Warning: NSFW.

Chapter 4

One thing Jacob Seed was always proud of was his ability to take care of himself.

On the one hand, he was a born protector, knew it in his soul as far back as he could remember. When Old Man Seed was hollering about godly things while beating his wife and children in a most ungodly way, Jacob was there to take the brunt of the abuse and the blame. He could handle it—the others were too young, John especially. When they were shipped off by Child Protective Services to the farm and treated as little more than slaves, Jacob was the one hauling around the heavy hay bales and handling the sharp tools as much as he could so his brothers wouldn't have to. He was the one who set fire to the farm, determined to burn it and his shitty foster parents down to the ground and escape with his brothers, certain that he could look after them on his own just as well as he looked after himself. The consequence of that was higher authorities tearing them away from him, but he hoped against hope that Joe and John would at least be put in a good place, and he would take care of himself in the meantime until they could be reunited later.

He went off to war, acted in the role of de facto protector to his comrades and America more broadly, or so they'd have him believe. He survived hand-to-hand combat, explosions that shot shrapnel and blistered his skin away, orders from superiors that were revolting in their disregard for human life. But above all, he took care of himself. That was why he didn't hesitate to put down any threat, soldier or civilian; that was why Miller had to die. His mental state might have devolved into a trauma-stricken shell of a man, but he kept the sharpness of his mind and the finely-honed survival instincts that carried him through homelessness and back onto the metaphorical doorstep of his family.

Which was why, with the rising of the sun the next morning, Jacob swallowed his pride, ignored the reports of the Deputy's killing spree from the night before, and left the Veterans Center for Joseph's island.

He had realized, while laying on his back plagued with thoughts of his ireful soulmate and the hum in his blood from his first orgasm in fucking years, that this was a problem he couldn't deal with on his own. His logical mind spent the entire night flip-flopping between various strands of what-ifs and half-baked solutions to a problem he couldn't even define, before he finally resolved to himself that he needed help.

And for the first time in his life, help was available.

Joseph was found preaching the morning sermon to those lucky enough to live at the compound, the sunlight pouring through the window painting his bare skin with a holy glow. His yellow eyes briefly darted towards Jacob as he entered the church, but Jacob gave a nod indicating not to bother interrupting himself, leaning casually in the doorway and listening. Years and years of hearing Joseph preach found Jacob memorizing his most popular sermons, but he wasn't the only one—he could see several Faithful in the frontmost pew mouthing along to his words, and others nodding at just the right places.

As Joseph thanked his followers as parting words, Jacob shuffled off to the side to allow for the filing of people out the door and back to their duties, nodding gruffly at the few who were courageous enough to greet him with a civil, "Good morning, Brother Jacob."

"This is a surprise, my brother," said Joseph, greeting him with a press of his forehead to Jacob's before leading him out of the church, the Word of Joseph held against his hip.

"Bad time?" Jacob replied shortly, even though he doubted it.

"Of course not. You sent no word, is all."

Jacob said nothing for a moment, just allowing Joseph to guide him through the chattering bustle of people to the Father's personal cabin—nondescript and indistinguishable from the others. Joseph was always good at keeping himself above everyone while remaining firmly a part of the common folk.

"Is something troubling you, brother?"

He could never tell whether Joseph really was psychic, or if Jacob was more of an open book than he thought. Both options disturbed him.

"Not here," he grunted, jerking his head in the direction of the cabin.

Looking curious, Joseph nodded and remained politely silent until they were in the privacy of his cabin. The weight of his secret was heavy on the back of his tongue, but Jacob kept his mouth closed, watching as Joseph made a show of placing the Word on the coffee table before clasping his hands in front of him, waiting for Jacob to speak his mind.

He had the bizarre urge to blurt out, "Forgive me Father, for I have sinned," under Joseph's patient, expectant gaze—and yet again, Jacob found it absolutely clear how Joseph managed to piece together a reverent empire.

"We… have a security problem," was the most logical way to begin things, at least to Jacob.

Joseph just blinked. "One that you cannot handle?"

