The door that appeared against what was once a bare wall made no sound as it opened. Whether that was because it was a kind of portal, or simply Jonathan trying to be quiet, she wasn't sure. She flicked on the lamp beside the couch, watching him freeze, and feeling very much like the mother of a teen in a movie. He seemed to share the sentiment.
His face became a mocking gasp, his hand flying up against his chest. A chest, she noted, that was wet with something black and streaked in acidic green. It looked suspiciously like demon blood.
"Jocelyn?" He said sarcastically. "You've caught me. I promise I didn't drink at the party."
She wasn't in the mood for his humor. "Where were you?"
He laughed at that, peeling off his dirty jacket and frowning at a hole burned into one of the sleeves. "Sorry mom. I didn't mean to break curfew."
Clary jumped off the couch and grabbed the decorative crystal angel off the side table, lobbing it at his head. "Can you be serious?"
He ducked easily out of the way of the projectile and watched it shatter against the wall with a raised eyebrow.
"I think that was expensive."
"Shut up you stupid...idiot!" Clary cried furiously, fists balled at her sides. This was not the first time he'd disappeared. In the last three days Jonathan had been slipping out when she slept, returning near dawn. She didn't know what he was up to, but she certainly didn't trust that it was anything good.
"You keep leaving me here all alone and you're being all weird and secretive. What are you up to?"
He blinked at her, his face falling into a mildly curious smile. He was laughing at her and that made her want to punch him in the neck. When the silence stretched on, she held up her hands angrily in question.
"Well?"
His mouth quirked into a smile, watching her across the room in a way she couldn't entirely read. "I thought you wanted me to shut up."
Growling in rage, Clary grabbed the first thing closest to her, a crystal tumbler for the various bourbons and whiskeys Jonathan kept in the apartment. When she turned back to throw it at him however, he was already in front of her. He caught her wrist and plucked the tumbler from her hand to set it back down.
"Ok, that is expensive."
Clary tried to wrench her hand from his grip but he might as well have been formed from stone. She did little more than jerk his arm, so she resorted to slapping at his chest with her free hand instead.
"I don't care about your stupid cups!"
"It's a tumbler, technically."
"Jonathan," She snaped, ignoring him. "I want you to tell me where you've been going. And do not lie."
He frowned slightly at her continued swipes, batting them away easily. When he'd had enough he grabbed her other hand and held her arms down at her sides.
"Alright, fine. Just stop hitting me."
"Stop being a dick head."
He laughed at that, short and sharp, looking down at her in a sort of startled amusement. "Are you going to let me answer you?"
"Are you going to stop being a dick head?" Ok, now she just couldn't help herself. Which wasn't helping.
Jonathan sighed watching her with mild irritation as he juggled her hands into one of his long fingered ones and tugged her back around the couch. "Well this is going nowhere fast."
She grunted as he pushed her down onto the couch, finally releasing her hands. Her eyes were narrowed slits of anger. "That's because you're sneaking around like a...I don't know, something nefarious, and leaving me here for hours. I've been all alone in this weird teleporting condo, and I have no idea what you're doing, which must mean it's something you don't want me to know."
Jonathan sighed softly, unclipping his weapons belt and letting it clatter onto the coffee table as he sank onto the couch beside her.
"You make it sound like I'm abandoning you. I took you to Paris yesterday. We had a great day together."
"We did," she crossed her arms and turned to glare at him. "But don't think I didn't notice you slipping off while I was busy sketching the Eiffle Tower. You're up to something. What is it?"
"Are you my keeper now?" He asked with a frown. There was a tear across the chest of his grey teeshirt. Something had slashed at him with three long claws and managed to cut him deep enough to bleed. He tugged his stele out of his boot and drew an iratze over the bleeding skin. After a brief inward hiss, he relaxed back into the couch and the wound began to knit itself neatly back together. If not for the smearing of blood, she might not have known it was ever there. How many other wounds had he managed to hide already?
"Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern, don't you sit there and patronize me."
He scoffed, eyes widening slightly. "I'm patronizing you?"
Frustration made her slap at him again, to his building irritation. He fended off the initial attack with quick, practiced motions, but when it was clear she wasn't going to stop, he grabbed her wrists and surged forward. Pinned to the couch with her arms on either side of her, all she could do was glare up into his irritated black eyes.
"Stop. Hitting. Me." He said the words calmly, but the ice in his tone was enough to carry the threat. Clary clenched her jaw. As much as she wanted to slap every inch of his stupid, lying face, it wasn't getting her anywhere.
"Tell me where you've been sneaking off to." Her position wasn't exactly one of power, being pinned beneath him the way she was, but she felt rage enough not to care. "Are you slipping away to visit your girlfriends or setting fire to pet shelters with orphans?"
"What?" A look of genuine confusion crossed his face before it cracked into a smile. He shook his head as he laughed down at her, very much making her want to slap him again.
"You know, I like it when you get jealous like this. It's actually adorable."
Her eyes narrowed again. "I will bite you. Right on the neck."
"Hmm," he raised his eyebrows, leaning down until the warmth of his breath tickled her cheek. "I'll bite you back, but we both know you'll like it."
"Stop trying to change the subject," she snapped to his amused chuckle.
"Stop trying to turn me on." Her mouth opened, then snapped shut just as quickly. If she could have melted him with her eyes right then, she would have done so gladly. He arched a brow, watching her a moment. "Are you done throwing your tantrum?"
She jerked at her pinned hands to no effect, then deflated into the couch cushion. "Maybe."
"Good. If you keep it up I might have to take my belt off and punish you. Though, I suppose some threats to you are just promises of future orgasms."
"I'm not in the mood for your weird, menacing form of flirtation."
He shrugged one shoulder, grinning. "I could get you in the mood."
"Jonathan I swear I'll-"
"Fine." He rolled his eyes, sighing in exasperation. "I'm sorry you felt abandoned. I wasn't trying to sneak around on you."
"Really? I couldn't tell with all the actual sneaking."
"I was hunting, ok?" He sat back up, releasing her hands to run his own back through his white blonde hair. "I am still a Shadowhunter. We're supposed to kill demons, or have you forgotten?"
"You were hunting?" She asked skeptically. Frankly she was a little surprised to hear it. After all her time with Valentine, plotting and taking territory like a good little dictator does, she had almost forgotten that they were in fact demon hunters. More so that Jonathan might still be inclined to kill them.
"Yes. It's been a while and I've been feeling a bit...I don't know, antsy. Though I'm a little put out you thought the worst of me. And how the hell would I set shelters on fire with orphans? Am I setting the orphans on fire first, or just forcing them to hold the torches?"
"I pictured flaming orphans," she replied flatly. "Twirling your mustache while you watched them cry."
He frowned. "I have a mustache in this scenario?"
"All villians have mustaches."
"I'm not sure that's true-"
"Jonathan," she snapped, pushing herself up onto her knees beside him. "Why were you out hunting? Have you been meeting with other Shadowhunters? Isn't that dangerous?"
"If I was meeting with anyone, I would make sure they were someone I could trust not to run to our father. I'm not an idiot."
"So you're going out alone?" Her voice was raising in pitch again with her anger. Why was he being so wreckless? It was almost like he was acting like Jace, tossing himself into battle for the thrill alone. As soon as she had the thought, she pushed it away. She couldn't think about Jace when she was looking at Jonathan. It hurt too much. The demon in question gave her a measured look, something between exasperation and annoyance.
"I'm not sure why you're freaking out about it. Maybe you've forgotten, but I'm pretty good at putting things in the ground."
She hadn't forgotten. She couldn't forget that even if she wanted to. Instead of snapping about his casual disregard for murder, she tugged at the ripped material of his teeshirt. Her fingers came away wet with his blood.
"Not good enough. What if something had happened to you? How was I supposed to know?"
His dark eyes studied her a moment. His expression had slipped into the carefully concealed mask she hated so much.
