Clary groaned and slowly cracked her eyes open, blinking blearily at the light that made it through the dark fabric of the bag over her head. She was lying on the ground on her side and was suddenly very aware of the intense throbbing in her fingers. She twisted her wrists together, though for all her struggling, only succeeded in further tightening the plastic ties that were cutting off her circulation. She was shivering—her wet clothes clung to her as her hair dripped frigid beads down over her cheek and throat.
Another groan gathered strength in her throat, but she quickly tamped down on the urge to release it as she heard footsteps close by. Clary's instincts told her that she should be quiet—and perhaps the shadow of the man that she could see through the fabric would leave her alone. If she stayed quiet, perhaps he would think she was still unconscious, and he would leave. The shadow man stopped in front of her, and Clary drew in and held her breath.
"I know you're awake, girl. Here, let me help you."
The bag slid off her head and Clary blinked rapidly against the flood of light that made her eyes sting. Her vision focused slowly, and she blearily peered up at a dapper pair of legs clothed in a fine pair of suit trousers. She could smell the leather polish that made his expensive shoes shine, and it reminded her suddenly of the lacquer that her mother clear-coated her artwork with. Where was her mom now? How long had it been, and did she know that Clary was gone?
"Here, sit up slowly. You've taken quite the hit to the head."
Clary carefully sat up. She couldn't remember being hit, but she did feel groggy, like she had been knocked unconscious. She was kneeling on a hard packed dirt floor, and the legs of her wet jeans were muddy. The man came back into her view as he brought a glass of water up to her mouth. Her throat felt coated in dust, so she took a sip. She cleared it and then took another grateful sip.
The man's face was kind. He looked a little like a college professor, though Clary could see the black edges of Marks that crept out from under his cufflinked sleeves.
"My name is Hodge Starkweather. You must be Clarissa Morgenstern." The man said. Clary frowned.
"No. My name is Fairchild." She said back. Hodge straightened, looking down at her appraisingly. His finger tapped a thoughtful rhythm against the glass of water in his hand. He wore a gold Shadowhunter family ring on his middle finger.
"Yes, I suppose that is also correct. You look like her, like Jocelyn." He added. Clary twisted her wrists uncomfortably against her back.
"You know my mother?" she asked. Hodge nodded.
"I used to." Hodge said introspectively. "Though I imagine the years have changed her quite a bit. I know your father, too." Hodge moved away to set the glass of water down. Clary's frown deepened.
"My father? I don't have a father." she said slowly. This seemed to amuse him, making his eyes crinkle in the corners.
"Of course, you have a father. Valentine Morgenstern is your father." Hodge smiled. Clary began to stammer in what sounded like a denial, but he held out his hand to gently stifle it. "I know you probably have a lot of questions, but they will need to wait until he returns. Your father will explain everything. Don't you worry." Hodge said.
He moved away from her then and Clary looked around her for the first time. She was kneeling in a barn or large shed. She could smell hay and dirt and apples in the air. To her left was a wall of farming tools. On the opposite side of the room was a small hearth that was lit to keep the autumn chill away.
"Where am I?" she asked. Hodge had moved back in front of her. He set a bundle of folded fabric down on a battered metal work stool.
"You're at a safe location. The Circle has had to move headquarters recently, you see. This property belongs to me. Though, I can't disclose anything else to you at this time, you understand? Your father will explain everything when he returns." He reassured her again.
Clary looked around; her teeth were beginning to chatter. Hodge moved around her and graciously helped her up to her feet. She heard the click of a foldable knife extending and suddenly her hands were freed from the plastic ties. She rubbed her wrists to encourage the blood back down to her fingertips. Hodge Starkweather gestured over to the folded stack of fabric.
"These clothes will likely be too big for you. But they are warm and dry." He promised. Clary cautiously moved towards them. She held up a worn, red flannel shirt and felt her throat tighten suddenly.
It reminded her of Luke.
Who were these people and why had they taken her from her home? Why was this man saying that Valentine was her father, when Luke was her dad. He'd always been her dad. What was going on? Where was she and what was the Circle...
And where was Jace?
Jace...