He was almost taken in by pride at Joseph's sheer confidence in his abilities, to the point where the idea that Jacob might be failing was clearly foreign.

"Something like that. You remember I caught the Deputy a while back?"

Joseph's eyes momentarily narrowed with that dangerous edge. "I do. I trust you have heeded my words?"

"That's… not what I was referring to." Glancing around for hidden threats, Jacob leaned in close to Joseph's face and said quietly, in a rushed tone, "The Deputy is my soulmate."

The air was thick with the confession in the silence that followed. Joseph didn't smile, but his face filled with light, like he was instinctively joyous before having even processed what the words meant. It was just another drop in the bucket of many confirmations that Joseph, somehow, knew more than he should.

Then came the smile, like the break of dawn over the hills and valleys of his face, and Joseph reached out with both hands to grip his shoulders.

"I am so happy for you, Jacob," said Joseph, his voice trembling with the strain of hiding sheer joy under a collected tone that only frustrated Jacob further. "This is wondrous news."

"No it isn't, Joe," Jacob snapped in response, ignoring Joseph's exasperated look tempered by fondness. "Our enemy is now my greatest weakness. It's a security threat—you yourself said she was Hell, that she was destined to bring ruin to us. How the fuck is it helpful that she's got that kinda leverage now?"

In an unusual moment of candidness outside of his calm, stoic messiah persona, Joseph chuckled and remarked, "Finding your soulmate can hardly be translated into matters of security." It sure as fuck could, if her little break-in last night was anything to go by, and Jacob opened his mouth to argue so, but Joseph silenced him with a raised hand. "This is a gift from God, Jacob. Why do you fight it?"

"I don't want her," he said stubbornly, before cringing at how he sounded like a child even to his own ears, and Joseph didn't need an all-seeing, God-granted inner eye to see it too.

The dangerous glint in Joseph's eyes returned. "Are you questioning God's judgement?"

He didn't give two fucks about God's judgement of him—he was going to Hell one way or another, no matter what he did or said or thought or questioned during his lifetime—but Joe's judgement? That he would submit to.

"No, Joseph," he muttered, a soldier in deference to his superior.

Joseph looked unconvinced. "And yet you reject her?"

"She almost killed John. She'd kill you, if she had the chance."

"God will protect us."

Jacob huffed out an impatient breath—he didn't fucking get it, couldn't see past the bullshit rhetoric about soulmates espoused by the world to see why being tied to the Deputy was the worst possible risk to the Family's safety and to the Project. This was going precisely as he'd expected, a verbal run-around he was sure to leave with no better answers than when he arrived.

"Don't you see?" Joseph continued, taking his silence as acceptance. "You allowed the Deputy to walk the Path that God intended for her, as I instructed, and the Path led her to you. The Deputy will be saved, and her salvation will be in you."

Jacob almost snorted—the only 'saving' he was capable of doing was with bullets and bloodshed, which was to say none. Before he could respond, Joseph raised one of his hands to grip the back of Jacob's head, pressing their foreheads together again.

"I know your deeds, your love and faith, your service and perseverance," Joseph murmured, "and that you are now doing more than you did at first." There was the goddamn Bible quote, right on schedule. "But now you must do more. You must let her in, Jacob, and convince her to let you in as well. You are two halves of a whole too close to see the resemblance. God has paired you together despite the great divide between our sides. It is up to you to find the reason why."

Joseph's advice was so frustratingly foreign, so antithetical to Jacob's entire being, that it left him halfway to snarling in his brother's face. He couldn't let her in. He was a broken man old enough to be her fucking father who barely knew how to navigate having a family at all, let alone a soulmate to boot, and hadn't felt anything besides numbness and rage for longer than she'd been alive.

Besides, she didn't want him to begin with. And neither did he. Not really.

"Tell me what to do," he half-begged, and Joseph thankfully took pity on him, releasing him and standing back.

"Bring her back to St. Francis, if you can. Keep her safe. You are our protector, and you will be hers."

Shaking his head, Jacob stated dryly, "Wild things like her don't appreciate being trapped unless we break 'em first."