"Were you worried about me Clary?"
"What?" She blinked, then slapped his arm. "Of course I worry about you, dumb ass! You're my brother. I don't want some demon to kill you, even if you would deserve it for being so stupid. You can't just go hunting by yourself!"
"Clary," he sighed, leaning his head back against the couch and closing his eyes. "It's not like I don't know what I'm doing. I just didn't think you needed to worry about it."
"Well I do," she snapped. She crossed her arms over her chest and set her jaw firmly. "You're not going to do it again."
His eyes popped open and he let out a soft, dry laugh. "I'm sorry? How exactly are you going to stop me, Clarissa?"
She shrugged away the soft flicker of anger burning behind his black eyes. If he wanted to threaten her, he'd have to do better than that.
"I'll beat you up. Or...probably more realistically, slap a sleeping rune on your chest."
His voice was measured and calm, but she could still hear the note of menace that drifted beneath it. Knives of ice hidden beneath still water. "I'd like to see you try it."
Her eyes narrowed at that and she pitched forward to slap him. Jonathan anticipated the movement however, and was already twisting to stand off the couch. He knocked her wrist aside and his fingers wrapped around it to drag her up after him. She didn't want him to get his arms around her, so she let him drag her toward him for momentum, but twisted at the last moment, lifting a knee to drive it into his side.
The blow was only glancing. He was so much faster than anyone she'd ever seen. He twisted around to avoid most of the blow while his palm rocked out to slam into her chest. She fell back into the couch with a gasping breath, glaring up at him through a tangle of red curls. Jonathan simply lifted an eyebrow, mocking her in silence. Clary grit her teeth and turned to the side table, grabbing the crystal tumbler he'd saved before and lobbing it at his face. He blocked it with his hand, but stumbled back a step with a curse.
"Seriously?"
"Fuck your stupid, special glasses!" She yelled surging up to run at him. She meant to tackle him, but at the last moment he managed to twist her around, dragging her back against his chest and wrapping an arm around her chest to hold her there. She could feel the warmth of his skin through the thin cotton of his tee-shirt. His breath tickled her hair beside her ear. She clawed furiously at the arm holding her, until he caught her arm and twisted it up behind her back painfully. She jerked a few times, free hand digging into the arm that bound her like a steel bar.
"Are you finished?" He asked into her ear. Her response was to rock her head back into his nose with a satisfying crunch. He jerked backwards, realeasing her to slap a hand over his face.
"God damnit Clarissa, I think you just broke my nose!"
"Good," she snapped, rounding on him to shove at his chest. "If you don't care about getting yourself hurt, I don't know why I should. Maybe I'll grab one of your knives and slash at your chest like whatever it was that did that to you."
"Clary," he pintched his nose a moment, working his jaw before his black eyes snapped open to fix on her. "If you come at me with a knife, this is going to get ugly fast."
She shoved at him again. She didn't give a damn that he was looking at her in the menacing way that had made many grown Shadowhunters wilt before him. He could glare at her all he wanted. That didn't mean she was going to sit back while he ran around trying to get himself killed. Why did it seem as if all Shadowhunters had a death wish?
"Maybe it will knock some sense into you. How could you run off without any backup, without anyone knowing where you are? If you had gotten yourself killed I wouldn't have...you can't just..." The words were tumbling together now. Frantic and high pitched until they rolled together into a sob. She didn't even know when she'd started crying. This time when she slapped at him, he didn't bother to block it. His brow was furrowed in confusion and he was looking at her like she'd grown a set of horns.
"You're actually upset that I could have gotten hurt." He sounded like it was the strangest thing he'd ever heard. As if he couldn't quite wrap his head around the fact that she didn't want him dead.
"You did get hurt, you stupid asshole!" She shoved his chest with both hands, but he was still lost in shock. He barely managed to keep himself upright as he stumbled back into the wooden bartop pressed up against the wall. The impact sent the crystal decanter spinning on its side, spilling amber liquid out onto the floor. The sharp scent of bourbon tickled her nose, but she was too focused on him to care. She followed him angrily, smacking at his chest as she yelled at him.
"You could have gotten yourself killed! You could have died and I would have no idea! What. Is. Wrong with you?!" She punctuated the last words with punches and that seemed enough to wake him from his stupor of shock.
Jonathan batted away her next punch, twisting her around to shove her back against the bar. He moved almost too quickly to follow, scooping her up from beneath her thighs and grabbing a wrist in each of his hands where she'd braced them behind her. It sent the decanter crashing to the floor with the rest of the crytal tumblers. Now her arms were trapped behind her back, her body crushed between him and the bartop, and he was nestled snugly between her thighs, which were bent up around his sides. It wasn't the most innocent of positions and she knew he was thinking the same because he'd started to smile again. The expression was wicked, and entirely too self satisfied.
"You broke the rest of your stupid cups." She didn't know what else to say in this incredibly compromising position. She just knew she was mad at him and he needed to know that. He didn't rise to the bait. He was too busy smiling down at her like a cat that had just realized it trapped the mouse. Now it was time to play with it.
"Since when do you care if I live or die?"
"How can you ask me that?" She demanded, twisting to get her arms free, but he simply tightened his grip on them and pressed himself against her a bit more snugly. If she hadn't been so angry, she might have been more embarrassed by her awkward position beneath him, touching every part of his hard, lean body. Jonathan tilted his head to the side, his eyes screwing up in disbelief as he searched her face.
"You're serious. You're mad at me for putting myself in danger?"
"Obviously, asshole!"
He bent a little closer, searching her eyes with a raised brow. "Ok, the name calling is getting old."
"Fuck you," she snapped. Honestly what else was she supposed to do, pinned down in this ridiculous position? "Also let me down."
Jonathan laughed at that, fixing her with a serious, if somewhat heated, expression. "Oh, absolutely not. You broke my nose and hit me...I don't even know how many times."
"It's not even broken you big baby."
"That's because I snapped it back into place right before you attacked me again. The point is, it hurt."
"So," she raised her chin defiantly, trying her best to look angry despite the way he was currently pressed against her. "What are you going to do about it?"
"What would you like me to do?" The question was soft, spoken through a small wicked smile as he rolled his hips against her own. A familiar tingling began to build in her abdomen but she crushed it back down, shaking her head.
"Don't you dare flirt with me when I'm pissed at you."
"Why?" He laughed softly, grinding slowly against her again. It made her heart thump in her chest. "Do you find it distracting?"
"That is so not the point."
"I think it's a pretty good one. Look at you, all flustered. I think you have a thing for being pinned down."
"I'll have a thing for punching that stupid look off your face if you let go of my hands."
"Oh. Well by all means, let me just allow you to keep hitting me. Is this a new fetish of yours? All the hitting?"
"Stop it," she groaned. Her head knocked loudly back against the bartop in exasperation. "Stop trying to change the subject by being a pervert. Not everything is about sex."
"True," he smirked. "But I think you'll find most things can lead there eventually." She sucked in a breath when he rolled his hips against her more pointedly. "For instance..."
"Don't," the word came out breathless and she had to clear her throat, much to his amusement. "I'm still pissed at you."
He bent forward easing her further onto her back and nipping at the inside of her thigh through her jeans. It sent a shiver racing, unbidden, down her spine. It was both thrilling and supremely infuriating.
"I bet I can change that."
Clary did her best not to be swayed, but she could feel herself flushing and the look on his face said he knew exactly how much she was enjoying this, angry or not.
"You can't go running off half cocked to get yourself killed."
He laughed pressing down against her again to make her gasp softly.
"I assure you, I was fully cocked. I'm better at this than you seem to think Clary. I know how to handle myself."
"All it takes is one mistake, Jonathan. One stupid mistake because you think you're indestructible. I get it, you're crazy strong and fast, but so are a lot of demons out there. If you're fighting alone and something gets the best of you, even for a second..."