" Please feel free to change out of your wet clothes. No need for you to be uncomfortable while you're here. Though I'm terribly sorry that I can't give you any more privacy than my turned back. Your father was very clear that you always be accompanied by a guard, at least until his business elsewhere is finished. It's for your safety." Hodge said reasonably.
Clary looked over at him and saw that he had indeed turned away from her, hands crossed behind his back as he gazed at the fire. He seemed like a kind enough man; and on a normal day, that would have given her pause. But as it was, this was not a normal day, as she had just been kidnapped from her living room by a group of violent, strange men—and Hodge's politeness and courtesy was not enough to convince her that she was safe. Clary let the flannel shirt slide from her fingers as she silently crept across the hard, dirt packed floor.
"Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Starkweather." Clary said evenly, as she took up the wooden handle of an old shovel leaning against the wall. Clary's mother had taught her manners after all. Though she had also taught her how to defend herself.
The shovel made a dull, impolite thwack against his head when she hit him with it. She was careful to hit him in a way that encouraged him to fall away from the fire, though she could do nothing about the way he dropped heavily like a sack of potatoes.
Clary winced and threw the shovel away from herself. She regretted it—but there was nothing to be done. Clary hurried to the barn door and slipped away into the night without a backwards glance at the unconscious man.
Jace and Jonathan walked through the Portal, a pace apart. They took a moment to orient themselves, as the room they entered was loud and chaotic. They moved aside out of the way of the rest of the Circle that filed in behind them, while trying to make sense of all the noise and moving bodies.
"There. Starkweather." Jonathan's low voice said at his shoulder.
He moved around Jace and strode over to the older man that was sitting with one hand on his knee, the other holding a bloody cloth to the back of his head. Jace watched his brother cut an easy path through all the men in the room, as though they were grass and he a sharpened scythe. They all seemed to slide out of his way when they saw him coming—and Jace wondered if it was because he looked so like Valentine. Jace heaved his bag higher up onto his shoulder and followed behind him in the path that he'd cut.
"Hodge, what happened?" Jonathan asked. Hodge shook his head and pulled the cloth away to look down at the blood spot.
"It was the Fairchild girl. She's gotten away from me." He said regretfully. Jonathan frowned, sliding his bag off his shoulder and setting it down on the floor.
"Who?" he asked. Jace blanked his face.
"That looks bad, Hodge. Someone should have healed you already." Jace said reproachfully. He pulled his stele out and handed it to Jonathan without looking at him. "You've got it right?"
Jace also set his bag down, and after a momentary hesitation, removed his weapons belt as well. Perhaps if he took off his weapons, he could subtly convince Jonathan that the situation unfolding didn't call for violence. Jonathan only looked confused.
"Where are you going?" he asked. Jace looked back at Hodge.
"You said she got away, right? How long ago? She can't have made it that far. There's nothing out there but trees anyways." Jace said. Hodge nodded.
"She has a bit of a head start, I'm afraid. I only came to a little while ago."
Jonathan looked back and forth between them.
"There was a girl here and she attacked you? Wait, what? Who is she?" Jonathan turned to Jace, who forced himself to be expressionless.
"Valentine didn't really go over his plans with me." Jace said stiffly. "But I assume that he'd want her back—why go to the trouble of kidnapping her?"
The confused frown only deepened on Jonathan's pale face. Jace raised his eyebrows. "I'm guessing he didn't tell you his plans either?" Jonathan shook his head.
"I haven't known anything since before the graveyard."
Both Morgenstern boys turned to Hodge then, who resolutely pulled the bloody cloth down from his head to inspect it critically, while refusing to meet their eyes.
"Hodge?" Jace prompted. The older man looked uncomfortable.
"Boys, you know your father likes to keep his plans limited to a need-to-know basis..."
Jace scoffed in disbelief and shook his head.
"Yeah, and we're somehow never on that short list." Jace muttered. "But you do know where he is right now, don't you?" Jace asked, his tone implying that it wasn't really a question. Hodge studiously ignored him. Jace bumped his shoulder into Jonathan's. "See if you can get anything out of him." Jace said in an undertone as he turned away. He made sure to pitch his voice in a low, collaborative way that put him and Jonathan on the same side against Valentine, and to a lesser extent, Hodge.
