Martha had been missing for a few days when Clary finally realized she wouldn't be coming back. What's more, there were other disappearances as well. Two other maids and a footman named Karl. From what she had gathered, they had all been together the day before Martha had vanished. What made it infuriating was that she could not even look into these matters because Valentine couldn't bring himself to care for servants, much less any problem she had.

"I am aware that we have lost a few of our staff, but that has nothing to do with you, Clarissa."

"You're right, it's Jonathan! He did something, he must have! He-"

Valentine stopped signing papers and set down his pen, turning to face her in his office chair. Suddenly her words failed her and she closed her mouth. Under those black, heartless eyes she felt powerless.

"And why would Jonathan have anything to do with it?"

"I…I don't know. He-"

"Then your accusation is completely unfounded."

"No!" she snapped, and then regained what she could of her composure. Of course she couldn't actually tell Valentine why Jonathan had killed Martha, that would mean admitting what they had done together and that was never going to happen. On the other hand, dropping the matter would mean that Jonathan walked away clean. Only Valentine could really punish him and she needed him punished. He had to be hurt, the way he had hurt her.

"I think Jonathan was…"she faded off, straining to come up with something as Valentine arched an expectant eyebrow. "They might have been…lovers."

There was silence a long moment until Valentine burst into uncharacteristic laughter, sitting back in his chair. "Really Clarissa, I'm surprised you can even bring yourself to use that word. Has the outside world become so sheltered, or is that just Jocelyn's influence?"

"You don't understand, they had a fight and I think Jonathan-"

"Is this what you do with your free time now?" Valentine asked with a knowing smile, he shook his head and went back to working on his papers, whatever the hell they were they were always more important than her. Everything was more important than her. "Gossiping about your brother's intimate life? Surely there are more productive things you could do?"

"You aren't listening to me!" Clary cried and his black eyes snapped up to narrow on her pointedly, so she lowered her voice again. One did not yell at Valentine Morgenstern. "I think Jonathan might have lost his temper and-"

"Are you jealous of your brother Clarissa?" Valentine's lips curled into a faint smile. "I did good in teaching him to socialize, he can be a charming boy when he puts his mind to it. Seeing him, a young man who is all but a demon, find companionship while you have only your shameful obsession with the dead traitor, well, I can see where you might feel inadequate in comparison." Clary could not respond to this because her jaw had dropped in shock and words were beyond her. Valentine, did not notice, or simply ignored this. "I should tell you that a girl of your age has no reason to bother herself with things like sex, but those are the words of a fearful father. In truth, I find that I am not as protective of you as I could be. In fact, there are times that I forget why you are here at all. Funny that."

Valentine went back to his papers again and waved at Clary impatiently. "Leave your brother alone, Clarissa, find your own companions and leave his be. Now go, I have more important things to do than listen to your complaints."

Dejected and halfway to fury, Clary stormed out of the office, making sure to slam the office door loud enough that he couldn't ignore it. She could show him a petulant teenager if that's what he wanted. She wanted to strangle him! How could he brush her off so completely? Why was his hatred still so fresh? Clary did not carry any real love for her father, how could she, but the knowledge that he hated her, his own child, was sometimes a little much. It was her place to disagree with her parents, to fight with them, but how could her own father see her as a stain, a waste? How could he side with a demon?

Tears stung her eyes and she stomped her way to the staircase, intent on locking herself in her room for the rest of the day. She'd made it up the first step when she heard the laughter, soft, masculine, mocking laughter coming from the shadows just beside the staircase. Clary's body went rigid out of instinct, her eyes narrowing on the tall, silver-blond boy moving toward her.

Jonathan stopped at the foot of the stairs, leaning against the banister and crossing his arms. The stance was casual, but she knew that he could strike as fast as a snake and be on her before she could let out her first scream. His attempt to seem unthreatening did nothing.

"I heard the story in there," he smiled, tilting his head to regard her with a questioning look. "Pretty inventive. Lovers?" he laughed. "That was my favorite part."

"He didn't believe me. He wouldn't even listen."

"Of course," Jonathan said as if it should be obvious. "I am one of his greatest assets. Did you think he would risk losing me to my jealous little sister's lies?"

Clary watched him carefully, her grip on the banister now white knuckled. "Not all of it was lies, Jonathan. I know you killed Martha and the others."

He didn't bother to dispute it, simply shrugged, checking his nails absently. "Well I couldn't have her running her mouth, now could I? It wouldn't do for Valentine to find out about us yet." His eyes cut to Clary suddenly, narrowing enough to send a chill racing down her spine. "Which means you must know I'll have to punish you for what you did. Running to daddy like a little girl, all to spite me. You really should learn to choose your battles, darling sister."