He stared down at her a long moment. She could see the gears turning in his head, the realization that she cared if he was hurt, and the confusion that she would give a damn. It made her hate Valentine all the more. He'd convinced his own son that no one would spare a tear for a fallen half demon. The man continued to find ways to be a bastard.
"You're not going to let this go, are you?"
She shook her head. "Not a chance."
He sighed, releasing her arms to brace himself against the bartop instead. She could move her hands again, but she was still pinned beneath him, her legs still bent up around his arms.
"Alright," he said softly, bending to kiss her cheek. "Then what's your solution?" He placed another kiss against her jaw, then her throat, nipping it lightly with his teeth. "Are you going to distract me?"
"I'm not you," she replied, if a little too shakily. "I'm not going to exhaust you with sex and then sneak off into the night like a ninja when you're passed out."
He laughed against her skin, shifting his attention to her collarbone with little dizzying bites that made her skin flush hotly and her breath quicken. "So you caught on to that, did you?"
"Yes. Ass."
He laughed again. The sound rumbled out through his chest and into hers while he reached up to pop free a couple of buttons on her creamy white blouse. "Again with the name calling. You really should watch your mouth."
"Or what?"
His eyes lifted up to meet hers from his place between her breasts, black and hungry. "Or I'll find something better for you to do with it."
That made her jaw drop, but she was quick to snap it closed. For just a moment, embarrassment at the thought of what he'd just so casually proposed made her speechless. She had never done anything remotely close to a blow job, and she was betting he knew it. At the the no doubt look of shock on her face, he laughed softly into her skin and turned his head to press a kiss just above her left nipple. They were still separated by the lace of her bra, but her skin didn't seem to know that. It tingled with heat that zipped down into her lower belly and buzzed like a live current. This was incredibly unfair. He was cheating. His black eyes danced with humor as he got the rest of her shirt open and began to kiss and nip a trail down her abdomen. He was watching her as he went, no doubt enjoying the shivering state he was quickly working her into.
"No more names?" He teased into her belly, making her flinch and suck in a breath when he bit her a little harder.
"You're a..." but the words trailed away when he arched a brow. His earlier statement hung pointedly between them and she closed her mouth with a scowl.
He gave her a knowing smile and returned to teasing her. He'd managed to unbutton her pants and was kissing the silky line at the top of her panties before she managed to make her mouth work again. Why was this working? How the hell was he this good at distracting her? When the hell had that become a weapon he could so easily wield against her? What a dirty cheater.
"I'm so not done yelling at you."
He laughed into her panties, tugging her jeans down her hips. In her compromising position, it happened too quickly. He'd tugged them off her legs and was back against her between the space of a rattling breath. When he kissed between her legs, she jerked so hard it rattled the bar back against the wall.
"I'm serious!" The words were breathless. It was nearly impossible to talk when he was teasing her there. The warmth of his breath alone was sending shivers racing across her skin.
"Mhmm," he replied distractedly. He was busy placing deliberate kisses along her sex, carefully avoiding her clit as he did. Which was in itself incredibly rude, being the place she wanted them most. God she was weak.
"Jona...mmh. You need to stop."
"Do you really want that?" The question rumbled into her through the silk of her panties. They were already growing wet, so the question wasn't exactly fair.
"Yes." No.
He smirked against her, kissing her clit through the silk. Her body shuddered, her hands snapping down to grip at his shoulder and hair.
"Liar," he chuckled. She felt his fingers slide up along her folds, pressing the damp cloth more firmly against her sensitive flesh. She bit her lip as he stroked her, a sharp, high sound escaped her lips that made him laugh softly when he peeled the damp cloth aside and they were touching skin to skin. Two fingers slid, without any resistance, inside of her and her back arched without her meaning to. She pressed down into his probing fingers, a soft moan tumbling from her mouth as they worked steadily in and out. When he bent to draw her clit between his lips, she nearly spasmsed them both off the bartop.
"Damnit! Jona..fuuuuck you."
"We'll get to that," he murmured into her clit between draws at it that made her body hum like she had grabbed an electrified fence.
"You...fuh...damnit. Just stop. Just a...just one second."
"Hard pass." He added another finger, teasing her most sensitive spot while he rubbed at the other from inside. Her heart was hammering so hard in her chest, he could probably hear it. Her skin was humming, her body shaking, flushed with heat. Already she could feel the finer hair at her temples and the back of her neck dampening with sweat. She could barely think straight. Other than, not fair, cheater, and god yes. If she didn't get out what she wanted to say now, she wasn't going to be able to in a few minutes.
"Take me with you!"
Jonathan paused, glancing up at her from between her thighs. His brow furrowed slightly and he thankfully lifted his head just enough to speak to her. It wasn't enough not to feel the warmth of his breath, or the steady stroking and flexing of his fingers. Certainly not enough to distract her from the glossy sheen that now coated his lips. That was all still mind numbingly real.
"Come again?" He didn't stop stroking her, but then he never seemed to tire of watching her struggle to speak through his teasing her. It was certainly one of his more annoying qualities and yet angels above, did it turn her on.
Focus Clary. Focus or give up.
"I...I s-said take me with you."
"To the bedroom?" He questioned softly. "Where you'll let me tie you to the posts and keep this up until your toes curl?"
"What? No," she rushed out, then repeated more firmly at his wicked smile. "No. Take me with you -fuck stop doing that- when you go out hunting."
For just a moment, he went completely still. His fathomless black eyes took her in and his expression smoothed into a set line.
"Absolutely not."
With that, he bent back down to suck her clit back into his mouth, which in turn made her arch upwards and squeel in a very undignified way.
"Jonathan!" She rasped out his name and had to take a firm grasp of his hair to lift him back up enough to look at her. "I'm serious."
"So am I Clary. You have zero training. It's not going to happen."
"I'm not useless Jonathan."
He smirked and curled his fingers inside of her to make her gasp again. "No one ever accused you of that."
"No. Seriously. Listen to me."
"I'd rather make you scream. You have such a lovely voice."
"Damnit, Jonathan, listen to me for five seconds."
He made a show of settling in while he continued to stroke and stretch her with his fingers. Jesus Christ she needed ice water. Or maybe just Jesus.
"You're time is counting down," he prompted when all she could do was pant.
"I hate you right now. I really, really hate you."
"Four," he drawled with a smirk. "Three."
"Let me watch your back," she managed to say shakily. He opened his mouth to refuse again, but she rushed over him. "If you aren't going to stop hunting, then at least let me make sure you aren't alone when you do it."
"No Clary. It's too dangerous."
"Our lives are dangerous. Leaving you alone in a room with a nun about to take her vows is dangerous. Everything is dangerous!"
"Habits everywhere. Does anyone actually like chastity?"
"This is different. I'm a Shadowhunter too. I know I'm not as trained, but I've held my own against demons before. I can still help you."
His fingers slid out of her with a slick sound that made her blush, but she did her best to ignore that. He seemed to be considering her words at least. His expression was carefully closed, as he stared down at her. She hated the quiet, mostly because it was broken by her soft, excited breathing, but she hated not knowing what he was thinking more. They sat like that, in heavy silence, for what seemed an eternity. Then, finally he let out a slow, resigned breath.
"You're not going to let this go are you?"
She shook her head. "I'll follow you if I have to."
"To keep me safe?" The way he said it made it clear he didn't think very highly of her ability to do so. She nodded.
"To keep you safe."
"I don't like it. Too many things could go wrong."
"Then teach me to be more helpful. Train me."
He scoffed at that. "This isn't the Matrix, Clary. I can't just hook you up to a computer and download how to be an effective Shadowhunter."
Her mouth turned down in a startled frown. "You've seen the Matrix?"
His eyes narrowed slightly at her teasing. "I don't live under a rock."
"No, but you spend almost all of your time plotting how to kill things. Where does watching movies fall into that schedule? Tvs don't even work in Idris."
