Author's Note: This chapter contains mention of torture, mention of rape/nonconsensual sex, mention of incest, nonconsensual kissing and touching, and Sebastian.

Chapter Sixteen

Clary was brought to the upstairs bedroom and laid down across the sheets.

"Perhaps a nap would do us some good. I know it's still morning, but I got up early—I could use a few hours."

Clary didn't reply. Or couldn't. She wasn't sure. She was utterly exhausted, muscles still jittery from the electricity, and though she knew she would fall straight asleep as soon as allowed, it was the last thing she wanted. She didn't want to take a nap.

Sebastian removed his shirt, fresh white bandages circling his stomach, some already bleeding through, but he seemed unbothered as he climbed into bed beside her. She wondered how deep she'd cut if an iratze wasn't enough to completely close the wound.

He scooched over next to her and pulled her close to him, turning on his side and throwing one knee over her hips as he tucked his head onto her shoulder.

"Of course, if you're not in the mood to sleep…."

His fingers slipped under the hem of her tank top and began crawling upwards, and she couldn't stop a quiet sob, or the instant tears that began to fall. How could he be thinking about this after being so angry with her as to nearly electrocute her to death just a half hour ago? She hadn't even gotten the chance to recover from last night and he wanted more? She trembled with her cries, the realization that Sebastian was going to take everything that she had too much to deal with right now.

But to her surprise, his hand stopped, and then retreated from under her shirt, instead moving to grip her other shoulder. He sighed, and began running his hand soothingly up and down her arm as she tried to calm her hiccuping sobs.

"Sorry. You're right. Now isn't the time. You'll feel better when you wake up," he whispered into her hair. His voice may have sounded a bit flat, or ingenuine, but she was so shocked by his apology that her crying fell silent.

When he pulled her so that she was on her side facing him, and tucked an arm around her to cup the back of her head and press her face into his chest, she did not have the energy to try and turn away. He continued rubbing her back, gentle over the still healing wounds, and she found the rhythm of his stroking hands somehow soothing, the steady rising and falling of his chest a strange comfort, the warmth of his core relaxing.

She fell asleep almost instantly.

Clary awoke slowly, like she was caught in a wooden paneled lobster trap, dragged slowly up towards the surface, currents rocking her back and forth as she rose. When she finally managed to force her eyelids apart, the bright yellow light coming in the window let her know it was near noon.

She struggled to sit up against a weight on her, and found that Sebastian's arm was still draped over her. She lifted it gently by the wrist when she saw his eyes were still closed, more out of want for not waking him than care, setting his arm down on the bed between them and sitting up.

She was still tired, grogginess clinging to her, but she was thankful that she was clear headed now, no longer jumping with electricity. Clary involuntarily looked down to her wrist, the black band staring up at her deceivingly innocent and plain. Such a simple little thing. Rubbing the area around it, she was surprised to find no irritation to the skin, and she wondered if the electricity was truly as harmful as it had felt, or if it only made her feel like she was dying. It would be just like Sebastian to concoct some device to torture her without doing any actual physical harm.

To her right, Sebastian slept peacefully on his side, his knees folded up slightly, one arm bent beneath his head under the pillow. His hair was almost as white and silky as the sheets, spread messily on the pillowcase, stray locks falling across his brows and into his eyes. With his eyes closed, she saw that his lashes were just a shade darker than his hair, long, thick, and curling like their mother's. Clary hadn't been blessed with that feature. In fact, Sebastian's face had more of her mother in it that she did, she thought; all those sharp, yet rounded angles, the enviously high cheekbones. When she couldn't see those plotting, obsessive, black irises, she saw that he also had the same trustworthy face that Jocelyn had, that easy look that made you feel safe crying in front of her. Except with her mother, the look wasn't dishonest.

Still, it was deceiving enough. Especially in sleep, when the corners of his mouth weren't tight with aggravation, or dimpled with sickening, unwarranted joy, his brows not wrinkled in anger. In sleep, it was quite pleasing to look at—his face. She supposed that was what made it so dangerous. The bright color of a poisonous berry, or a venomous viper, a color warning system that screamed at her to stay away, yet was so very enticing. Cloying as honey on the tongue until the aftertaste hit like the sharp iron flavor of blood.

