throw her onto the table and take her right there. He had to admit, the idea was tempting. Were their father away, he might have done just that. Then again, if their father was away, he would have never let her out of that cell. Perhaps he would have even bound her up and kept her in his room, a permanent plaything. The thought made him shiver.
"It seems punishing you was not a waste of time after all." Valentine smiled tightly to himself, glancing at his son with what might have been pride if he weren't such a hateful bastard. "Your brother must have shown you the folly in disobedience. Jonathan is quite adept at what he does."
"I'm sure Clary will agree with you," Jonathan grinned, watching her as she sipped at her soup daintily. "Tell me, did you have much difficulty walking after?"
Clary choked on the soup then, eyes going wide and coughing into the table. Valentine simply sighed, passing it off as her clumsiness, but Jonathan knew what the red blush meant on her cheeks. She was shaking slightly, but this close he could easily see it, and it was hard not to reach over and touch her hair, or pull her into a kiss, if only to push her farther.
Then he had a wonderful idea.
Leaning toward her again, he pulled the napkin from her lap and dabbed at her mouth once her coughing had subsided. "You should be more careful, Clary," he said with a smile, and beneath the table he slipped his other hand across her thigh and squeezed.
Clary went rigid in an instant, not daring to look at the offending hand lest she draw their father's attention to it. Her eyes snapped to Jonathan instead and their message was clear. What the hell are you doing? Are you crazy?
"Here, let me help you." He smirked, lifting her spoon to feed her. "Go on. Eat."
Clary watched him, still frozen until his fingers slid up the inside of her thigh and between her legs. He stroked her once, light and teasing, and she nearly upended her bowl when she jumped at the contact. He pulled her back down of course and his fingers magnetized right back to their place against her, stroking her over the cotton of her panties.
"I think I can do it myself," she snapped, her voice jumping just slightly when he'd slipped beneath her panties and they were touching flesh to flesh. She was hot, he noted, and part of him wondered just how easily he could get her wet when they were dining with their father.
"By the looks of you, I'd say not." He tilted his head to regard her with a knowing grin. "This dress was too small when you got here, now it's hanging from you like a rag."
"We will have to begin monitoring your meals," Valentine interjected softly, reminding Jonathan that he was still there.
"That, or feed you with a tube," he added mockingly, which garnered a hateful glare. The comment was for their father's benefit, the derision in his tone purposefully set to seem as if he didn't care for her comfort.
"Try it and I'll-"
"Children." Valentine sighed, setting down his fork and pushing away the empty plate that had housed his steak. "Can you not be civil for at least an hour? I tire of your bickering."
"It's all in good fun," Jonathan grinned, and pushed a finger deep into his sister. She sucked in a soft gasp, her own fingers knotting in the hanging table cloth just out of their father's sight. "Isn't that right, Clary?"
"Yes," she said quickly, her voice too breathy to get passed their father. Valentine's eyes narrowed slightly and he watched them a long moment. He seemed to be about to say something when the door behind them opened and the small dark-haired maid scurried in for their plates.
Jonathan had been taken off guard, and even he could not pull away in time. The servant's big, doe eyes were locked on his hand, before slowly she raised them to look at him. Clary was pale with shame, he was simply angry. To her credit, and perhaps because she knew enough to fear him, the maid didn't say anything. She hurriedly gathered their plates and bowls onto the steel trolley cart she'd rolled in with, replacing them with steaming black coffee.
"Will that be all for tonight, sir?" she asked Valentine.
"Yes, Martha, but I will be taking my coffee in the study tonight. Clarissa won't be needing it, she is already too excitable."
The servant nodded and hurried from the room, sneaking only one glance behind her to find that Jonathan was watching before she dashed out of sight. He ground his teeth a moment, starring after her. It wouldn't do to have a servant shooting off her mouth about what he did in private, he couldn't have it getting back to Valentine. If there was one thing he knew, it was that servants could talk, and rumors spread like wildfire. The son of her fanatical lord fornicating with his sister, that one would catch quickly. He would have to deal with her.
"I'm going to bed." Clary said suddenly, pushing herself from the table and letting her wild red hair shield her face again. No doubt she was hiding her blush, but at the moment Jonathan couldn't follow her. Instead, he rose and downed his coffee, ignoring the burn as it crept down his esophagus.
"Am I needed for something, father?" He asked it innocently enough, though beneath the table his foot was tapping impatiently. Would the woman keep it to herself in shock, or would she blab to the first maid she found?
Valentine shook his head, giving a faint smile. "You have done more than enough tonight Jonathan. You make me proud."
Any other time, this praise from his father would have floored him. It wasn't often that Valentine said such things, and rarely to his son. In light of the situation however, he could only nod and hurry from the room after Martha.
She was fast, he had to give her that. She'd already made it into the kitchen by the time he caught up with her and that made him anxious. Deciding the risk was too great to be patient, he followed, bursting through the kitchen doors and into the bustle of work staff. Conversation died at his appearance, a lord of their house in the kitchens? What could this mean, and the demon at that?
Jonathan didn't miss the looks they gave him as they tried to pretend his appearance didn't put them all on edge. There were whispers in the outskirts of the room, glances risked beneath hair and quickly averted once noticed. They were afraid of him, but it wasn't the respectful fear they showed Valentine. No, to them, Jonathan was a demon, a monster made flesh by his father. They feared him because they thought he was evil, they thought he would eat their souls.