Besides, it hardly seemed a good idea to trap the Deputy in the heart of a crucial base of operations she'd already managed to break into once. Breaking out hardly seemed like a massive leap.

Shockingly, Joseph replied, "It is up to your discretion whether you want to put her through the conditioning."

His eyebrows raised all the way up into his hair. "You think I should brainwash her into joining us?"

"It is not the Path I would choose," Joseph admitted, "but regardless of which road you take, her destination is at your side." When Jacob continued to look uncertain, he added, "You know as well as I do that sacrifices are necessary for the greater good."

Jacob scowled, hating the way his own words were used against him… even if the logic did make sense. With little else to say, he ducked his head and muttered, "Yes, Joseph."

"Have faith, brother," said Joseph as Jacob moved to exit the cabin, forcing him to halt in his tracks. "And do not be afraid to love her."

"I'm not afraid," barked Jacob, so he wouldn't have to acknowledge the possibility that a concept as foreign as love could be included in this hell storm.

He refrained from slamming the door behind him just barely—wouldn't want to make it seem to the Flock that the Family was divided in any way—and strode with an angry pace back to the waiting helicopter. Joseph could be seen watching with hands clasped behind him as the chopper lifted him into the sky and towards the mountains, but he pretended not to see him.

Jacob returned to the Veterans Center in a worse mood than when he'd left. Peaches was overseeing the trials at the Grand View, and operations had already been organized in case Joseph's counsel took most of the day, so Jacob stalked into his office to contemplate his situation without being bothered. More questions than answers had been his reward for asking for help, and he almost scoffed at himself for the sheer stupidity of that decision.

How, then, to deal with the Deputy?

His first instinct, somewhat to his shame, was to continue his work as normal and pretend he never even met her. He could pull it off, technically—his Chosen could track her down and bring her in, Peaches could run her conditioning trials as he'd been trained, and he could organize his duties around her so that they never had to lay eyes on each other again. But that was cowardly, so he needed another plan. The original plan had been to kill her, but with the combination of Joseph's orders and Jacob's own irrational unease at the idea, that was no longer an option.

He considered Joseph's words, the open possibility of just hauling the Deputy back to St. Francis kicking and screaming, breaking her with trial after trial into the perfect soldier who no longer had the mental fortitude to say no to him? That thought roiled his gut even worse than killing her did, and he dismissed the idea outright—never in his life had he felt the urge to take a woman against her will, no matter what bullshit some of his comrades-in-arms espoused, and he wasn't going to start now. Besides, he needed her as an unwitting plant among the Whitetails' ranks, a plan he'd all but forgotten about in his frustration.

It occurred to him suddenly, as he sat hunched in his chair with his chin propped on clasped hands, that the Deputy must be having a similar debate. What was her plan? Would she do as he was thinking, just continue ruining the Project bit by bit and pretending he didn't exist?

Where was she now?

There was a stack of reports on his desk he hadn't bothered to look at before fleeing to Joseph's island, but now he snatched them up and shuffled through the papers in search of her whereabouts. Most of the reports were about the casualties at the Center—two of his very best Chosen, and six veteran soldiers—and attempting to track the direction and methods used to break in and out. But nowhere did it say where she had gone today, whether any Project happenings were disrupted. He had to remind himself that it had only been around six hours since they'd… spoken… so chances were she hadn't even had the time to wake up, let alone cause a major enough disturbance to warrant a report.

She might even have fled the region altogether. He briefly considered calling up Faith or John on the radio to see if they had any news themselves, but thought better of it—they would ask questions, if Joseph hadn't already informed them of Jacob's so-called 'wondrous news', and Jacob especially didn't want to deal with Faith's grating cheerfulness or John's smug assholery.

But he could call her.