Without another word, Jace turned and began to leave the room to go after Clary. He'd delayed it as long as he could physically stand, and with any luck, had managed to give the impression that he wasn't heartsick with worry for her.
"She's more dangerous than she looks, Jace. You shouldn't go by yourself." Hodge called after him. Jace swore inwardly, as a handful of Circle members that had been pretending not to listen to them were suddenly at his side—ready to accompany him like the good little cult members they were. Jace seethed, though he tried to keep his irritation from showing. "Don't underestimate her as I did." Hodge warned.
Jace only nodded and continued walking purposefully. This was a less than ideal turn of events—but it couldn't be helped. Oh well, he was pretty sure he was faster than all the men grouped around him. He would just need to push himself a little to lose them and find Clary in the dark before they did. Simple...
Back at Hodge's side, Jonathan was turning Jace's stele around and around in his fingers thoughtfully as he watched his brother's blond head leaving the room, a single spot of gold amidst a sea of Shadowhunter black. He was off to lead the search party to find the mysterious missing Fairchild girl.
Jonathan narrowed his dark eyes, thoughtfully pondering the way Jace's face had been so carefully neutral...How he'd insisted so much with his body language and tone—despite the callously ungentle way he'd rebuffed Jonathan's partnership back at the manor.
Hodge, unnoticed next to him, frowned curiously at Jonathan, like a scientist studying a new specimen.
How interesting that Jonathan too portrayed the same leering coldness that Valentine did when he suspected that he was being played a fool and misled...
The similarity was uncanny; and Hodge wondered if Jonathan's retribution would be as creative as Valentine's usually were.
Clary pushed her legs harder, forcing them to move her faster. She weaved around trees and occasionally stumbled over roots, wishing fervently for a night vision rune to help her navigate. The moon hung heavy and pregnant above her, and Clary was thankful that she at least had her silver light to see by. Branches hit her face and caught at her clothes, but she didn't let their grabbing fingers stop her. She forced herself through a wall of bushes and winced at the brambles that tore at her skin and left tiny cuts behind on her flesh.
She was still soaking wet and freezing, the late autumn air was not kind to her damp and exposed skin. Though admittedly, running for her life helped a bit.
She stopped in a sudden break in the trees and looked around. She had reached the end of the small forest surrounding the house but there were more trees in front of her—spread out in evenly spaced rows. She had paused near the beginning of an orchard. She could smell sweet fruit in the air and freshly turned soil. Hearing running feet behind her, Clary gasped and continued sprinting, throwing herself headlong into the orchard without another thought.
She was looking back over her shoulder when she ran into something solid. She screamed as arms wrapped around her and she fell, though the body she had run into turned them so that Clary was cushioned from the impact with the ground.
Jace grunted as Clary fell heavily on top of him, jabbing him with her elbows and knees as he rolled them to absorb the shock of their collision. They rolled to a stop in a messy pile with him on top, and Jace hastily covered her mouth to stop her yelling.
"Clary! Stop, stop shouting—it's me! It's Jace! Be quiet!" He hissed. He was able to see her eyes widen in shock, tinted silver in the moonlight as she recognized him above her. He hastily removed his hand from her mouth, watching as her eyes drifted downward as though she were only just then feeling the weight of his body on top of hers.
"Jace?" She asked. Her jaw was chattering with cold and adrenaline. Her body felt small and fragile under his. "What the hell is going on?" Jace shook his head, wishing he knew enough of Valentine's plans to try to reassure and ease the confused fear that he could hear in her voice. Jace let his breath out in a rush.
"I would give anything to be able to tell you." he said.
Clary looked up at him wonderingly, aware then that he had her arms pinned down in the leaves at her head. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly, a deep ripple of emotion appearing between them.
"Why did you stop me? How did you even get in front of me? I could've made it—I could have gotten away!" He winced a little at the betrayal that was clear in her words. He shook his head.
"You're running towards nothing, Clary. There's nothing out here—no other people to help you. Just miles of wilderness and maybe a werewolf pack or two. You're in danger, I couldn't just let you go." He said urgently.
Clary's eyes hardened as she looked back at him. D id he not consider werewolves to be people?