Sometimes he found it amusing to give them more to gossip about. Any other time, he might have, but not now. His eyes narrowed, scanning the room until he found her, hidden in the back, trying to make herself as small as possible. The maid noticed his attention, and he noticed the two other women she was hiding behind. Had she told them? They were starring at him, but that could have just been because he was making a quick path toward them.
"You're name is Martha, right?" He stopped in front of her and watched her face go pale. The maid nodded quickly, glancing around the room like she wanted saving. Like she thought he was going to hurt her.
Smart girl.
"Valentine has need of you in the study. Come with me please."
"I have work in the library, sir," she replied in a small and terrified voice. She couldn't even meet his eyes. "I have to dust the books before tomorrow morning and if I don't start now I will never be finished and-"
"This way please," Jonathan didn't bother listening to the rest of her lie. He grabbed her arm and pulled her after him, heading for the back door to the kitchen. Martha let out a startled little gasp at the contact, stumbling along after him and staring longingly back at the kitchen as he guided her quickly away from it and the prying eyes of the help.
There was a small sitting room at the end of the hall. It hadn't been used for anything but storage since Valentine took the place, and by the collecting dust he knew they would not be disturbed here. Perhaps when he was finished, he could take Clary here.
Martha yelped when he tossed her into the room, falling into a stack of wooden crates and groaning. Jonathan locked the door behind him and turned to face her, waiting patiently for the woman to collect herself.
"I'm sorry!" she cried suddenly, eyes wide and putting the crates between them. "I didn't mean to see anything, I didn't see anything! You don't have to worry, I won't tell anyone, I swear."
He smiled, honestly amused by her panic and the fact that she thought that it would be so easy to placate him.
"But you did see it, and I fear I do have to worry." As he spoke, he moved closer, stalking her slowly. The maid watched him with terror, backing away until she had found the wall. "See, I don't know you, you could be the house gossip as far as I'm concerned. Loose lips sink ships and all that."
Martha tried to run then, she dashed around him for the door, grabbing the handle and trying to force it open, but she'd forgotten the lock. Her mistake gave him time to follow her, slamming his hand against the door beside her head and making her cry out in fear, curling in on herself against the wood.
"That didn't help me trust you," he murmured into her hair, tucking the dark brown waves behind her ear. Martha sobbed quietly as she turned to face him, looking up at him and grabbing the front of his shirt.
"I'm sorry!" she cried, face red and blotchy from her tears. "Please! I'll keep quiet."
"But how do I know that Martha?" he asked gently, shaking his head. "You'll say anything now."
"No! I swear it! I won't tell a soul, on my life!"
He drew a breath through his teeth, pretending to consider this. "I don't know. I don't like unnecessary risks. It's too easy for you to break your word."
"I won't!" she shook her head frantically, her fists were wrinkling his expensive shirt, but honestly her reaction was too entertaining for it to bother him. "I promise you, please! Just don't kill me!"
"Hush, sweetheart," he said, laughing and cupping her chin to gaze down into her eyes. She was at least a head shorter than he was and the difference seemed to be putting her further on edge. "Who said anything about killing you?" She sniffled, gazing hopefully up at him, and he smiling charmingly. "That would only get me in trouble, and it would be rather messy. Who would clean it up if I killed the maid?"
Martha's knees gave out at his words and she groaned in fear. He caught her easily enough chuckling into her hair. "Calm down, Martha, I'm just kidding. There are plenty more maids to clean you off the floors. It wouldn't be an issue."
"Don't! Please don't! I have a family!"
Jonathan scoffed at this, "Who doesn't? Is that supposed to endear you to me?"
"I'll do anything!" she cried and Jonathan frowned at her volume. She might bring attention with all this yelling.
"I know you will, Martha," he smiled at her again and stroked her cheek. "Just like I know how you can make it all up to me."
"Yes!" she nodded frantically, "Whatever you want."
"Stick out your tongue." He said simply. The maid looked at him in confusion a moment, frowning until Jonathan reached for his belt, drawing his dagger from its sheath. Then she really started screaming.
"NO!" Martha shrieked slamming back against the door when she tried to escape him, but she was still trapped and he wasn't going to let her go anywhere without making sure she couldn't tell a soul what she'd seen. He would cut out her tongue before she ruined anything for him.
"Shh," Jonathan soothed, grabbing her around the throat and dragging her deeper into the room. She thrashed in his grip, but was no real challenge. There was an old, red velvet armchair in the back of the room with a ripped cushion. He shoved her down into it and planted his knee against her stomach to keep her there, tilting back her head.
"It will only hurt for a moment. You'll be perfectly fine."
She shook her head, continuing to fight him until Jonathan got fed up and leaned down to speak directly to her, staring into her wide, frightened eyes. "I can cut out your tongue, or I can kill you. Which would you prefer?"
"Please," she begged through tears "Please don't."
Her responses had been much the same after that, pleading and bargaining and sobbing. It was all very tiresome. In the end he couldn't help himself. Putting an end to the incessant crying was worth the risk of Valentine's punishment. He'd been wrong however in telling her she had a choice. The muscle had ripped away easily enough, but not without blood everywhere, staining his shirt to hell and covering the floor. She'd gagged and sputtered and choked on her hands and knees, blood pouring from her mouth like an open tap. It was all rather messy and he'd tried to calm her, really, but the shock and the pain made her attack, and Jonathan just couldn't have that. Martha was no longer working for the household after that. He was even confident that it would take some time before anyone found what was left of her.