Author's Note: This chapter contains mention of torture, psychological trauma, manipulation, fear, mention rape/nonconsensual sex (end of noncon scene), explicit incest, nonconsensual kissing and touching, and Sebastian.

This picks up directly after Chapter Seventeen, Part I.

Chapter Seventeen, Part II

Clary was aware of what was being done to her, with her, but it was like viewing it from across the room. As though it was happening to someone else.

When at last her body jerked hard, twisting under Sebastian as he finished along with her, she could almost believe it was all just a dream.

There was a moment of silence after it was done, as they caught their breath, Sebastian's hand moving up to wipe away her tears and rub circles into her inner thigh, still pulled up over his hip to expose her. She never once moved it, just as he'd asked.

Clary winced as he pulled out of her, tensing up at the odd, sucking feeling of his removal, the drag unpleasant in a different way now that she'd been left feeling so raw. It took a moment longer for her to fully come back to herself, but when she did it was to a body that was ragged and aching, and exhausted in a horribly satisfied way that was so very foreign to her.

Sebastian gently set her leg down on the mattress, her thigh aching from having held the position for what felt like hours, and then he was leaning over her head to untie the restraints. When her hands dropped limply to the bed, and Sebastian reached to set the ropes on the end table, they were close enough to the candle light for her to see their color: a pure and simple white. White like a clean sheet of paper, not the dark blue she'd imagined they'd felt like, and it felt wrong for such a thing as ropes meant for tying her down to be white.

Clary sluggishly pulled her arms away from the headboard, again wincing at the stiffness in the joints, and hugged her chest tightly as Sebastian slumped back down on the bed, finally, it seemed, satisfied for the evening.

"That was good, Clary," he said, turning on his side to face her. "You were amazing."

She gripped herself tighter, letting her nails dig into her own arms as she stared up at the ceiling. When his hand settled over one of her own, she jerked back like she'd been burned, and his hand drew away hesitantly, as if he was concerned about her comfort at all.

"Well, thank God it was good for you," Clary said, the words quiet and wispy, a sort of deranged and hissing laugh. She swallowed hard, trying to shake the dreamy feeling as those words floated about in the stuffy, hot air of the room. After so intensely focusing on everything she could possibly find to focus on in this room, it felt now as though it had all been stripped away, as if there were no hard edges to anything at all, as if every dim light was fuzzy and haloed, as if she was living in a sfumato or impressionist painting.

"Oh, I think you quite enjoyed yourself—"

"I hate this," Clary said lowly, like she was sharing some long kept secret. "This isn't love."

Sebastian sighed, though not angrily as she had expected, and she could feel the weight of his gaze pull away from the side of her face. "...No," he said.

"What?" Clary whispered, voice squeaking half from shock at the admittance and half from the soreness in her throat. She hesitantly turned to look at him, but he had turned his eyes up to the ceiling himself.

"No. Perhaps not," he agreed, and his voice was light and airy, as if all the tension had bled out of him, though he still managed somehow to keep it flat and unrevealing. He sighed again.

"You may be right. Perhaps I don't love you. But it doesn't change anything. Can't you see that there is no one else? That there can be no one else, for either of us?" he asked, and though his voice pitched just the slightest, it was bare of anger or force, devoid of that grating tone he used when trying desperately to convince her of something. "I know you feel it. You are the only thing I need. I am the only thing you need. And that might be as close as I can get to this thing you call love."

Clary's lips parted in choked protest, stunned and offended, her throat tightening in anger and an absurd rush of betrayal and pity. He had finally admitted to what she had been digging for, that this was not love, but now that he'd said it aloud, it seemed just as meaningless as all the rest of it. He was right. It didn't change the fact that she was stuck here. It didn't change his obsession with control of her. It didn't change a thing.

"So you're just playing at this? This is all just a game to you?" She should stop. She shouldn't keep testing his patience when she knew how thin it could be.

"No." Sebastian turned back to her, voice still lacking its usual edge, and it was odd hearing him so calm. "No. You call me obsessive, but you, Clarissa, are the one obsessed with love. Love matters to you."

"I don't…."

"So much potential…" he muttered to himself. "Together we will be unstoppable."

Her potential. That was what he wanted, her angelic ability, which she so rarely used. She supposed that was the difference between Sebastian and herself. She used her ability when she had to. Sebastian used his strength and cunning to take anything and everything he wanted—even her.

