Author's Note: This chapter contains psychological torture, implied torture, captivity, implied nonconsensual sex, Sebastian's (does he not come with his own warning?) creepy thoughts.
Chapter Five
The Endarkened stood quietly in front of the prisoner's door. He knew the boy was of great importance to his master, and, at being stationed outside of the already heavily runed and locked door at all times, he also assumed the prisoner was a threat.
Though, looking at him now, through the little, rune-created porthole, the prisoner certainly didn't seem it.
Over the past few days, Sebastian had been in a particularly good mood: prideful and boasting, as though he had just been victorious in battle, and won the spoils of a lifetime. Though he could not hear what occurred in the cell due to Sebastian's order to soundproof the room, the Endarkened was quite aware of what he would hear, if he could. The boy's screams, it seemed, Sebastian wanted all to his own.
Keeping inquisitive, but not mal-intentioned, tabs on Sebastian, the Endarkened noticed his master's energies had been focused on the boy, instead of the girl—Clarissa Morgenstern, if the rumors from the other Endarkened were true—since their arrival. It wasn't a stretch, then, to conclude the reason for his master's elevated spirits.
But today, his master had left the prisoner's cell quicker than usual, seeming hurried and notably flush in the face, with a single order to the Endarkened guard. Remove the soundproofing rune.
Before he'd had a chance to do so, the prisoner's fingers caught in the nearly-closed door and ripped it open. The Endarkened and the other he had been stationed with were met with an angry and crazed boy, hair a dull and dirty blonde, skin more blood red than flesh toned. The Endarkened guards had been able to simply scoop under the boy's arms and toss him back in the cell, but it was the most excitement they'd seen in days.
Sebastian hadn't even looked back at the commotion, already walking down the hall, leaving with a laugh and a taunt thrown over his shoulder at the prisoner. The Endarkened had removed the soundproofing rune before taking his position again, back to the door, as the other guard followed after their master.
Don't worry, Jace…You'll be able to hear her screams just fine through the walls.
His master had been right. After some heavy thumping sounds, the Endarkened could hear a girl screaming intermittently from the room above. And then, so too could the prisoner. The Endarkened had been just barely able to hear the prisoner's own muffled sounds from behind him.
Curiosity taking over him, the Endarkened had un-pocketed his stele and turned to the thick metal door, quickly marking a translucence rune before he could talk himself out of prying into his master's business. The rune had glowed red, and then begun shifting like a watercolor painting, a swirl of crimson and steel, before liquifying in the center to form a clear, one-way glass window into the cell.
The Endarkened had taken in the small, stony room, the cold concrete walls. Against the back wall, empty shackles hung loose from the ceiling, the dull metal catching what little light was cast in the room. The only other thing in the cell was the boy, tucked into the far back corner, whom the Endarkened now stood quietly observing.
Having more time to more closely examine the boy now, the Endarkened again noted his blonde hair that fell well into his eyes, his fairly tanned skin beneath blood of various shades—a bright maroon color, fresh; a deep rust color, dried and clotting. An iratze glowed dimly at the boy's left side, struggling to fully close several lashes layered over his bare chest, and a particularly nasty looking laceration cut over his brow and down his cheek. The bleeding had stopped, at least.
He appeared to be around seventeen or eighteen, though his worn and beaten state seemed to age him, the dark shadows plastered under his eyes—whether from tiredness or bruising, or some combination of the two—adding years to his face. In summation, the prisoner did not look much of a threat at all.
The boy was sitting with his back to the stone, his knees hugged to his chest in a childish manner. His head was tucked between his legs as he quivered, and the Endarkened knew it was not from the cold. The guard's lips quirked up, and he leaned closer to the glass, watching intently.
The prisoner flinched at every faint crack and thud from above, tensing at the girl's sudden wail. She screamed again, her voice cracking in agony, and the boy cried out in response, his muscles shaking and knuckles white where his hands gripped at his own arms.
So this was why he'd been ordered to remove the soundproofing. A new torture for his master's plaything, altogether physically harmless, and yet all the more effective.