Clary let out a soft cry went he shot forward, but his hand was over her mouth before she could get out the full scream. He grinned maliciously, pressing her back against the banister, their bodies flush together.

"Now what should I do with you, lover?"

Clary was washed in rage at that and she jerked her knee up as hard as she could into his crotch. Jonathan grunted, his eyes shooting wide and he slumped against her a moment, curling into himself. She shoved him to the side, hoping that he might fall down the stairs, and turned to run, taking the stairs two at a time toward her room. It wasn't long before she heard him behind her and a burst of fearful adrenaline spurred her onward.

Her door was just down the hall, only a few more feet. She rocketed forward, sprinting as fast as her legs would carry her and nearly slammed into her door trying to grab the handle. Jonathan made a sound of irritation, almost like a growl, behind her as she wrenched the door open and dashed inside, spinning to slam the door closed behind her. The demon was too fast though, his hand slammed against the wood, shoving it open and sending her stumbling backward into her room. She watched him kick her door closed and lock it behind him, black eyes narrowed on her. His breath came in short, soft pants, his sliver-blond hair messy and giving him a wild, untamed look. He seemed suddenly more dangerous, like an uncaged lion at the zoo. Clary found herself backing away from him, but it only seemed to excite him more.

"You shouldn't have done that Clarissa," he said slowly, but had yet to attack. Instead he paced her, tracking her movement around the side of the bed with sharp, black eyes. "You insist on making things more difficult for yourself."

"You attacked me Jonathan," she insisted harshly. "How can you expect me not to defend myself?"

"Because you never have before," he laughed, but it was a sharp, frightening sound. Menacing laughter that made her tremble as he slowly moved toward her. "How should I know when you'll decide to use your backbone?"

She let out a furious cry at that, grabbing the first thing she could and lobbing it at him. The heavy art book tumbled through the air, but he knocked it out of the way at the last moment, scoffing.

"Is that all you've got?"

Clary's teeth grit together hard enough that her jaw popped and she backed away. Her easel was to her right, the bookshelf to her left. Her aim wasn't good enough to try another book, so instead she kicked out her foot, smashing it into the easel. The wood splintered and she grabbed one of the loose lengths of wood, lifting it up like a sword.

Jonathan arched a brow at this, his smile growing in amusement. "A weapon? Feisty, I like it."

They stared at each other a long time in silence and Jonathan slid down into an easy defensive stance, beckoning to her with his fingers. "Well, come on then."

Clary charged with a war howl, at least that's how it felt. The cry rang from deep in her gut, a sound of rage and pain that made the demon's eyes widen slightly, even if he continued to smile. She brought the wooden staff down at his head and in the last second he shifted, missing the wood by an inch. His arm rocked out knocking the wood to the side and grabbing her free wrist when she stumbled. He spun her around, locking her back against his chest with her arm.

"That was pathetic," he said into her ear. Her blood was on fire now, rage bubbled up in her throat, strangling her voice. She kicked back her head, but Jonathan shoved her away with a snicker. When she spun back around he was laughing.

"Come on, Clary. You can do better than that. Show me what the angel boy taught you."

That got her charging again, just as he'd wanted, but this time she timed her attack. Clary brought the staff down at his head again swinging to the right, but as he shifted to avoid the blow, she swung her fist to the left, clocking him against the temple. Jonathan grunted, and stumbled back a step, and she took the opportunity to catch him with a roundhouse right in the gut.

The demon grunted again, soft and irritated, but he'd caught her foot and held it against him as he stood straight. Off balance and panicking, Clary fell backward, landing hard on her ass. She cursed and tried to scramble back up but Jonathan threw a kick of his own. Clary gagged as his boot connected with her gut. She couldn't brush off pain as he did and it took her a moment to get her breath back.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" he asked harshly, kicking her onto her back to stand over her. "Don't dish it out if you can't take it, Clary. Not with me."

Her eyes cut up to him and she grabbed his ankle yanking with everything she had and knocking him onto his back. He cursed hotly and she rolled over, climbing over him to punch him across the face. His head turned with the blow and she delivered another, making him spit blood onto the carpet. She expected him to snap then, but he was laughing again. Laughing like this was the most fun he'd ever had and that made her all the more furious. In a moment of blind rage, Clary lifted the staff above her head and brought it down over his face like a sword.

"Shit!" Jonathan wasn't smiling then, he grabbed her knee and rocked her to the side, rolling over on top of her and pinning her weapon wielding hand to the floor. She clawed at him with her free hand, trying to free herself while Jonathan stared down at her in shock.