"You're losing your point, and I am quickly remembering how very naked you are. You really don't understand how fun you are to play with."
She blushed at that, but didn't let him distract her. "Will you stop being a pervert for one minute and consider it? By the angels, are you sure Valentine didn't mix your blood with some kind of sex demon? I swear you can't go two days without doing something..."
"Naughty?" He supplied and briefly teased her clit with a finger for effect. She gasped, shoving at his arm.
"What, did Valentine plan for you to fend off demons with your penis?"
"I certainly hope not," he laughed. "But you have to admit that would be impressive. If a little disturbing. I think I'll stick to blades, thank you."
"The world sighs in relief at that."
He rolled his eyes. "You're the one who brought it up. I'm blameless here."
"Jonathan," she said seriously. "Just let me come with you. Just once, try it and if it doesn't work out-"
"Because you get yourself really, really killed?"
"Then," she narrowed her eyes. "We will at least know you were right and you can dance I told you so's into my shallow grave."
"Gee," he deadpanned. "You're really filling me with confidence here."
"Just let me try it."
He made a frustrated sound at the back of his throat, standing straight a moment to glare at the ceiling. She was gearing up to repeat her plea when he looked back down at her.
"Fine Clary. We will try it. Once. But if you get yourself killed I'm going to resurrect you and kill you again myself. Creatively."
She grinned happily, feeling the rush of having won an argument against such a stubborn creature as Jonathan. She started to sit up, but he quickly shifted back on top of her, pinning her to the bar with a predatory grin.
"Oh no. We're still doing this. In exchange for your very ridiculous demand, you're going to let me tie you to our bed and play with you for at least an hour."
Her heart thumped in her chest. Her mouth went dry. "I will not. I am not in any way interested in being tied to anything."
He grinned at her, leaning down to kiss her so deeply she was left panting.
"I bet I can change your mind."
**
"What do you think we'll find in an antique store? Are demons shopping around for bargain finds these days?"
"I'm hoping to find something helpful that will lead me to what I'm actually searching for." His long legged stride down the sunny street in London was hard to keep up with. She was practically jogging.
"Wow. Care to be more vague?"
He glaced at her sideways before he cut across the street up to the shop window, peering through the foggy glass with a frown.
"When you begged me to drag you along, I didn't expect you to question my every decision. In fact, I'm fairly certain doing everything I say was part of the deal."
She shrugged one shoulder dismissively. "I don't remember agreeing to that."
Jonathan scoffed and pulled out his stele, glancing briefly down the open street. There weren't many people milling about the shops so late in the day, but that hardly mattered. No one could see them anyway.
"I think you were too busy screaming my name to keep up with anything." At her narrowed look, he grinned and his voice moved into a falsetto mockery of her own. "Oh Jonathan! Yes! Please don't stop!"
"I shouldn't have to remind you that I have several knives on my person."
He grinned, having finished unlocking the door with his stele, and pushed it open. The mocking didn't stop as she stepped through it into the darkened store.
"Oh god Jonathan! Yes! Harder!"
Clary shoved at his shoulder as he followed her into the store. "How quickly would you heal if I stabbed you right now?"
He shrugged as his eyes scanned the dusty room. A random assortment of odds and ends all crammed together in no sort of discernible order. Whoever owned the place didn't seem to care that it looked less like an antique store, and more like the inside of a hoarder's nest.
"Oh come on," he laughed, thankfully back to his regular deep voice. Which it turned out, didn't make him any less irritating. "You loved it. I could tell by all the wailing, and the fact that you shouted I'm cumming over and over. Also you made The Face."
Red faced and very much done with this conversation, Clary pulled out one of her daggers and poked him with the tip in the side of his leather jacket. "I do not wail. Or make faces worthy of articles."
He smacked the blade away, eyeing it with an arched brow. "You really do, but don't worry. I think it's sexy."
"Asshole."
Jonathan shot her an amused look, his dark eyes heating for just a moment. "You know what name calling will get you."
"That's it." She turned to face the obscured back end of the store and held up her hands. "Demons? Hello? He's all yours."
He laughed at that, opening his mouth for what was no doubt another ribbing comment when something in the store shifted and clattered to the floor.
"Great. Now they know we're here. Way to go Clary."
"You're the one who's being a-"
"Focus idiot. This is serious."
"Don't you call me an idiot."
"Intruder." The rasping voice made them both freeze in place, eyes fixing on the high top of a shelf where something distinctly inhuman was dragging itself up by what looked like a set of tentacles. It was like a grotesque hybrid of lizard, insect, and alien with black eyes that caught the dim lights of the store in a faceted shimmer like a spider. Her eyes went to the fangs that seemed to be constantly dripping as it skittered its way across the top of the shelf.
"Dahak demons," Jonathan said almost absent mindly as he pulled out his seraph blade and spoke the name that flared it to life. He handed it to Clary as he drew another, walking her back a step while the disgusting thing crawled down to them.
"Where is your master, ugly?"
The Dahak demon hissed, readying itself to pounce, but seemingly smart enough to know to wait for an opening.
"Gone. I guard. Eat the things that wander in."
"And when will she be back exactly?" Jonathan tilted his head. He seemed entirely too calm, in Clary's opinion, to be facing such a horrific looking monster. Also much more informed than he'd previously let on. She would have commented, but a clatter behind her drew her focus. Another Dahak demon had skittered its way over the shelf behind her, and when it lept at her she screamed. She couldn't really help it. Jonathan glanced back at her, but that was all the first demon had been waiting for. It struck out with an octopus like tentacle and was rewarded with a slash of his sword. The creature that attracted her was a bit luckier. It managed to smack her sword to the side and wrap its disgusting tentacle around her left arm. Thankfully the thick leather of her jacket saved her from the strange pricking sensation of something trying to stab her. She brought her sword back around with a furious cry and cut the tentacle free in a splash of black ichor. The demon screamed, high and reedy and tried to snap at her with its fangs. Luckily when she leaned away from it, Jonathan's sword flashed between them, skewering the creature through its gross, plated body. It fell with a thump and burned away in the next moment, but Clary didn't have time to appreciate the sight. Jonathan grabbed her wrist and hauled her deeper into the store, knocking down another Dahak that was climbing around the corner. This one Clary stabbed as they hurried passed.
The back of the store was a bit more open. A dusty register sat atop a glass counter full of tiny baubles, but the rest was empty. It gave them a chance to turn and face the last three of the demons pouring out of every corner.
"Don't let them poison you," Jonathan snapped from her right side. His black eyes were moving quickly to each beast, his face drawn and focused. Gone was the man who'd just been teasing her so effectively. Now there was simply the warrior. He swung his sword expertly in a tight circle around his hand when one of the demons attempted to invade their space. It hissed angrily and shifted to get a better angle. Clary grunted her reply and slashed at the Dahak trying to edge its way behind her. It screamed in anger, a distinctly inhuman sound around its fangs, and lept at her. She slashed again, managed to slice into its insectile body, but it slapped at her hand. Clary jerked back, all too aware of the sucking cluster of stingers it was trying to get into her exposed hand, and dropped her sword with a clatter. The Dahak lunged at her again, reaching out with four of its six tentacles to try and wrap itself around her. She kicked it out of the air just before it landed, but the horrid thing wrapped itself around her leather pant leg and tried to sink its fangs through the material. She shrieked, jerking a dagger from her belt to stab it down into the demon's head. The demon shreiked, tearing her shirt open across her stomach with a slash before she twisted the blade. It twitched once, went limp, than began to burn away too. She let out a sigh of relief just before she heard the shout behind her.
Whipping around, Clary found Jonathan on the floor. He'd managed to stab his sword through one of the attacking Dahaks, but lost it in the process. The last remaining demon had knocked him onto the floor and climbed on top of him. He was barely managing to keep its tentacles away from his face as it snapped at him. Holding it at arms length up above him. Clary dashed for her fallen sword, swinging it up and around to cut the thing in half, and as she went Jonathan pulled it apart with a curse. They were both splashed in black ichor, but the demon was dead and now the store was eerily quiet.