She sighed a deep, bodily sigh. What the hell was she going to do? How the hell was she supposed to get out of this? Away from him? So beautiful and deadly. So relaxed and unguarded before her, in sleep. Vulnerable, even.

Clary's fingers twitched to move the hair from his eyes, and she had to stop her hand a few inches from his brow. Before she could ponder why she had moved to touch him, Sebastian's eyelids lifted, and those tarry eyes focused on her outstretched fingers before flitting up to her face. A sleepy smile stretched his lips as she snatched her hand back.

"Enjoying the view?" he murmured, propping himself up on an elbow while grinning smugly. "You can run your fingers through my hair, I won't mind."

She scoffed, tucking her hand under her thigh before quickly changing the subject. "How can you sleep around me?" she asked. He blinked, then raised a brow in question.

"After literally kidnapping and torturing me, how do you know I won't kill you in your sleep?" Clary blurted, and then mentally smacked herself for doing so. It might have been a valid plan, if she hadn't just spoiled it. Though she was genuinely curious. Why sleep next to someone who despised every inch of him?

But Sebastian only laughed, pushing himself up further and running a hand through his hair to push it back out of his eyes. "You won't," he said simply, and she frowned, opening her mouth to protest only to be cut off.

"You can't," he corrected, and before she could ask what made him so certain, he continued. "I might not trust you enough to give you a stele, or let you leave the house, but I know you enough to know you can't kill me. In fact, this," he said, pressing a hand to his bandaged stomach, "only proves it."

The bloody spot over the wound was dark and crusted now, the light bleeding having stopped while they slept.

"I almost did kill you. And I would have, if it weren't for this." Clary twisted her wrist, the one bearing the black bracelet.

"No. As soon as you thought I was wounded enough not to follow, you tried to walk out the door. You didn't stay to finish the job."

"But the guards—"

"—Were inconsequential in the matter," he said, "and besides, when you had that opening, you could have driven the blade up through my stomach and into my lungs. But you only slashed the blade across my side."

"I…." Clary trailed off, their fight replaying in the back of her mind. Could she have killed him, then? Driven the blade up, instead of across? Either way, it was one thing to misplace a blow during a fight, but while he was sleeping, all it would take was one cut across his throat.

"Face it, Clarissa. You can't bring yourself to kill me. Deep down, you know that it's not what you want. You don't want me dead, therefore you can't kill me." He stared her down as he said this, and she wondered how someone could be so fucking cocky.

"I hate you." It was all she could say. Maybe the only thing she knew to be true right now.

"Hmm. You sure know how to woo a man, huh?"

"I'm not trying to woo anyone," Clary snapped, and when only silence met her, she looked up to see his drowsy, lighthearted expression had shifted to something colder. She would never get used to the change. Playful and smug to angry and freezing. Her hands balled in the covers and she looked down, as if instantly expecting a smack at the look.

"You would think that after this morning, you'd be a little less abrasive towards me," he said, at last releasing the glare and sliding out of bed. He stretched, his long arms reaching above his head and his body twisting at the waist, and his obliques rippled like the feathers of wings. His pale skin looked more tanned in the afternoon light, and as he grabbed a tee shirt off the floor and pulled it over his head, his muscles highlighted by the sun, she had the sudden urge to draw him. Clary thought she would add two curving horns atop his head.

"You're stuck with me here. You might as well make things easier on yourself," he said.

If only it was that easy. If only it was that easy to keep her head down, and stay put, and let herself be violated in every possible way. She could never choose to go along with this. That would mean giving up, and she couldn't do that. It would mean accepting that she would never see her mother again, or her friends.

It would mean never seeing Jace again.

Her fingers absently ran over the bracelet as she fell into thought, and she let her eyes unfocus over the sun rays glinting off the black material.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Sebastian had come around the bed to her side, and gently pulled her right wrist from her fingers. "It's demon metal. And it's not just to keep you here. It's also a communication device."

"Why…?" Clary started, letting the question die as she recalled his face just moments earlier at her snark. Why…would I ever need to call you? But he seemed to understand regardless.

"Well, I can't be here with you at all times, can I?" He turned her hand over, and tapped the tips of two fingers over the center portion of the bracelet on her inner wrist. A red run flared out of nowhere, the same scrawling, swirling, and horrific symbol as before, burning like impossible light escaping a black hole, and she jerked her hand back on instinct, a gasp leaving her mouth as she tensed for a shock. But none came, and Sebastian only re-gripped the banded wrist by her forearm.