"You just tried to stab me in the face," he said in astonishment, then slowly that damn smile crept over his face again and he leaned down, kissing her before she knew it was coming. When she'd finally shoved him back, he laughed. "That's kinda hot."

"Yeah, it'll be real sexy when I run you through, you stupid piece of-"

"Ah, ah," he tsked, pressing his finger to her lips. "No reason to get nasty." She tried to bite his finger and he chuckled, tightening his fingers in her hair to force back her head. "I mean, not yet at least. I'm still building up my appetite."

"Get the fuck off of me!" Clary yelled, and then gasped when Jonathan popped her across the cheek hard enough to turn her head.

"Keep your voice down," he said softly, staring down at her in a sharp way that made her feel small and helpless. She didn't like that he was still on top of her, and from the heat she saw in his eyes, she didn't want this to go the way she knew it would. Jonathan was evil and a pervert, two things that never should have mixed.

"Please, stop Jonathan. You punished me, it's over."

His brow arched slowly and he chuckled again. "Is it? That was just good fun, Clary. I haven't punished you yet."

"Then don't!" she cried. "Don't hurt me."

The demon smiled charmingly then, leaning down to kiss her cheek in what might have passed for affection if he wasn't such a twisted shit. "But I like hurting you, Clarissa." He drew the lobe of her ear between his teeth, tugging it gently then kissed the hollow behind her ear. "I like the way you scream, the way you writhe beneath me. I like this little fight you're putting up too. It's turning me on."

She shuddered as he pulled back, jumping to his feet and dragging her after him by her hair. He plucked the wooden staff from her fingers and tapped her on the side, motioning to the bed.

"Now I'm going to punish you," he said casually. "But don't worry, lover, it won't be too bad."

"No." she tried to shake her head, but he rolled his eyes and shoved her at the mattress. She hit the side and folded over it onto her stomach with a curse. Jonathan's hand curled around the back of her neck, pressing her face down into the comforter to keep her pinned. He kicked her legs apart and stepped between then, leaning over her and setting the staff down beside her. She didn't try to grab for it, she knew he wouldn't let her, and didn't want to make things worse. At the same time an icy stab of self hatred flashed through her, she was a coward. She was nothing. Perhaps God had seen fit to punish her for all she had done, the things she had let happen because she was too afraid to stop them. Isabelle had been captured, she'd argued and cried sure, but she never tried to let the girl go free. It wasn't as if she was always locked in her room. If they found Alec or Magnus would she do anything? Wasn't she Clary Fairchild? Didn't she control runes? And what had she done with this great power?

Maybe she deserved this.

X

Her eyes had gone distant now, lost in some dreamland, or pretending she wasn't really here, Jonathan didn't know. Either way, it was unacceptable. His fingers slipped into her hair, tightening until she let out a soft little sound and arched her back to look up at him. He liked that, all the wild red hair tumbling down her back, knotting in his hand. Her lips were parted as she looked at him, green eyes bright, frightened. That should have made him guilty, but he felt only excitement and a swell of something he could only describe as arousal. He liked that she was afraid of him, he liked the way it made her sharp, alert. Clary was so quiet nowadays, like Valentine had beaten all of the fire right out of her, but now he saw it. It was back again, burning in her eyes as he stared down at her, and he loved that this part of her was his alone.

"You broke your easel," he said slowly, lifting up the shaft of wood beside her and turning it over in his hand. He saw her eyes dart to it and back to him, her body tensing beneath him. "Do you really hate me that much, that you'd destroy the one thing you have left, just for a few bruises?"

She didn't answer him, but she didn't have to. It was all it that bright green fire raging in her eyes. She met his gaze and didn't look away, and he had her answer. Yes. I hate you. A cold, unpleasant feeling slithered through his gut and he sneered, stepping suddenly back to swing the wood down against her backside. It was long, thin, and would leave quite a bruise, perfect for a substitute cane. Clary let out a sharp cry, more startled than anything. He hadn't really hit her hard. Not yet.

Her thin finger curled tightly into the sheet when he drew back again, turning her head as if hiding her eyes might stop it from happening. Her next cry was louder, but muffled by the mattress. Jonathan smiled to himself, pressing harder onto her neck, he didn't want to be interrupted, but he didn't intend to spend long on this either. Just a few good hits, something to unnerve her. She was more responsive when she was properly frightened.

The wood cracked down over her ass again and she jumped, crying out into her sheets and clutching to them like a life raft. It made him laugh to think that all she had to do was cry out, alert someone and perhaps she would be rid of him. She could have told Valentine the truth today, spoiling everything, but she couldn't bring herself to say it. Instead here she sat, curling into her bed trying to keep her voice down so big brother could finish spanking her.