Jonathan remained on his back a moment, wiping the sticky black substance across his face to little effect. There was a tear, she noticed, across the front of his tee shirt as he pushed himself up to sit back against the wall. He frowned at his arm a moment. The sleeve of his jacket was shreaded and he appeared to be bleeding from both spots. Clary didn't hesitate when she saw the damage. She fell onto her knees beside him and tugged the stele from the inside pocket of his jacket. Jonathan didn't protest. He watched in a silent weighted way as she quickly drew out an iratze over the wound on his arm and inspected the slashes across his chest with a frown.
"Did it poison you?" She asked, still somewhat breathless after the fight. It might have been brief, but it was the first time she had seen a demon up close in over a year. She had to admit she was left a little shaken.
Jonathan shook his head slowly while she fussed over his bleeding arm. The mark was knitting him back together quickly enough, but she didn't like the amount of his blood that had splashed across the floor in the process. Irritatingly, he didn't seem to notice because he was too busy staring at her as if she'd grown a third eye. She sat back on her knees with a frown.
"What?"
"It's nothing I just..." He blew out a breath, his mouth curling into a smile.
"You were wonderful, you know that? Fierce and strong. I've never seen you do that."
"Kill a demon?" She sighed. "It's not my favorite passtime."
"Act like a Shadowhunter," he corrected softly. When she looked back up at him he was searching her face, the intensity of his fathomless black eyes caught her a long moment. She felt like she could fall right into them, into the silver and shadow that was Jonathan Morgenstern. The fingers on her cheek slid down beneath her chin, lifting it slightly, but he didn't move toward her. He didn't do anything. She could see that he wanted to, see the simmering hunger that lurked just beneath the quiet, placid surface of his face. She realized he was waiting for her to make a move, any move. Leaving the decision to touch him, to let him touch her, all in her hands. It was a new sensation Clary wasn't entirely sure how to deal with. A tingling of anticipation spread out across her skin. She was acutely aware of the warmth of his fingers, the dark depths of his eyes, the wicked curve of his mouth.
She leaned forward before she knew what she was doing. One hand braced against the blood splattered floor boards, the other splayed out across his chest. She paused for only a moment, searching his eyes for some sign of what he wanted, but now there was nothing. Only a quiet curiosity, as if he only wanted to see what she might do next. Clary swallowed down the curl of unpleasant guilty sensation that grew quieter each day and let her lips brush across his own. They were soft, curling into a smile as she pressed in closer. His fingers on her chin traced down along the line of her jaw, back into her hair to cradle the back of her head. His other hand moved to her hip, squeezing lightly. Another shiver swept down her spine. It hummed into her lower belly settling like a buzzing ball of electricity. Her fingers on his torn, black shirt tightened into a fist in the cloth and with a strange flicker of mischief, she nipped at his bottom lip.
Jonathan made a soft sound at the back of his throat, a low growl of pleasure. The hand in her hair tightened a little, dragging back her head enough to search her face with a knowing smile. Her breath came soft and quick as she gazed back up at him and then Jonathan pulled her down again. This kiss was more demanding. His lips parted her own and she let out a little gasp when the hand he'd rested on her hip slipped around the the small of her back and pulled her over his lap. Her hands went around his shoulders to steady herself as he kissed her breathless.
"I love that sound," he spoke softly against her lips as he kissed her. "That little breath you take when I touch you." His lips moved down along her jaw to her throat and he nipped the skin there. Clary bit her lips closed, suddenly self conscious, but that only made him chuckle when he pulled back to look at her, dark eyes glittering with amusement.
"Well I certainly didn't mean for you to stop."
"You're teasing me," she accused, her tone breathless and soft. His hands both moved down to the base of her spine, sliding down around the swell of her backside to pull her closer. He arched upwards slightly, pressing them together and another soft sound tumbled unbidden from between her lips. Jonathan chuckled softly. His mouth was back at her throat, kissing down to her collarbone.
"You like it when I tease you."
She couldn't bring herself to respond. Partly because she didn't know what to say, and partly because the feeling of his hands and mouth were far too distracting. They made her skin flush with heat and the current beneath her skin hum more insistently. Clary sat up on her knees. One hand left his shoulder to brace against the dingy plaster of the wall behind him. Jonathan glanced up at her, catching the button of her shirt in his teeth before he tugged it free. Her shirt was already torn and half of it fell open. The other side remained damp and stuck to her skin by black demon blood.
"I need a shower," she said mildly. As much as it felt good to have him kissing her, she didn't imagine the substance on her skin made it particularly pleasant. She could taste it from his lips when he kissed her, and while he was fairly adept at distracting her from that, it was still pretty gross. "We both need showers."
He shrugged sitting back against the wall while his dark eyes moved lazily across her exposed flesh. He lifted a hand to trace the damp line of her collar, peeling it away from the skin and down her shoulder.
"I don't mind." Was all he said, distracted by the patterns he was tracing along her collarbone with the tip of his finger. As he traced the line of lace at the top of her bra down between her breasts her eyes fluttered closed a moment. A soft sigh passed her lips before she looked at him again, watching her in a closed sort of scrutiny. She couldn't tell what he was thinking. It made her squirm in his lap, which in turn made him draw in a quiet breath of his own.
"If you keep doing that, I'm going to tear off your clothes and take you right against this floor."
"That seems like a threat," she found herself smirking and he returned it.
"Mearly a warning. It's your choice whether you heed it or not."
Clary looked into his black eyes, her smile growing just a tick, and rolled her hips down against him in a very pointed motion.
Suddenly the world tilted as Jonathan surged forward. She was laying back against the floor and he braced himself above her, her knees bent up around his waist. He kissed her again, so fiercely it made her head spin, and his hips shifted in a slow circle to grind against her. It stirred the buzz of sensation at the pit of her stomach, spreading it down through her limbs until she was tingling at the tips of her fingers and toes. Her hands slid down his back until she found the hem of his tee shirt and slipped beneath it to drag her nails up along his skin. Jonathan shivered, parting her lips with his own. She moaned at the feel of his tongue, pressing him down against her and arching her back to meet him there. Her body was humming, her heart pounding in her chest. Her eyes fell closed in pleasure and for just a moment she felt almost suspended there. As if nothing existed but them.
Then Jonathan's entire body tensed.
She recognized the change too late and it wasn't until he'd pulled up away from her to gaze darkly into the store that she realized she'd heard the softest of sounds. A tiny little gasp of surprise.
"Amalie," Jonathan smiled, but the expression was cold and sharp as a knife. Clary bent her head back, catching the inverted sight of a small, wide eyed woman just before Jonathan jumped to his feet. He moved so fast he was practically a blur. The woman had time to let out a soft sound of fear before he was on her, one hand knotted in the front of her puffy, grey sweater. "I've been looking for you."
Clary rolled onto her hands and knees, scrambling up to her feet as Jonathan walked the petite woman, nearly a head shorter than him, back against one of the junk ridden shelves. She grunted at the force of the impact, knocking a rust covered french horn to the ground with a louder metallic clatter. Her eyes shot wide again searching his face.
"You're him," she rasped out. "Valentine's son."
Jonathan gave a soft sigh, looking mildly annoyed. "Just once I'd like to be recognized by my name. I am my own person, you know."
Amalie swallowed loudly, shaking her head in a jerky motion that sent her short brown curls bouncing around her face. "You're not a person. You're a demon. The Morning Star made flesh."
His eyebrows rose slightly at that, amusement clear in his hint of a smile, and the icy flash in his dark eyes. "You think I'm the devil? I can't say it's an entirely flattering comparison..."
"I won't help you." Amalie's chin rose slightly in defiance, her amber colored eyes sparking with hatred. "The Seelie queen might favor you, but I know what you are. I won't help you raise an army. I won't help Valentine either. Your family is a curse to all Downworlders. I will not be used to hurt my own people."