Jace watched her chin rise stubbornly as her mouth set into a hard line.
"I'll take my chances away from my kidnappers, thanks." She felt Jace's fingers tighten at her wrists desperately.
"I swear, I had no idea that you were going to be taken. You have to believe me, Clary. If I had known that this was going to happen, I never would have gone with you to Brooklyn...I feel like I brought him right to you. I'm just so sorry that you're involved in this now."
She believed him. His voice was too earnest and pleading for her to doubt for long. And what was more, she could hear in his tone clearly all the things that he hadn't said. He was sorry that she was involved, but he was also undeniably thankful that she was here with him now.
Clary had spoken to Alec about Jace Morgenstern later that same night that they'd met in Alicante. She had told Alec about their walk through the city, and briefly, about what they'd shared beneath the bridge. Though she'd mainly wanted to tell him about the two men that they'd overheard—and the startling way that Jace's entire demeanor had changed afterwards. He'd been so clearly afraid of them, and it had made her burn with curiosity to find out why. And so, after quite a lot of cajoling, Alec had reluctantly told her what he knew about the Morgensterns...and Clary had felt an aching sadness.
Clary looked up at Jace now, as they lie tangled together in cool autumn leaves, at the far edge of wilderness. She could see stars peeking out from behind him in the night sky, dotted around and stuck in between the golden halo of his gentle curls.
How lonely it must be, to live as Jace Morgenstern had...
" Come with me." Clary whispered.
He had unconsciously moved in closer to her face, and the urgency of her words pushed the loose strands of his hair back against his cheekbone. He closed his eyes at the sensation, wishing for the brush of her fingertips on his skin instead. She could feel the wild, hard thudding of his heart against her breasts.
When he opened his eyes again, she was looking down at his mouth. Clary couldn't feel the chill of the night anymore, though her wet clothes still clung to her like icy hands. His body was so warm, so comfortingly heavy and solid against her. He was the home fire that kept her skin flushed and stopped the frost from seeping in.
"Come with me, Jace." she said again. "Please. You don't owe these people anything. They don't deserve your loyalty. We can get away together." she promised.
The urgency of their breathing slid their bodies against each other, and Jace felt every exhalation like nothing else existed. His hands released her wrists and came up to clutch her face, desperately holding her to him as he kissed her.
She murmured something against his mouth, though he couldn't hear her words past the rushing of blood in his ears. Their bodies shifted automatically as they kissed, shirts pushing up at their stomachs as they fit themselves together like two puzzle pieces. When they withdrew, Clary was even more breathless, and hyper aware of the heat scorching along the insides of her thighs at the place where she could feel his hip bones.
Jace ran his hungry eyes over the feast of her face. She had leaves twisted into her hair and streaks of mud on her clothes, but Jace was convinced that he was looking upon divinity.
Go with her? Now there was an idea.. .
Jace allowed himself a moment to fantasize...and Clary witnessed a spark of hope in his eyes— like just another shooting star that crossed the heavens. The corner of his mouth lifted wistfully, and Clary felt an ache in her chest as her heart swelled.
By the Angel, she loved him. It hardly made sense...but she knew it with a certainty and conviction that left no room for doubt.
In another breath, the look of hope was gone as the running feet finally caught up with them and Jace seemed to snap back to their reality. Jace looked around and began to loosen his hold on her as the other Shadowhunters formed a loose semi-circle around them where they had rolled around in the browning autumn leaves.
For a moment, nearly the same fear was visible on Jace's face that Clary remembered from underneath the bridge in Alicante.
What had he done? How could he have let them linger here for so long when they were being followed? How stupid and thoughtless could he be...
A few of the men were making excited whooping noises, just like hound dogs baying at a cornered fox. The chase seemed to have brought out long buried, animalistic instincts in them. Many were struggling to catch their breaths—Clary had short legs, but she was surprisingly fast. If Jace hadn't had been there, she might have gotten away...
"Well, well, honey, what's the rush?" Ashdown laughed down at Clary. He seemed less out of breath than the others, being closer to the Morgenstern brothers in age than anyone else in the circle at twenty-five. "Where do you think you're running to? There's nothing out this way for miles but wilderness, little girl."