"Roll over, Clarissa." He said it softly, but his voice was firm and she didn't argue. When he released her neck, she sniffed meekly into the blankets and rolled onto her back, arms wrapped around her shoulders. She knew what was coming next, but couldn't stop it, wasn't even trying to. Odd, he thought, but pushed on regardless.

He didn't bother drawing out the process, he didn't have the patience for it now. Jonathan unfastened her jeans and tugged them down her legs, stripping them off and dropping them on the floor. Clary just sat there, stiff as a board with eyes wide as saucers, but still none the less.

"You aren't even going to struggle a little bit?" He asked with a sigh, leaning over her. "Have you already givien up Clary? That was fast."

"Are you going to tease me all night, or are you going to get this over with?" she snapped and he couldn't help his smile. He knew what she meant, but couldn't keep himself from pushing her. Why was she suddenly being so tame? Why wasn't she playing back?

Jonathan's eyes narrowed and his smile turned sharp. "Fine."

He grabbed her arm and flipped her back over onto her stomach, settling himself between her legs. She was fighting now out of fright, thinking he would sodomize her, though that wasn't his intention. He didn't bother correcting her though, the fear made her push up against the mattress, unintentionally grinding herself back against him in an attempt to escape. Clary shivered when he let out a groan and he felt it in his own spine. All that trembling, pressing against him, it was getting a little out of hand, he felt his control slipping.

Jonathan didn't bother discarding her underwear, he tore it off, pressing against her again and rotating his hips. His hand slid down her spine, curling around her hip. He shifted her back, arching her back, forcing her to expose herself, and it sent her into a tizzy.

Clary whined softly, almost like a mewling cat, and tried to pull away again, but stopped quickly when she felt the fabric of his jeans. He'd noticed that the first time he'd fucked her. When she was naked and he'd lain above her, trying to touch every inch of her body that he could, she'd shuddered at the feel of the denim. Not a tremble, but a vibration that rocked her entire body, deeper than fear. He could almost call it passionate.

"Jonathan," she said his name softly, turning back to look at him over her shoulder as he unfastened his jeans. She wanted to regurgitate her usual cries. Don't. Stop. This isn't right. But if she hated it as much as she said, why was her skin so flushed? Why was her breath coming in soft little pants? Why were her thighs giving off heat like a radiator?

She hissed something out when he pushed into her from behind, but he was too lost to catch what it was. She was soft, and hot, and tight around him. Perfect. He lost it then, letting out a harsh breath and burying himself inside her again. Clary gasped, just a soft little breath of a sound, but it drove him on. He pounded into her, there was no other way to put it. It was violent, but it made her hair bounce like writhing flames around her face as she cried out, and that was a sight he couldn't put a price on.

Jonathan's hand snapped down over her mouth and he pulled her back against his chest, grabbing the banister of her bed with the other so he could continue to fuck her. When she was quiet, his hand slipped beneath her shirt, pushing aside her bra to close around her breast. She fit perfectly in his hand, her nipple hard against his palm, and he had to kiss her again.

Did she even know that she'd been wet since the first swing of the wood? Did she realize that she was meeting his thrusts? Was she aware that she was kissing him back? He wasn't sure, but it didn't matter. She didn't love this, that was too simple a way to describe it. She didn't even know she wanted this, but he would show her. He would make her realize that she wanted him too, blood relation be damned.

Jonathan pulled out of her suddenly and spun her around, pulling her flush against his body and wrapping a hand around the back of her neck to drag her closer. He kissed her with possession, hungrily and she responded in turn. It was almost as if this was her way of fighting now, to meet his demands without fail, to steal his chances of escalating things when she did. Well, if that was her game, than challenge accepted.

"What are you doing?" She demanded when he lifted her off the bed and began to walk them back toward the wall. He didn't answer, but spun her around, shoving her back against it. She groaned, sliding down the plaster an inch, but her eyes were bright, locked on him. He grinned, slipping his hands around the backs of her thighs and lifting them up around his waist. Her hands shot out to steady herself, wrapping tightly around his neck, and then she was letting out a sudden sound of repressed pleasure as he pushed back into her. He was not gentle, couldn't be, and each time she rocked back against the plaster she let out a cry. They were growing in volume now and he laughed, cutting off the next one with his mouth.

"Be quiet," he murmured against her lips, pulling at her lower lip with his teeth. Another shudder raced down her spine and her eyes closed tightly, but he chuckled, drawing a little blood to get her attention. "Look at me."