Jacob froze in his seat, staring at the bulge in his pocket where the radio pressed against his jeans. He could go straight to the source for his answers. Maybe, if he just talked to her again, they could figure out what to do. Last night had been… too raw, too quick to establish anything but the truth of their situation, and too full of mistakes. This time they could meet somewhere neutral, somewhere where no one could overhear them and risk making their secret public to both sides of the war, and figure out where to go from here. He had the perfect place in mind—a small hunting lodge abandoned even before the Reaping began, left relatively intact, nestled deep in the woods and easy to miss without knowing where you're going. Jacob had found it early on in the war when he'd had the time to personally scout the terrain and flex his old hunting muscles, before his little hellcat of a soulmate began tearing through his region at mach speed.

His radio was already pulled out and in his hand, eager to get this resolved, when his brain caught up with his body and he paused.

What the fuck was he going to say?

Jacob had to have spent a good fifteen minutes in his own head, going through a reel of possible things to say, and potential replies. Would she even agree to meet with him? What should he mention (or avoid mentioning) to keep from setting her off? He felt like a predator trying not to spook its prey, trying to figure out how to approach without stumbling. What would he do if she ignored him? His pride balked at the thought of begging her over the radio to talk to him. No, he wouldn't stoop that low, not even for answers. If she wanted to avoid the matter, that was fine with him, but first he would stop acting like a coward and just get it done.

His hand raised, he found the channel, and he pressed the button.

"Deputy."

His breath was drawn to say more, but the simple utterance of her chosen title inexplicably rattled him to his core and his throat closed. He'd spoken—it was out there. The seconds ticked by. Would she answer?

The radio crackled, and he actually felt his heartbeat pick up a little faster. Pathetic.

"What the fuck do you want?" his soulmate snarked.

The reply was curt and dripping with disdain, but he was too turned around by the fact that she'd actually answered at all to notice it—one thing to be said about the Deputy was her stalwart silence in the face of Faith, John or Joseph's preaching. Yet here she was, speaking to him. He spent a moment in silence wondering what the implications of that were, trying to map out a pattern of behavior in his mind like he was back to studying animals for the Judge project, before he realized it'd probably be a good idea to reply back. Once again, he took a breath, but it went to waste. He had her attention… but now what?

"I want to see you," was what his confused, exhausted mind blurted out before it could properly register.

It was so blunt, so heavy with a suggestiveness he didn't actually mean that Jacob almost buried his face in his hands, unable to help glancing at the door to his office in case someone heard that phenomenal blunder. For fuck's sake, why was he so bad at this?

"Why?" the Deputy replied, matching his bluntness and tinged slightly with apprehension.

I have no fucking idea, he managed to keep from saying.

"You know why," Jacob murmured instead, keeping purposely vague in case they were being listened to.

The Deputy—clever girl—remained as ambiguous as he was as she responded curtly, "Don't see what that has to do with anything."

"I think you do, Deputy."

"I thought you wanted nothing to do with me, after you chucked me to the Whitetails," the Deputy snapped. "Didn't seem to change anything then, did it?"

He huffed out an impatient breath, taking a moment to stare down at the radio like it was the one offending him. She was just as evasive conversationally as she was when she was being hunted, the wily little kitten—he was getting absolutely nowhere.

"There's a cabin southwest of the Stone Ridge Chalet," he said matter-of-factly, ignoring her snark. "At the base of the mountains, deep into the trees. Far off-road, not on a map. Meet me there, without any of your Resistance friends."

"No."

"Why not?" Jacob asked, smirking at her petulant tone.

"Because I'm not your fucking pet?" she suggested flatly.

It was on the tip of his tongue to quip that she did belong to him, in a way, but the dual implications of that were harrowing enough that he pushed it aside.

"I could get the Chosen to take you there."

He regretted the threat the second it fell from his lips, and he received pointed silence as punishment. He exhaled again, this time in frustration at how badly he was fucking this up. Jesus Christ, why the hell couldn't she have been anyone else's soulmate? He could go back to doing his goddamn work in peace, and she wouldn't have to sit through stupid conversation with an old man who barely knew (or cared) how to talk to people.

So for the second time that day, Jacob Seed swallowed his pride.

"Please," he bit out, the back of his neck already burning with sheer embarrassment.

He'd actually resorted to begging, despite all his earlier certainties. What the fuck was he doing?