The leering way that he looked down at her made Clary turn her face and spit at him. She aimed her vitriol over Jace's shoulder and was pleased to see that her spit had reached the man's boots. Ashdown looked down at the toe of his boot contemplatively for a moment before he flicked his dark gaze back up to hers.
Clary shifted suddenly beneath him. Jace had felt it too, even though the look had been aimed past him at Clary. A flicker of unease ran up his spine as Ashdown moistened his lips lecherously.
"I think you need to be taught a little lesson in respect and obedience." Ashdown murmured. The surrounding men laughed and gathered in closer around them, filling in the gaps slightly as they spectated. "What do you say men? Should she learn what happens when she runs from predators?" The surrounding Circle members laughed and yelled in agreement.
Jace hastily got up off Clary and yanked her unceremoniously up to her feet. He pushed her roughly behind him, blocking her body from the older Shadowhunter with his own as best as he could.
"You're not going to touch her." Jace threatened softly. Ashdown seemed momentarily taken aback—in his quiet rage, Jace had sounded eerily like his father.
There was movement then on the outskirts of the group, just barely detectable in the darkness, and Jace darted a quick glance over to see what it was. He felt a sudden, strong emotion in his chest, pressing sharply up against his heart.
Jonathan had followed them.
Jace had thought that he'd been convincing enough back at the house; but it appeared as though doctoring Hodge was not enough to keep Jonathan occupied for long. Curiosity, it seemed, was also Jonathan's besetting sin.
Jace wasn't sure if he felt better or worse, knowing that Jonathan was there. His brother was a wild card; and admittedly, he did not like the way that Jonathan was leisurely circling the outskirts of the scene like a silent shark waiting for first blood. It didn't bode well.
Between and behind the other Circle members' bodies, Jace briefly saw his brother's white-blond head moving like a specter in the darkness. There was just an instant when he was able to meet his shiny black eyes before Jace had to yank his focus back to the man in front of him.
Ashdown had reached out and was tauntingly twirling a piece of Clary's soaked, red hair around his finger.
"Oh look, already so wet for me." Ashdown laughed.
Jace was aware of a surging rage—and he reached out and viciously broke Ashdown's wrist with seemingly as little effort as snapping a dry twig. His wrist had been even easier to break than the vampire's wrist from the alley in New York—though maybe it was only his fury clouding his judgement. Ashdown yelled and cursed at him; face flushed with pain that was visible even in the moonlight.
The sudden violence seemed to set the other men off like a powder keg. They rushed at the pair of them, and Jonathan smirked as he saw Jace grasping and searching for weapons at a belt that was no longer there.
Tsk tsk, Angel Boy. You should know better than to go anywhere unarmed, living the life that we do... Jonathan thought.
Though Jace was plenty dangerous without weapons, he was distracted. There were too many men grabbing at Clary and the sounds of her panicked struggling was getting to him. They shoved her down to the ground again and Jace was thrown down next to her. For a while more they struggled, but the older Circle members were able to pin them both down by their wrists and ankles.
Ashdown did a quick Iratze to heal his wrist—though the runic magic did nothing to take away the vindictive rage that he felt. Stupid little brat. He didn't care that Jace was Valentine's kid…he was eighteen—and should know the ways of the world better by now. There was an unspoken code among men that Jace always seemed to sneer at, and thought didn't apply to him. He couldn't allow this to stand.
"You'll pay for that," Ashdown spit. Jace kicked out furiously at the men holding his legs down.
"I swear to the Angel, I'll kill any man that tries to hurt her." Jace warned. No one questioned that he spoke his truth—for they could see the clear thirst for blood in his eyes. Ashdown smiled more, realization brightening his eyes so much they nearly twinkled like stars in the darkness.
"Spoken like a man in love! This wouldn't happen to be your red-haired young lady from Alicante now, would it?" The men all quieted as Jace forced his face to blankness. Clary looked over at him when he didn't respond, a question making her eyebrows furrow. The way she looked at him with her heart in her eyes was a clear enough answer as any. Jace cursed inwardly.