Clary's eyes snapped open again and she sucked on her lip, drawing at the blood. He watched this a moment before leaning down to draw on the split on her lip. She shivered at the feel of his tongue, her lips parting without his having to ask and he smiled again, kissing her and delighting to find her tongue meeting his and the sharp taste of salt from her tears.

He didn't know how long they kept up like this, he felt as if he were devouring her. Her head was tilted back against the wall, bobbing with his thrusts, her lips closed tightly to quiet her sounds of pleasure. And there was no disputing that that's what they were now. She was clutching at his shoulders, riding him just as eagerly as he thrust into her. Their breath came in shallow pants, mingling warmly between them. She smelled like something sweet, but he couldn't begin to describe the scent, it was purely Clary.

He didn't slow his pace until she had rocked her head forward with a cry, biting down into his shoulder to silence it. She shuddered, tightening around him as she came, and he couldn't stop his smile from spreading. He followed soon after, pressing her hard against the wall, claiming her mouth again. Her lips were swollen from the force of his own but it only added to her wild, tousled appearance. Made him want to fuck her all over again.

Jonathan slowly set her feet back on the carpet, but kept her pinned against the wall, listening to the sound of her shallow breathes. He liked the way she fit against him, with her eyes meeting his shoulders, she was small and thin, almost as willowy now as one of the Seele court. His fingers feathered across her hair, brushing it out of her eyes and slipping beneath her chin. He looked down at her for a moment before he smiled and kissed the corner of her mouth.

"Tomorrow I'll go into town and get you a new easel. You'll have to paint me that portrait we talked about."

"The one where you're molesting me on top of dead people?" she said wearily.

He chuckled. "That's the one."

"Don't count on it."

"Don't challenge me Clary, it just gets me excited." He left her to worry about that while he cleaned himself off and straightened his clothes. Clary didn't bother, redressing. She didn't seem able to move away from the wall, she simply watched him. It's not that he didn't appreciate her nudity, it was simply distracting.

Jonathan grabbed her wrist and jerked her into his arms, holding her tightly to his chest. Her head fell back so she could look up at him and he smirked. "I have to go now, Clarissa, but I'll be back to see you later."

She just stared at him so he sighed and kissed the top of her head. She didn't move as he left the room, but he was grinning. Hell he felt like skipping down the hall when he closed her door behind him. He might have if there weren't others in the main hall when he got there. Servants milling about glancing at him like a wild dog. Like he might attack them at any moment. Perhaps clary was not the only one who knew what had become of the maids. He chuckled to himself and headed for the kitchen. Suddenly, he was starving.

xXx

He was in the library now, reading over some boring tactics manual that Valentine had insisted he finish. His father was at the chair by the fire, reading over something else. He'd been lost in his papers all day today, had barely spoken a word to Jonathan beyond telling him the funny thing his sister had tried to day. He'd laughed, asking if she'd really thought he'd been playing with the help, and then they'd fallen back into comfortable silence.

Until the door flew open and one of the Shadowhunters stumbled in.

"Isabelle Lightwood is gone, sir!" he said breathlessly and Jonathan closed his book, moving the boots he'd propped on the table to the floor to stare at the man. Valentine stood slowly, face blank.

"What do you mean gone?"

"Vanished, my lord," the man insisted. "Her cell was open and the girl was gone. We think someone has let her out."

"Of course she had help, you idiot. The girl could barely walk and…"Valentine paused and his eyes narrowed on the floor before snapping to Jonathan. "Find your sister."

He jumped over the back of the couch, shoving the shadowhunter aside and raced into the main hall. He took the stairs three at a time, grabbing the banister at the last landing to jump the rails and race down her hallway. She couldn't. She wouldn't. Was she really that stupid? He rocked his shoulder against her door to throw it open and froze in the doorway. The room was empty, the closet thrown open and clothes littering the floor. She'd packed a bag, he thought. She didn't plan to come back.

A sound that closely resembled a growl rumbled up from Jonathan's chest as he stared at the broken easel across the room. She'd left her precious painting of the angel boy in battle. Part of him wanted to tear it to pieces in spite, but he spun on his heel instead and moved to his room.

Jonathan went through the motions of putting on his shadowhunter gear in silence, with a bubbling of rage in his chest. He slid the dead Sebastian Verlac's sword into the sheath at his side, his steele into his boot and a collection of other little weapons. When he went back downstairs, Valentine was waiting, his arms crossed, but by the look on his face said he already knew she was gone.

"Well?" he asked harshly and Jonathan sighed.

"I will find her." He said slowly, and marched out of the front door followed by a small group of shadowhunters. He would find her and when he did, god he was going to make her sorry.