"You were happy enough to raise these demons to guard your little store." Jonathan's voice was silky and calm. Too calm. It was dangerous and it sent a cold stab through Clary's chest. "What's a few more for a higher cause?"
The fairy girl shook her head, frowning in confusion. "Valentine needs no help summoning demons. He has the mortal sword. What need does he have for me? I didn't even raise these beasts. I'm not a warlock."
"But you know where I can find one that can."
"Valentine-" Amalie began to protest again but Jonathan cut her off with a slow, wolfish smile.
"I never said I was doing this for Valentine."
"Jonathan," Clary took a step towards them, struggling to rebutton her torn shirt as best she could. He'd loosened the button when he tugged it in his teeth. After a moment she gave up. "What is going on?"
His head shifted slightly, his eyes moving briefly over to her before they returned to the trembling fairy.
"Go outside Clary. Wait for me there. This won't take long."
She shook her head taking another step and opening her mouth to protest but he must have know it was coming.
"Clarissa," he snapped in a voice like icy water over sharp stones. "Go outside."
She didn't want to leave. She didn't want to stand outside knowing that in all likelihood he was torturing this girl while she waited. A heavy feeling pulled at her bones, her stomach dropping to the floor. Why would Jonathan want to raise an army without Valentine? What was he planning that didn't involve their father? She had always assumed he was loyal to a fault, beaten into the perfect weapon, but this didn't sound like loyalty. This sounded like rebellion. Perhaps the fair folk's comparison of him to the most prolific of fallen angels was not entirely inaccurate.
"Jonathan, what is going on?" She asked it again, but her voice was softer. Unsure. The demon, the Morning Star, didn't even look at her. All thought of what intimacy they had just shared was wiped away. He was tensed, coiled like a snake and his attention was entirely fixed on the prey in front of him.
"Clary," he said her name slowly, his tone clipped. "You will go outside, or I will make you leave." He grinned conspiratorially down at the fairy, lowering his voice to a faux whisper. "She doesn't do well with people in pain yet. Mundane upbringing, you see."
Amalie's hard, amber eyes were glossy with tears now, but her voice was steady and calm as she turned to look at Clary.
"You would leave him to torture me?"
"No I-" But Jonathan spoke over her with a disapproving click of his tongue.
"Now that's not very polite. Don't try to wiggle out of this by guilting my little sister."
"Your..." Amalie blinked, her brow drawing down in confusion and horror before her eyes shifted between them pointedly. "Sister?"
The shock in her face was obvious, and while Jonathan didn't seemed to be fazed by her disgust, Clary felt a very familiar twist of nausea creeping into her gut. She knew what that look in Amalie's eyes meant.
But I just walked in on the two of you tangled on the floor. That is not what siblings do.
That was it. All Clary could take. She stumbled back a step, feeling herself go pale under the shocked scrutiny of the fairy girl. Her stomach twisted again and she dashed from the store out into the alley, grateful for the door that slammed shut behind her. The air was cool against her skin, a slight breeze stirring her hair as it moved down the small darkening alley. She let her eyes fall closed, her fingers once again moving to smooth the shirt she already knew was ruined. She must have looked like hell, she thought, grateful for the mark that hid her from prying mundane eyes. Without it, she was sure the first person who spotted her would call the cops. Clary didn't want to think what Jonathan might do to mundane police, who certainly wouldn't assume his innocence when he was dripping with weapons. By the angels, what was wrong with her? What was she doing?
"No stomach for torture?" The voice that drifted down the alley to her made her freeze. For just a moment she wondered if her mark had been damaged in the fight, but then something else began to nag at her. The familiarity of that voice. Her heart leapt into her throat as she slowly turned. A feeling like a bucket of ice water seemed to wash over her when she saw his face.
"I would have thought that would be the first thing Valentine taught you. Wringing secrets from the weak and helpless."
"Alec?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried down the brick walls to him regardless. The dark haired boy stood at the mouth of the alley, legs spread in a ridged stance, his bow drawn, and notched, and pointing right at her. All the air left her lungs and for a moment she thought the spinning in her head might topple her over. She stared into his deep, blue eyes and slowly it receded. Slowly the world slipped back into sharp forcus and the icy feeling of dread was washed away by something warm that swelled in her chest like a balloon. Relief. Joy.
"Alec!" She smiled and took a step toward him, but his eyes narrowed sharply and she heard the creaking of his bow string going taught.
"Don't move." His words were clipped, his tone even and void of any discernible emotion. There was a sort of strain to his features now she couldn't remember having been there before. A weariness behind his blue eyes, something that reached his bones. She wondered if the sayings were true about parabatai, that to lose one was to lose a part of yourself. He would have felt it when Jace died, she thought distractedly. She wondered if that loss was the reason for the weariness. That loss had stolen away a piece of him he could never replace.
"Alec," she lifted a hand as if to reach for him. "It's me!"
His expression remained stoic, hard as stone, and he didn't even flinch. "I know who you are Clary."
"But," her fingers curled on empty air, her hand dropping down to her side. He didn't look happy to see her. In fact, he looked like he was deciding the best place to sink his arrow. The warm swell of joy she felt when she saw him began to melt. The cold returned gradually to numb her fingers until she realized she'd been clenching her fist too tightly and released it. Her eyes shifted to the knobless door that led into the back of the shop. Only it, and a crowded, junk filled room separated them from the ones inside. Suddenly her heart was pounding.
"You can't be here!" She hissed, trying to keep her voice down. "Jonathan is inside. If he sees you, he'll-"
"I know he's in there Clary. I also know why he came. I'm here to smuggle Amalie to safety, though it appears I'm a little late for that."
She took a breath, searching for something to say, an apology perhaps, but the words melted as something clicked in her mind. His first words to her, that she couldn't stand torture. Because he had seen what was happening inside that shop. He'd been watching. Clary took a sharp breath, her body froze in place. What else had he seen?
"Alec," she tried softly, her voice shaking. "You have to get away from here. If Jonathan sees you he won't hesitate to kill you. You know that. Please, run before he comes out."
Something twitched in his expression, a flash of something she couldn't quite place before he drew his face back into a stoic mask.
"I'm a little surprised you care. Wouldn't your father reward you for such a thing?"
Her face fell, her arms going around herself to hold tightly, as if it could keep her from rattling to pieces. He thought she would let Jonathan hurt him. He thought she didn't care for his life at all. She remembered then, what Izzy told her before she had to flee. They didn't trust her anymore. They thought she worked for Valentine.
And how could you blame them? Aren't you hiding in an alley so his son can kill a downworlder?
"Oh," she shook her head, a tear slipping down her cheek. "No Alec. I would never hurt you. I would never let him hurt you."
His mouth pulled into a grim line, his blue eyes seemed to darken as they narrowed. He hadn't looked at her with this much fury since she first met Jace. "Is that what you told my sister?"
It hit her like he'd loosed the arrow through her heart. She felt herself deflating, curling in on herself under the look on his face. The hatred. Alec had never been as close to her as she was to Izzy, but she'd still hoped...She'd hoped...
"Alec, please. You have to know I never wanted any of this to happen. When Isabelle was brought to Alicante-"
He cut her off. His voice was still steady and hard as stone. "I saw you in there with Sébastien. Fighting side by side. Like partners. Like family." A tremble rushed through her body. Her lips felt numb. "I saw you after as well. Very much not like family."
Clary felt like she'd drifted out of her own skin. As if she heard her own voice from the end of a tunnel and beneath icy water. She couldn't stop shaking.
"You don't understand."
"I don't understand?" Alec's voice dropped into a low, boiling rage. The fingers that grasped his bow turned white with the tightness of his grip. "He killed Hodge. He killed the real Sébastien. He murdered my baby brother, Clary. Did you forget that? Max was nine years old. He infiltrated our group, won our trust, and then murdered a child because he couldn't let him reveal secrets to my sister. My sister, who he tortured to within an inch of death while you sat by and watched."