Ashdown laughed then—slowly and eagerly with an indecent joy that made goosebumps run unpleasantly up Clary's arms. Ashdown mainly had eyes for her ; though he believed that Jace should suffer retribution as well, for the disrespect and disdain that he'd always shown. Everyone in the Circle knew that Jace hated being there and was only a part of their group because Valentine was his father, and he had no choice.
He wasn't loyal to Valentine and did not deserve the place that he held at his side ... Ashdown's eyes settled and stayed on Jace's derisive glare, as the punishing smile returned to his face. In fact, Valentine would probably reward him for taking Jace down a peg or two…
Ashdown sobered slightly as he felt heavy eyes on him then; and he reached up to scratch the prickling at the back of his neck. A slight chill seemed to creep over the group as the men all stopped shuffling and became still, their heads turning as one to the slow sound of footsteps crunching through the dry leaves behind them. It was soon apparent that Jace had been the only one paying attention to their surroundings; as no one else had even realized that he was there.
Jonathan didn't look around at any of them as he meandered over to an apple tree and thoughtfully scanned its lower branches. He found an apple that he liked the look of and reached up to pull it down from the branch as though the whole orchard belonged to him. Jonathan then leaned a shoulder up against the trunk of the tree, leisurely crossing one ankle over the other before he flicked his gaze over to meet Ashdown's eyes. His own shined blackly out of the darkness like moonlight reflecting off an oil spill.
For a long, palpable moment, Jonathan didn't say anything. He eventually looked down and away from Ashdown, and with supreme indifference, began to shine his apple on the shoulder of his gear jacket. He appeared for all the world as if he were bored; and utterly unaffected by all the drama. Ashdown's face split into a slow smile as he glanced away from Jonathan and down at Jace and Clary.
If Ashdown were any judge that indifference had been Jonathan's silent permission to proceed.
The more deviant members of the Circle really enjoyed it when Jonathan let them satisfy their beastlier urges. Valentine never did—he didn't tolerate or entertain deviancy. He was strict and had rules; not to mention the unbending honor of being born in an earlier decade. Valentine was a man of ironclad integrity.
Jonathan, however, loved chaos. He loved pulling at people's threads, just for the joy of seeing if he could make them unravel.
Ashdown signaled them wordlessly, and the men holding Clary down began to tear at her clothes. She yelled and viciously kicked at them, though everyone could hear the panic in her voice.
Jace struggled harder, tearing his gaze away from Clary's to settle on the black ones that were watching him intently. Was he really going to just let this happen?
Jonathan smirked and reached down into his boot for his butterfly knife, twirling it open with much more showmanship than was necessary to remind Jace of his costly mistake. Jace had been stupid to remove all his weapons. Jonathan never went anywhere unarmed. Though after tonight, he was sure Jace wouldn't either. It was a tough lesson; but that's what big brothers were for.
Jonathan's smile widened as he glanced down at his apple and began to carve into it. It felt perfectly ripe in his hand; its scent tart and biting. A few more days sitting plump on the vine, and it would have begun to rot.
Jonathan was clearly going to be no help to him whatsoever, so Jace would need to handle this himself. Protective fury flooded out of him—the likes of which he had only ever experienced once before, while down in the crypt of the Silent City. Jace lashed out at the men holding him. It didn't matter that he didn't have a blade at hand—his wrath had no necessity for it.
Reclined against his tree at a safe distance from the fighting, Jonathan watched his younger brother go up against half a dozen highly trained Shadowhunter men that were far older than him—and managed to beat every single one. Jonathan grinned slyly, eating an apple slice off his knife as he spectated.
He really was so entertaining to watch. Jace was exactly like an avenging angel; so much righteous fury contained in a relatively mundane, golden-haired package. Jonathan leisurely carved out another slice of apple and brought it up to his mouth. He could hear the crisp sound his teeth made in the apple's firm flesh even over the din of the struggle and screaming as he chewed. Jonathan realized contemplatively that it had to be just about the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted.
Jace brought his elbow back ruthlessly into the nose of the man who had grabbed him from behind, hearing a sickening crunch of cartilage before he howled and released him, dropping blinded down to his knees and out of commission. Jace had finally reached Ashdown, who had lowered himself down onto his knees to be closer to Clary as she kicked at him. He had pried her knees apart and was going for her belt buckle when Jace loomed up behind him and took his head into his arms.