"Love is not what should concern you. But because it does…" his face split in a smile that didn't reach his eyes, teeth flashing white and wolfish in the dark, "I love you, Clary."

The room suddenly felt too cold on her naked skin and Clary shivered, quickly looking away. If she hadn't already spent all her tears that evening, she thought she might have shed more as he smiled down at her, a mess of his making.

When he reached to touch her again, Clary sat up abruptly, flinching at her body's aching protest of the movement, and swiped angrily at her cheeks. "Don't touch me," she spat, shoving away from him, and when his hand followed after her still, trying to grab at her arm, she scrambled off the bed, stumbling to stay up right, her feeting stinging on the cold floor. As she backed away, she saw the look in his eyes go cold, his hand dropping back to the sheets, and she stood frozen in fear, like prey waiting for a tiger to pounce, as though he was a rubber band about to snap.

And then she felt some of his spend leak from her, dripping down her thigh, and her face lit up in horror and embarrassment as she gasped quietly. Sebastian grinned.

Consequences be damned; she needed to be as far away from him as possible right now. She needed to fall apart without those leering eyes on her, and putting the restroom door between them would be better than nothing.

"I'm going to get cleaned up," she murmured, at last breaking free from where she had stood frozen in place, and whatever calm tone Sebastian's voice had taken just a minute ago was gone when he laughed at her retreating form.

"Want me to join you?" he teased, making to stand, but Clary was already slamming the bathroom door and throwing her shoulder against it as if that would keep him from barging in if he wished to.

But he didn't follow her, and when she heard the bed creak with his weight as he lay back down, she let out a breath and stepped towards the shower.

Clary turned the water as hot as it would go.

When Clary finished in the bathroom, the candles were burning even lower than before, wax building up at the base of the candelabra, the flames nearly distinguished. She wondered how long she'd been in the shower. The hot water didn't appear to run out here, which made it mighty difficult to convince herself she had to get out, even after what might have been hours. Her fingers and toes were pruned, her hair poorly towel dried and still dripping slightly down her back. She couldn't find the energy to care.

Sebastian was turned on his side, facing away from the candle, and the slow rise and fall of his chest let her know he had fallen asleep. Thank God.

Quietly, she picked out a new pair of underwear and pajamas and got dressed quickly, feeling rushed to cover herself despite the fact that she knew he wasn't currently watching her. On tiptoes, she rounded the room, prepared to try and gently remove one of the throw blankets from the bed so that she could sleep on the floor, too upset to climb back into bed with a demon, when she tripped over something on the floor at the foot of the bed frame.

She startled, catching a surprised gasp in her throat as she tried to keep quiet. Slowly raising her eyes, she saw Sebastian was still sleeping soundly, one arm draped over her side of the bed. Clary looked back down, toeing at the thing on the floor, pushing it around in the dark until she realized what it was. Sebastian's jeans, thrown haphazardly to the floor in his rush to get into bed with her.

Clary sighed, about to step over them and resume her task of obtaining a blanket, when another realization struck her. Sebastian's belt was still threaded through the loops of the jeans.

Her heart nearly skipped a beat.

Slowly, she reached down, carefully feeling around the waistband of the pants, carefully clutching the belt buckle in one palm to prevent the metal from making noise. When her hand found stiff leather, and then the cool, slender shape tucked inside it, her heart began thumping heavily in her chest, a rush of adrenaline coursing through her.

There was no way.

Ever since the first night in the house, Sebastian had removed all his equipment each evening before getting in bed, methodically laying out his tools and pockets items—stele and a dagger included—in the drawer of the end table at his side of the bed. At first, it had puzzled her that he simply placed them in a drawer, one that—without a lock—she could easily access. But the first time he pushed the drawer close, and she heard the way the wood squeaked loudly, she'd understood two things.

First, it let her know that he was absolute in his confidence that she would not hurt him, or herself, with the items in the drawer. Which made the second understanding worse: that it was also a power play. Leaving the items there only reminded her that she was too frightened to make a move for them. As soon as she'd heard that the drawer creaked, she'd known that she wouldn't be able to wiggle it open while he was sleeping without detection, and the idea of him jerking awake with her fingers halfway curled around a dagger terrified her. And that was if she could manage to wriggle out from under him in the bed without stirring him in the first place. Leaving a stele there somehow solidified the fact that he had already instilled a certain amount of fear in her.