Her chest clentched in pain. She opened her mouth to speak, not even sure what she could possibly say, but Alec continued over her.
"And Jace? You claimed to love him. I know he loved you, as foolish as that clearly was. That demon ran him through with his own sword. Did you know that? Do you even care? Do you have any idea how many people he has killed since your father took Idris? How many downworlders have fled to our side just to escape the Morning Star? They don't just fear Valentine anymore. They're terrified of the weapon he created. He's the god damned Devil Clary, and you were kissing him. He is your brother and a demon and I watched you kissing him."
"You don't know what you saw," she insisted lamely. Tears ran freely down her cheeks now. She couldn't have stopped them if she tried. "You don't know what he...it's an act. It's all just an act."
That was a lie. He knew that was a lie. He could hear the hesitation in her voice. The bow creaked again, the tip of the arrow trembling just slightly, aimed directly at her throat.
"Is that your best lie?" He asked in a hollow voice. His blue eyes were pools of cold, dark hatred. He'd never looked at her like that. Not with that much fury. Not like he truly wanted to kill her. "I know you have better ones. You managed to convince Isabelle what an innocent victim you are. But then, I don't suppose you've been quite so exposed as you are now."
"I...Alec please." She couldn't think of anything to say. What could possibly explain what he had seen her doing? When she escaped with Izzy, it hadn't been a lie. Jonathan had blackmailed and beaten her into something so dark she had no words, but now? Now the ugly truth was right between them. Now everything had changed. Now she was just as disgusting as the things they had been doing.
"Get on your knees Clary." His stoney expression didn't faulter, his aim didn't waver. "You don't deserve to die on your feet. Not like a Shadowhunter. Warriors deserve that, but not you."
Her head fell forward, a low sob wrenched itself out from somewhere deep inside of her. A place that was tearing in two. This was worse than just death. Worse than anything her father or Jonathan could do to her. This was worse than anything she could imagine.
"You would do that?" She asked in a tiny voice, looking at at him through her hair. "You would kill me in cold blood?"
His face showed no sympathy. No shred of guilt. He simply nodded. "I would. For what you've done. For what your father has done to all of us. You're just as much a part of it as that monster in there. Worse. A Judas of the worst kind."
Clary couldn't breathe. The world was spinning. She didn't want to do as he demanded, but her legs turned to jelly and she fell to her knees anyway. She didn't have a weapon to defend herself, not that she could beat Alec in a fight if she did. She didn't even have her stele. That was still inside, laying on the floor where Alec had seen them grasping at each other. She turned her face up to him, opened her mouth to say something, anything that might help her, but a crash inside the shop made them both turn to look at the metal door. Alec loosed the arrow. Whether on purpose or not, she didn't know. It cut through the air between them like a flash of lightning, and though she twisted to avoid it, she was still on her knees. Her awkward position kept her in place. The arrow sank into her left arm with a pain like acid pouring into her skin and she shrieked. The sound bounced back at her down the alley like a mocking chorus.
Alec looked back at her only briefly, for the sound more than any concern. His eyes narrowed, his white knuckled fist trembling against his bow, but there was another crash inside. He fell back a step, watching the door, and then with a soft curse he rounded the mouth of the alley and was gone.
The door flew open with a loud bang, but Clary was too busy clutching the arrow in her arm to look up. Jonathan skidded down into a kneeling position beside her, his eyes wide in shock.
"Clary?" He reached out to steady her, one hand hovering tentatively around the shaft of the arrow. "What happened? Who..." But his eyes narrowed as he stared down at the arrow. "Lightwood." The word dripped off his tongue like a curse. His black eyes moved to the mouth of the alley, his expression darkening into a terrifying mask of fury. He moved to stand, to follow after Alec, but Clary wrapped her hand around his wrist like a vice. The other arm hung limp and useless at her side.
"No!" She rasped, fear and sorrow all mingled to make her voice fragile as cracked glass. "Jonathan don't."
He growled, an almost inhuman sound, and wrenched his hand from her grip. He was going to chase him, she thought frantically. He was going to catch him and kill him right in the street. Alec couldn't beat Jonathan in a fight. Not even Jace could do that in the end. If he caught him, Alec would be dead.
Clary watched him move down the alley like a dark cloud of death. She reached out for him, grasping at the cold air and fell forward in her haste.
"No!" She shrieked, voice breaking. "Jonathan Christopher Morganstern, don't...Don't leave me."
Jonathan froze, his muscles tense as wire. He had his back to her, but she could see his fists clenched at his sides. He didn't want to listen, but she'd never said something quite like that to him before. She knew she was using her advantage, using his fixation on her to manipulate him, but she didn't care. She couldn't let him kill Alec. She couldn't let him hurt her friends, even if they weren't really her friends anymore.
Jonathan's head tilted forward. She imagined his jaw was set in a hard line. "I can't just let him go Clary. You know that."
"You don't have to kill him. He's Valentine's enemy, not yours."
"They are one and the same." He still wasn't looking at her, but he hadn't moved either. Clary swallowed, pushing herself back up onto her knees. The arrow in her arm was pulsing with pain, blood trickling down along her arm beneath her jacket. God it hurt, but she ignored it as best she could.
"That's not true and you know it. You don't care about Valentine's new world order. You only do as he asks because you know he would hurt you if you defied him. He isn't here Jonathan. No one has to know we ever saw him."
Jonathan turned just slightly, looking back at her over his shoulder. His black eyes moved to the arrow, narrowed in fury. "He tried to kill you. For that alone-"
"I don't need you to kill for me. I don't want that."
His lips twisted in a harsh smile as he shifted just a bit more toward her. "What better reason should I have to kill?"
"None," she shook her head. "You don't have to kill anyone."
"Clary," he took a slow breath, the smile fading into a closed expression. He was watching her closely, but she didn't know what he was looking for. "You know who I am. Don't ask me to be anything else. It isn't possible."
"You're right," she agreed slowly. "I know who you are. You're all I have left. The only single thing. Please don't kill him. Please don't make me hate you again."
"You've used this line before," he said darkly, watching her with that unreadable expression. "When you wanted me to spare that idiot waiter."
"And you did," she said hurriedly. "You didn't kill him."
He didn't say anything, just continued to watch her.
Clary shifted herself against the brick wall of the alley trying to push herself up. After a moment of watching her struggle, Jonathan turned to her, closing the distance between them in three long strides. He slipped his arm beneath her own, hauling her back up to her feet. When she was standing again, his arms lingered around her. She placed her working hand against his chest, looking up into his placid expression, wishing like she always did that she could read it.
"You don't have to kill him. Please, for me. Please Jonathan, just let it go."
"You don't know how much you're asking." His voice was steady, too calm not to be forced. Every muscle in his body was still tense.
"Actually I do." Her eyes fell to the ground. "He...he saw us inside the shop. When we...he saw us together."
His jaw clenched for just a moment when she looked back up at him. His fist tightened against her shoulderblade. "And you don't want him dead?"
"Of course not," she breathed. "He's like family. I couldn't stand it if he died."
"I am your family."
She nodded, reaching up to cup his cheek in her hand. He didn't respond, didn't even move. He simply watched her closely with his guarded black eyes.
"I know. And you're more than that. You're..." she didn't know how to say it, didn't know if she actually could but Jonathan saved her the trouble.
"You're trying to manipulate me. Don't."
"Don't act like Valentine." She scowled. "You're being paranoid just like him."
"And you are lying just like him, using little bits of truth. You think you can bend me with affection, but that's not how I work. You know that."
She searched his dark eyes a moment. The hand she'd placed on his cheek slid down to his collar, gripping the stiff leather of his jacket. Even if he went after Alec, he had a good head start. He might have even gotten to saftey already. She wasn't the only one stalling, she realized.