He was about to wrench the man's head to the side and snap his neck when suddenly there were strong arms around him from behind and hands at his wrists stopping him.
"No! No, what are you doing! Don't—!" Jace yelled furiously, recognizing the hands. Jonathan easily broke his grip and yanked him backwards away from Ashdown as Jace struggled, holding him back tightly against his chest.
The apple lay forgotten on the ground over by the roots of the tree, though the knife he'd used to carve it was still sticky with juice as Jonathan pressed it up under Jace's jaw. He'd moved so fast—between one blink and the next he'd been close enough to stop him though he'd been yards away.
Jace fought harder, furious that Jonathan had decided to intervene just when he didn't need him, when the fight had been moments from ending. His efforts felt useless; as Jonathan knew all his moves and tricks and was able to counter them almost reflexively.
Jonathan wrapped a staying, vise-like arm around him and pulled him farther away as Ashdown continued his assault on Clary. Jace struggled but couldn't get out of the lock of his embrace. Panic was starting to close his throat. Jonathan turned his face back with the edge of his knife, encouraging him to look straight ahead and watch as it all happened.
"Shh, shh. Calm down, little brother." Jonathan crooned in his ear. "I just stopped you from making a huge mistake. Can't have you killing Circle members now , not when we've all but declared war with the Clave."
"Jonathan don't—please, please don't let this happen." Jace fought more, aware that the knife was cutting into his neck but barely feeling it past the horror in his chest. "Please—you could tell them to stop, and they would listen to you!" Jace implored.
"Shh, now take it easy. It's alright, everything's okay..." Jonathan murmured comfortingly. His tone was ruined then by the soft chuckle he made as Clary let out a scream that echoed in the night. He placed his chin down onto Jace's shoulder.
Jace's hands were tightly squeezing his arm, fingernails digging in deep at the terror that he felt. Jonathan didn't think he'd ever heard that much fear in Jace's voice before. He surely hadn't had it moments before, when he'd been facing multiple Shadowhunters bigger and older than him. Curious that he had it now, when Jonathan had inserted himself into the situation.
The two Morgenstern boys watched the scene playing out before them on the ground of the orchard with the same awe and horror as witnessing a divine tragedy. Jonathan smiled impishly, flicking his eyes over sideways to peer at Jace.
"Wow, what a fighter. I can see why you like her." he murmured in his ear.
"Jonathan, please. You could stop this; they would listen to you." Jace said again, eyes fixed on Clary. Jonathan ran his black eyes wonderingly over the side of Jace's face.
"And why would I do that?" he asked gently. "What is she to me? Some chess piece of Valentine's? He failed to mention her existence to me, so by default he also never said he needed her intact and unharmed...and she did try to escape. One could argue that we were just doing what was necessary to keep it from happening again. Who knows, with anger like that, she might just kill her next guard. Can't have that. " Jonathan grinned mischievously. "They're right you know. She needs to learn her lesson...as do you, Angel Boy." The grin had slid off his face and Jace turned in to meet his eyes, hearing the sudden change in his voice. He scoffed in disbelief.
"So, that's what this is about?" Jace asked numbly. "You're just punishing me for what I said earlier?" The incredulity was plain in his voice. Jonathan raised his eyebrows.
"Mm, but you really hurt my feelings, Jace. See, I've had a little time to think about it all... I rebelled against Father for you, and he put a sword in me for my trouble. But honestly," The amused indifference left his voice as his mouth stretched into a bitter smile. "The Mortal Sword hurt far less than what you said. I have no shame in admitting it. So, I think it's only fair that I hurt you back just as deeply...See, you and I need balancing again, you understand? Now, I swear I didn't plan for this to happen—it sort of just fell into my lap... but I really can't think of a better way of making us even again than by making you watch this..."
Jonathan shoved him closer with his body as Clary let out another scream. The sound of it went straight through Jace and pushed ice through his blood like winter slush. One of the men pressed her head down to the ground, covering her mouth as Ashdown worked on unbuttoning her jeans. Jace fought even harder against Jonathan's hold—panic making him nearly mindless and unable to feel the sharp edge of the blade that was cutting into his throat.