But now, there was his stele, gripped lightly in her hand. Which meant that somehow, for some reason, he hadn't put it away. She quickly felt over the rest of his pants, her fingers jerking away at the hilt of the dagger.

Was this a trap? Or did he genuinely forget to put them up in his excitement?

Clary grimaced, her nerves buzzing and pulse pounding in the deafeningly silent room. She eyed the silhouette of the dagger's hilt in the dark.

Could she do it? Could she use it?

Clary reached for it, but her fingers began trembling before she even picked it up and she quickly looked back to the stele. Sebastian was at least partially right in what he'd said the other morning—even if she could bring herself to actually kill him, her chances of physically being able to were slim, even if he was sleeping.

The stele, on the other hand…. She couldn't risk marking him with anything; the burn would wake him in an instant. But maybe…maybe she could mark herself.

Her mind spun as she tried to slow her quickening breath. What if it was a trap? What if he was testing her to see if she would disobey him? Certainly he knew she would, if given the chance?

Her gaze fell to the black band around her wrist, and her racing thoughts came to a grinding halt. What if it was somehow programmed to activate if she marked herself? Or used a stele at all, for that matter? Sebastian had drawn an iratze on her before while she wore it, but perhaps that was different than if she actually applied a rune herself? She couldn't imagine what he might do to her if he awoke to her screams as the demon metal bracelet shocked her over and over. She tensed just at the thought.

But what if he really did just forget about his stele? It certainly wasn't like Sebastian to make a mistake, but it was possible, right? Even as unlikely as it was, the reward just might outweigh the risk. And besides, she might not get another chance like this again. She needed to know what the bracelet would and wouldn't allow her to do.

She needed to know if she could use a stele.

Clary was sure the house was warded against portals and sending messages, unless Sebastian was doing them himself—a fire message was out of the question, especially since she might only get one chance at this. If the bracelet was going to activate, she might only be able to bare the shock for a moment. She couldn't waste her chance at applying a rune for something that was almost certainly warded against. Plus, she would have to go all the way down the hall for paper and a pen, risking Sebastian waking up during that time, or running into Endarkened. All of which meant she needed to mark herself. And Clary knew just what rune she wanted to try. Perhaps she should've chosen something simple and easy, something she knew would work immediately if she applied it, and might help her in a fight against Sebastian or in an attempt to get out of here. But those things were too risky. Her chances of winning against the demon were low, and she had no idea how to deal with removing the bracelet.

So she would try a new rune, one that, if it worked, would allow her one less thing to worry about.

Clary gripped the stele tightly, sitting down on the floor and pulling up her ankle so she could see the bottom of her foot. If the mark was long lasting, at least Sebastian was unlikely to see it on her heel.

Closing her eyes, she thought of the English word over and over in her head until an image began to form behind her eyelids, a mark of several dashing lines shaping the angelic translation. She focused on the shape of the rune, the exact angle of each line, until she could open her eyes and still see it clearly.

Bringing the tip of the stele to her left heel, she paused briefly, straining to hear Sebastian's breathing. It was still deep and steady. He was still asleep.

Taking a deep breath, ignoring her still racing heart and steadying her hand as much as possible, she began to draw. She clenched her teeth at the burn of the first touch of the stele to the thin skin of her foot, quickly glancing at the bracelet to look for the red glow of its activation. But there was nothing.

She finished the rest of the rune, dashing it out rapidly, and when it was done she pulled her hand away and let out the breath she was holding.

It was done. The rune glowed briefly upon activating, Clary quickly covering it with her palm until it faded to black. With still trembling hands, she tucked the stele back into its sheath and tried to place the jeans back in a heap similar to one they'd been left in.

Standing, she at last came up to the side of the bed, gingerly removing the throw cover and her pillow. It wasn't until she was lying on the floor, bundled under the blanket, that the adrenaline began to die out, and Clary let herself feel the relief of finally having accomplished something.

On the hard floor, away from Sebastian and bearing a new rune, Clary slept soundly for the first time in weeks.

Author's Note: Again, sorry for the trauma, Clary. Next chapter will check in with the rest of the gang. (A Guest commented on why Clary didn't send a fire message with the stele, and I realized that I totally forgot to add her reasoning for not sending one, so this chapter has been updated since its original posting. Thanks for pointing that out Guest!)