"If you were going to go after him, you would have by now. Please, Jonathan, just take me home. Let's just forget this, okay?"
Something flashed in his eyes, something that was there and gone in a blink. Was it worry? She couldn't remember the last time she saw Jonathan worry about anything. He was always so shamelessly confident.
"Is that possible?" He asked softly, searching her eyes. "After what he saw, can you just go back with me to the way things were? Aren't you ashamed?"
The question made her flinch. She took a breath. She couldn't lie to him, there wasn't any point.
"Yes," she breathed, looking at his chest, at the curling black marks that peeked out along the sides of his neck beneath his jacket. "Yes, I'm ashamed. I can't help that. What we have been doing, it's not right. I know you know that."
"I do," he nodded once. His eyes were so dark, inhumanly dark. Dark as demon's. "But I already told that I don't care."
"I know," she sighed, leaning her head forward to rest it lightly on his chest. "I know you don't, and I know you were right about me. When you said I was like a ghost. I was all but dead in that mansion. I've been asleep for so long now Jonathan, but you, you woke me up again. I can't pretend you didn't. I know this is wrong, it's so unbelievably wrong, but..." she breathed out heavily, looking back up into his stoic expression. "I don't think I have the strength to care anymore. I don't think I want to. I don't have anything else now, but I want to stay awake. Please keep me awake."
His mouth opened slightly in shock, his eyebrows raising in question. Of anything she might have said, he hadn't expected that. After a short breath he managed to control himself, stripping away the expression like wiping a chalkboard.
"You say that, but how do you really feel? If I kissed you now, would you recoil? Would you pull away from me in disgust?"
"I won't," she shook her head slowly, meeting his heavy, penatrating black stare as evenly as she was able. This close she could see the silver ring that circled his pupils. "I should, God knows I should, but I won't. I'm tired of fighting. I want you. I shouldn't. We both know it's wrong, but that doesn't change the truth."
The corner of his mouth curled up in a small smile. It was mocking. A dark little humor at her expense. "Are you trying to say that you love me now?"
She didn't hesitate. What was the point? "No. Wanting and loving are two different things. Do you love me? Can you?"
He was quiet a long moment, the smile gone. He searched her face and his voice came out soft and low. "I'm not sure I'm capable of loving Clarissa. But sometimes," he tilted his head reaching up to tuck a red curl behind her ear. "Sometimes I wonder. Why is it you can stay my hand? Why do I listen?"
"Maybe you finally care what I think of you."
"Perhaps," he said softly, letting his fingers trail down along the side of her neck, pausing at the bloody collar of her shirt. "Perhaps you have managed to change me in ways, as I have changed you. But is that a good thing? Is it safe to let another person slip inside of you so completely?"
"I don't think any of this is safe. I think it feels good, and that is our sin. But none of it has ever been safe."
"And what a sin it is," he chuckled, his dark eyes glittering in the fading light of the day. Twilight was coming. In the dim blue light that filtered down the alley his white blonde hair looked almost silver. He was so tall, corded in lean muscle beneath his soft leather of his jacket. She had seen him move with more speed and grace than anyone she'd ever met, even Jace. A part of her still hated him for that, still hated the thing that took her first love away from her, but it was almost like another lifetime now. That part of her was slowly chipping away, fading into sleep. He was carving away at her more surely than if he'd done it with a knife. She just didn't know if she could stop him. After the world had turned away from her, she wasn't sure she could stop herself from taking his hand. Following the devil down into hell. Because wasn't she damning herself here? Giving in to sin simply because she was tired of fighting against it? It wasn't as if she had anything else to keep her alive, any reason to live.
Easy is the decent into Hell.
She remembered the line, though she couldn't remember who had said it to her, or perhaps she just didn't want to.
"I need to take the arrow out Clary." Jonathan's voice was soft and she looked up to find him watching her. She took a breath, shifting the numb fingers of her left arm and glancing down at the blood that had been steadily dripping from her fingertips. She nodded, letting him ease her back against the brick wall. He rested one hand against her shoulder, the other lightly grasped the shaft of the arrow.
"This is going to hurt. Ok? Take a deep breath for me and try not to move. I'll be quick."
She nodded again, closing her eyes as she sucked in a deep breath and held it. He didn't count, or warn her. The arrow ripped out of her flesh with a wet sucking sound and the air in her lungs burst out on a cry. Her working hand grasped at his jacket, clinging tightly and she curled herself against him in pain. Jonathan tossed the arrow onto the ground, wrapping his arms around her and kissing the top of her head.
"Shh," he soothed her quiet sobbing, stroking back her hair. "It's over. You'll be ok once I use a healing mark."
"Do it," she grit out into his chest. "Get it over with. I can't feel my fingers."
Jonathan pulled back, gingerly stripping away the blood soaked material at her shoulder and pulling out his stele. The burn of the mark as he pressed it into her skin made her hiss in pain, but only moments later that pain subsided. She flexed her fingers a few times, watching the angry red puncture in her arm begin knitting itself together again. After it was finished, she let out a sigh of relief.
"Better?" Jonathan asked with a grin.
"Much," she nodded, looking him over for wounds. "Do you need..."
"Barely a scratch," he held out his hands, looking down at himself. His leather gear would need replacing and his shirt was trashed, but he looked completely fine besides that. It sort of annoyed her.
"Of course you are," she frowned pushing off the wall to move toward the shop. He pushed her gently back with the tips of his fingers. She looked up questioningly and he smirked, leaning closer.
"Don't be jealous. It's not my fault I'm such an amazing warrior. If you started training with any seriousness, you might even come to have a fraction of my skill."
She fixed him with a withering stare. "A fraction huh?"
He shrugged, teasing her with a wiggle of his eyebrows. "Maybe. But you'd have to work reeeeeeeaaally hard."
She smacked at his chest and he laughed. "You're not funny."
"Of course I am," he grinned. His hand moved to brace against the wall beside her head, leaning in to invade her space. "You love it when I tease you."
"I think love is a pretty strong word."
His smile fell a little, but it was only because he was looking at her with that familiar predatory hunger, his dark eyes glittering down at her.
"Perhaps," was all he said before he closed the distance between them and kissed her. It was light at first, questioning. When her hands went up to splay across his chest he smiled against her lips and the kiss deepened. She wasn't sure how long they remained like that, simply kissing against the wall of the darkening alley. She wasn't even entirely sure she knew how she was feeling. A thrill, certainly, at the softness of his mouth against her, and the hardness of his body as he pressed it flush with hers. Guilt, as always, but that flickered quietly at the back of her mind, pushed away with the image of a pair of accusing, golden eyes. She decided it was best to focus of the good part. The warmth of him and the way he made her skin tingle when his hand slid down her side to grasp her hip. He broke the kiss with a ragged breath. She could feel his heart beating fast and hard, just like hers, through his chest.
"If we don't leave now, I'm not going to stop." It was a promise as much as a warning. Her eyes slid down the mouth of the alley then back to him. He tilted his head slightly, kissing the corner of her mouth with a wicked smile.
"Though, I could remind you that no one can see us."
"Take me home," she giggled softly, rolling her eyes. "You haven't changed me that much."
"Pity," he sighed theatrically, pushing himself off the wall. "I'll have to work on that."
"Shut up," she laughed.
Jonathan winked at her and turned to look at the side door to the shop. "Wait here. I'll go grab our things."
She nodded and watched him pull his stele, popping the knobless door open before he slipped into the shadows behind it. Distantly she recalled that there was a fairy girl in there, likely dead since she hadn't attempted to run. Clary pushed the thought away with all the other dark things swimming at the back of her mind. It was better this way, she told herself. If she dwelled on the darkness, she might break. Wasn't it better to accept that it existed and let that be the end of it? She told herself it was, and ignored the flash of sorrowful golden eyes in her mind before she shut the thoughts away and waited for the demon to return.