Jonathan could suddenly smell thick, coppery blood hanging heavy in the air. The scent was sharp and cutting and had notes of urgency that nicely complimented the earthy smell of the wilting leaves and apples all around them. The fragrance of it was somehow intoxicating. Jonathan drew in a deep breath, pushing his nose up through the back of Jace's golden hair as he encouraged the scent deeper into his lungs.
The adrenaline and all the tension and violence of what was happening excited the darkness inside him. Though he had never quite reacted to Jace's angel blood in such an... animalistic way before.
His darkness whispered that it wanted to consume him; to devour and defile the pretty light inside him. It wanted to bathe in it like a profane baptism...
"You keep struggling like this and I'm gunna nick something important." Jonathan warned, though Jace could hear the amusement in his voice.
"Please, Jonathan—please. Don't do this, I'll do anything just—just tell them to stop. Make them stop, please they're terrorizing her!"
Jonathan only chuckled softly in response to his pleading. Jace's mind was wiped blank then with a sudden stab of dread that completely blindsided him. Jonathan had yanked him back against his front to readjust the knife at his throat, and Jace was aware that he could feel something hard pressing into him from behind. The air pushed out of his lungs in a small gasp of disbelief, and he fervently prayed that it was only the hardness of a weapon pushed through Jonathan's belt. The alternative was just too awful to consider... was Jonathan getting off on this?
Jonathan turned him around suddenly in his arms and Jace was aware that his spine felt limp like overcooked pasta. He felt too numb from shock to resist and could only stare back at him in a mute daze.
Jace had a single, lonely tear track streaking down his dirty cheek, and too much blood smeared at his throat. He looked absolutely traumatized.
Jace couldn't stop himself from raking his eyes downwards, though he truly did not want to know if Jonathan was aroused or not. Thankfully, it really only appeared to be just the hilt of a dagger there at his slim hip—and Jace couldn't stop the relieved exhalation that made it past his gritted teeth; though it had come out sounding more like a sob than anything.
Jonathan looped an arm around the back of his neck and reached out with the hand not holding the knife to smudge the tear away with his knuckle. He smiled gently at him, in a way that was clearly meant to be comforting but wasn't.
"Alright," he murmured. "But don't say that I never do anything for you, little brother."
He turned Jace back around in the intimate circle of his arms and shoved him closer. Jace cringed as Jonthan let out a sharp whistle right next to his ear. The sound of it blasted through the din and struggling and all the men stopped what they were doing immediately and turned to them to give Jonathan their attention.
Jace could see that they had tied Clary's hands together in front of her with her belt. Her jeans were unzipped enough to see that she was wearing a pair of lacy, white panties.
Jace pulled his eyes away, frowning, but not quickly enough. Jonathan caught him looking and an evil smile lit his face.
Jonathan closed his knife with a flourish and tucked it away into his back pocket. Jace seemed numb now—as if the cessation of all the struggling had pulled everything out of him, leaving him hollow. Jonathan held his hand out to the nearest Circle member, while leaving his other clamped down onto Jace's shoulder to keep him where he was. His fingertips settled into the grove of Jace's clavicle like a bespoke pair of gloves.
"I need your belt." Jonathan said to the man closest to him. The Circle member took his belt off and handed it over immediately without a word. Jonathan smiled. That kind of obedience was special.
Jonathan then pulled Jace's hands behind his back and secured them tightly with the belt. Jace barely seemed to register it, though he could feel the tough leather digging into his wrists. He was so confused. They were all watching and Jace was suddenly aware of his heart thudding painfully against his sternum, accompanied by an awful feeling of foreboding. He turned his face inward towards Jonathan.
"What the hell are you doing?" he breathed.
Jonathan only beamed at him, and finished making sure he was restrained adequately. Jace could feel a creeping, prickling sensation at the nape of his neck. It was almost like having a wolf behind him, breathing down his spine. He tensed, bracing for the sudden feeling of teeth that never came.
When Jonathan was finished tying him, he pushed Jace closer to where Clary was still being held down in the leaves. He looked down at her and smiled.
"I'm doing you both a favor."