"Relax. It will only shock you if you leave the premises. Now, if you ever need to contact me, you tap the middle, here, as I just did, and then," he moved two fingers to the left side of the metal, "this side twice." He did as he said, touching the band lightly, and a different rune blazed briefly under his fingers. Just as it did, she saw a flash of light at Sebastian's own wrist, the same rune that appeared on the bracelet activating on his skin.

"See?" he said, and his voice echoed back at them softly, as if there was a tiny speaker implanted under the surface of his skin. Clary's mouth dropped a bit in amazement.

"I've never heard of a rune that could do that," she exclaimed, curiosity taking over any discontent with the device being forced on her. Sebastian chuckled a bit, letting go of her arm and tapping the mark at his wrist to end the communications. "It is pretty neat, huh?"

"Does it do anything else?" she asked, thumbing the metal.

"Nothing else you would need to be concerned with." His response sent a little chill down her spine, and she tried not to conjure all the possible ways that Sebastian could hurt her with this. "But don't worry. I don't need to go anywhere today. Today we'll just get you acclimated to the house."

She nodded, a bit absent mindedly, and Sebastian bent down to press a kiss to her forehead. It was getting easier not to flinch away from his affections, she noticed, though his warm lips still felt misplaced on her skin.

"Let's give you the grand tour."

She got up and followed him, telling herself it was better to know the layout of the house anyway, as opposed to her obedience being due simply to threat of punishment.

The house was a whopping four stories. Each of the middle two floors had identical looking hallways with an equal number of rooms. There was the reading room, which Sebastian called the library, the training room, which Sebastian said she was allowed to use as much as she wanted—as long as she didn't "misuse" the equipment—a lounge type room, with many comfortable looking chaises and couches, and even a full kitchen. The fourth floor was all bedrooms, Sebastian said, and though he didn't explain why, she was sure it was for his Endarkened. The first floor, as she had seen some of earlier, had a kitchen, a living room, an office, and a back foyer that led out into the garden.

The building somewhat reminded her of the Institute, only more modernly furnished and decorated, and she hated to admit that it felt a bit comfortable. Though it was unnecessarily large, the rooms were warm and open, and the halls easy to navigate once she'd been shown around. Sebastian explained that she was allowed anywhere in the house—save the locked rooms, of course—and that if she needed anything at all, that she was to tell him, or one of the Endarkened guards. She bit her tongue to keep from asking for a stele.

The only room he didn't show her, besides the few locked ones, was the basement. She remembered seeing him exiting from the sturdy, wooden door by the entrance earlier that morning, and wondered what could be down there that he didn't want her accessing. Perhaps it was where he kept the cup, or where he performed evil experiments like their father had. Regardless, she had a feeling she didn't want to know.

When the tour was done, Sebastian cooked them lunch.

That morning she had been too disoriented for the thought to occur, but as she watched him working away at the stove now, seemingly contentedly stirring some vegetables and seasoning the contents of the pan, she was surprised to see that he was actually cooking the food himself. Perhaps it was his expensive taste in clothing and decor, or his snobby, entitled attitude that followed him like cologne, but she would have thought he had someone else make his food. When he served it, she saw it was some sort of seasoned chicken and perfectly cooked vegetables, and it smelled amazing.

She must have made some sort of surprised face, because he laughed as he sat down across from her. "Didn't think I could cook?"

"No, it's just…." Clary pushed at the food with her fork, Sebastian raising his brows expectantly.

"We've been over this before. It's not poisoned, if that's what you're thinking."

"No, I know. It just…it looks good…thank you." The gratitude was stiff and unnatural, heavy and fraudulent on her tongue, but Sebastian's eyes still widened a fraction, and she thought she saw his face flush just the slightest. Perhaps Sebastian was right. If she could just manage to be agreeable to an extent, she might not have to suffer such horrible treatment until she could manage to get out of this.

He cleared his throat, picking up his own utensils. "Of course. The vegetables are all fresh from the garden," he said, taking a bite of food. Clary took a bite as well, and it did taste good. Perfectly seasoned. Her first hot meal since her imprisonment, not counting the breakfast she was nearly unconscious for that morning.