When the girl's screams morphed to form a name—Jace—or at least incomplete syllables of it between her surely pain induced outcries, the prisoner sobbed loudly and pressed his hands to his ears. When he could no longer stand the sounds leaking muffled through his fingers, he threw his head up, eyes pressed shut and face shining with tears, and moved his hands to knot in his hair, ripping desperately at the blonde, matted locks, writhing in a pain not inflicted upon him.
"Clary!" The boy bawled, and slid down the wall, until he was curled into a ball on his side, hands still locked in his hair. He trembled there, on the floor, for what seemed like a very long time, his back shaking as sobs wracked him, occasionally yelling furiously at the floor, and the girl's screams died out into muffled groans before going altogether quiet.
The Endarkened dispersed the rune, and turned back to his post, excited for the day ahead for the first time in weeks. He would later have to brush off the other Endarkeneds' questions as to why he wore a small smirk the entire remainder of the day.
Sebastian shut the door to Clary's room slowly behind him, and immediately leaned back into the door, turning his face up and letting his head rest back on metal.
He let out a deep breath and clenched his hands, trying to calm himself.
His body was humming with energy—equal parts anger, and frustration, and elation, and craving, because god, Clary looked so good. The image of her wouldn't leave him, her thin frame panting on the floor, nearly unconscious, disoriented and unaware of her nakedness, with flecks of blood flung from the whip speckled across her shoulders, upper arms, left cheek, and neck, like newly sprouted freckles on her delicate, cream-colored skin.
He moved to scrub his hands over his face, as if he could wipe his excited flush away, before glimpsing his palms and realizing that touching his cheeks would only make them more red, and stopped, clenching them again, before wiping them on his jeans.
Staring down at the streak of red across his pants, he frowned.
He almost didn't feel bad.
Clary deserved every bit of that treatment, for trying to attack him with his own stele, but he had been telling the truth when he'd said that he didn't wish to harm her. Clarissa was strong, yes, but in her own unique ways, and Sebastian knew that physically she wouldn't be able to handle as much as Jace might. He needed to keep that in mind moving forward. Not that he planned on doing something like this again, but Clary had a habit of disregarding him, and that would need to change.
Still, he didn't want her marked up too badly for when he claimed her—for when she took her place.
He had hoped that would occur today—the sooner she realized this was meant to be, the better—but after her reaction, he knew it would have to wait. Sebastian needed to be patient.
Nodding his head, his heart rate finally slowed, he decided he would give her a few days to calm down. Send her some food and water to strengthen her.
Sebastian pushed off the door and started down the hall, the Endarkened that had been posted outside Clary's room while he was with her following soundlessly behind him, not a single word or blink to question his composure, or why his shirt was missing. Though, with the soundproofing removed, he was sure the guard had heard everything. Which reminded him….
What to do with Jace?
Perhaps Sebastian would allow him food and a break as well. Although his seeing Clary hadn't gone as he'd wished it to, Sebastian was still certain it had served well enough to torture Jace. After all, Jace wouldn't know any better as to what caused Clary's screaming; leaving the boy alone for a few days would serve as relief just as much as torture. Time to heal, yes, but time also for his imagination to run away from him, to wonder what Sebastian was doing. That would be enough, for now.
When Sebastian arrived at his room, he absently dismissed the Endarkened and locked the door behind him, heading straight for the restroom. He removed his whip from where he had messily hooked it back on his belt, and then emptied his pockets, placing all items and weapons on the counter. Stripping of his pants, he tossed them in the hamper of soiled clothes, before at last turning to look at himself in the mirror.
He looked more composed than he had when he left Clary, but his hair was messier than he liked it, and seeing the blood on his hands made his heart thump heavier again, cheeks tingeing pink.
At last, he let his hands come to his face, steepling his fingers over the bridge of his nose, palms pressed into his mouth and jaw, and he breathed in, long and deep. He felt a rush of arousal for what felt like the hundredth time today, and closed his eyes as he smiled beneath his hands.
Even Clary's blood smelled sweet.
Coppery, like her hair, heady and evocative.
He let a hand slide down his neck, then chest, and sighed shakily as he let it trail down further.
Soon, he thought, as he began to relieve himself of his excitement, very, very soon.