"Valentine taught me. How to cook, I mean," Sebastian said, as he gathered another bite of food on his fork. "Did you know he was a good cook? Well, no, I guess you wouldn't know, would you?" Though his tone wasn't irritated, the words themselves sounded accusatory, as if upset by her lack of knowing their father.

"My mother was a good cook, too." Clary winced as the words slipped out of her mouth, only remembering his hatred for Jocelyn after she'd said it, and she quickly looked up from her half finished plate to judge his response. Sebastian slowly finished chewing a mouthful of food, and she found she couldn't quite read his expression.

"She, um, she never taught me how to, though," Clary added, trying to keep her tone light.

"I can teach you, if you'd like," he offered, and she could only nod solemnly in response, looking back down to her plate. She wondered where her mother was right now, if she was worrying frantically over Clary, trying everything she could to find her. Or, perhaps Alec and Jace and Simon had already made it home safely, and told her that Clary had been turned by the Infernal cup. Maybe her mother wasn't looking for Clary at all, but instead mourning her, Luke trying his best to help keep her together.

"You miss them," Sebastian noted, his voice as unreadable as his face, and Clary startled a bit at the comment. Was she supposed to lie, say that she didn't miss her friends and family to appease him? She held her tongue. She didn't think she could lie, couldn't denounce her family, couldn't look Sebastian in the eye and tell him she was glad to be here. He'd know she was lying, anyway.

"...Yes," she at last admitted, and he nodded, piling his utensils on his finished plate.

"That's understandable. You'll adjust, though. You have me, now—your real family." Sebastian's eyes sparkled, a hint of his obsession shining through his now calm demeanor. Again, Clary could only nod. She set down her fork, her plate still half uneaten, her appetite now withered away. Neither of them spoke as Sebastian cleared the table and put the dishes in the sink, and Clary drifted into a thoughtless, exhausted calm, her mind a numb staticy blur.

She didn't think she could pretend to be okay with this. How was she supposed to have meals with her captor, make small talk with her torturer, go along with his every whim? It was hard enough not to throw herself out the door, even knowing it would bring her to the floor screaming—forget actually pretending to get along with this maniac.

Cold hands brushed her neck and Clary jumped out of her trance as Sebastian lifted her hair up. She froze like a spooked deer as he pressed a kiss to the hollow of her neck, and swallowed thickly as he bent over behind her, trailing his lips up to her jaw.

Protest or concede? Let this happen, or push him away?

As badly as she wanted to slap him off of her, to shove the chair away from the table and whirl on him, she couldn't bring herself to move. The bracelet glimmered before her, menacing on her wrist. She thought of all the different ways it could hurt her. The ways he could hurt her. And she couldn't move.

"I'm sorry for this morning," he sighed, his breath hot behind her ear, and smelling of their meal. "I lost my temper. I just can't let you leave the house yet. But I'm sure you'll be good enough to be allowed in the garden soon." One of his hands twirled her gathered hair, his other rubbing at her shoulder. "And I know you miss your friends, but I won't let you get lonely. I know you don't see it now, but you are the world to me, Clarissa."

A cold sweat gathered at the small of her back as he spoke, as she felt pinned between his body and the heavy kitchen table. One of his fingers slid up her throat and under her chin, pressing upward so that she was forced to look up at him, his face hovering over hers. She swallowed again, her mouth watering anxiously. His eyes were like the black of the demon metal around her wrist, and still she couldn't move.

"I love you."

Those weren't his words to say. Only Jace could say that to her. This was all so wrong. She couldn't go along with this. She couldn't, she couldn't—

But she couldn't move away as he pressed his lips to hers, couldn't fight his tongue as it parted her mouth and pressed into her, couldn't even scream or cry as he bit at her bottom lip. His hand snaked around her throat as he kissed her, the kiss somehow just as soft as it was fervent, and she let herself be pulled into the action thoughtlessly.

She wasn't like Jace. She couldn't take torture day in and out. She wasn't strong enough to. If she was going to survive, she needed to pretend. She had to.

So Clary let herself slip far back into a quiet corner of her mind—a memory of Jace smiling at her, of her and Simon laughing at some old movie, of her mother painting, of Luke's strong and safe hugs.

Clary closed her eyes tightly, pinning back the tears, and let Sebastian kiss her.