To regain some dignity, he added, "After sunset. Come alone. I will too."

The silence after that was so long, Jacob genuinely thought she had decided to ignore him altogether.

"I'll think about it," she offered on a mutter.

Those were the words they ended on, a half-promise that guaranteed absolutely nothing, but it was enough to satisfy Jacob. It certainly could have gone worse, minor fuck-ups aside. She would come—he was almost sure of it. If she was his soulmate, there would be no way she would avoid meeting the enemy leader… Whether she would heed his words and come alone was another story. It was no real concern—he would be cautious, scout the terrain, have the Chosen watch the cameras for incoming armies.

Part of him wanted to just forgo his work and climb back into bed, now that all of the urgent matters were out of the way—he'd just gone what had to be twenty-eight hours without rest and a straight week without more than a few scattered hours caught here and there, while juggling the emotional baggage of whatever the hell his situation was—but he thought better of it. The Deputy had already disrupted his daily routine, which was probably contributing to why Jacob felt so utterly derailed… alongside having his bedroom broken into and pleasure wrung from him against his will. He ignored the little pulse of heat in his gut at the memory and rose from the office, checking his watch to see what part of the schedule he was due to slip into, ready to distract himself from the anticipation of seeing his soulmate with work.

When night fell, Jacob left the Veterans Center in the hands of his men once more and slipped into the forest. He had dressed in plainclothes for stealth, his Air Force jacket abandoned in favor of a brown hoodie drawn up to hide his hair; the only remnants of his persona were the dog tags and lucky rabbit's foot tucked into his tee, having even forgone his trusty but too brightly colored MBP .50 for a recurve bow and a hidden pistol. He'd missed this—the cool humidity of night, the smell of damp earth and leaves, the rustle of critters skittering into their hiding holes as he passed by. He almost felt like chasing them, just for old time's sake, but the promise of the Deputy and the risk of running into wandering Whitetails kept him moving.

He'd spent the day running his recruits into the ground with extensive PT exercises, trying to distract himself from thinking of their meeting with high-adrenaline drills and yelling himself hoarse. For the first time in a long time, he was looking forward to something with more than just placid interest. He had no idea how to deal with that, nor what to think of the way his pace was more hurried than cautious the closer he got to the cabin.

When he reached the road, Jacob pulled out his camera and scouted with its night vision for hidden threats. This would be the perfect place for the Resistance, if his meddlesome Deputy had in fact called them in, to gather their forces—it was the closest meeting point to the lodge, where trucks carrying soldiers could easily group to deliver them into the forest. He found none, but that meant nothing—he knew from reports that she tended to shy away from bulky vehicles that couldn't be taken offroad. Her companions could easily have joined her on foot as well.

As he skulked towards his destination, he scouted with the camera. He was briefly spooked when he spotted a pronghorn, its eyes glowing eerily before it ran to safety away from him, but his efforts yielded no Resistance, and no Deputy. He was almost disappointed when he circled the area of the cabin up to the base of the mountains and found nothing but startled critters—not because he wanted a firefight, but because he was now realizing there was the very real possibility that she wouldn't come at all.

With the area cleared (for now) Jacob pushed open the door to the cabin with his shoulder and stepped inside. The moon was large and bright overhead, enough light streaming in through the windows to take in the old place. Nothing appeared to have been touched—there was a fine layer of dust and a bit of tree pollen from the window over the fireplace that didn't close all the way, and the canned foods he'd stocked on the shelves were still there. The throw blanket was still crumpled on the couch from when he'd last caught a power nap after a particularly long hunting session. He briefly checked the freezer for the venison and rabbit meat he'd stored, and was pleased to find the power hadn't been cut and the meat hadn't spoiled.

The air inside the cabin was chilly, and Jacob glanced at the fireplace, running through the list of risks lighting a fire would invite. Ultimately he chose to light it, briefly stepping outside to grab a few pieces of neatly stacked wood and kindling—even if anyone saw the golden glow from the windows outside, it would be because they were there specifically to ambush him, the lodge too far off the beaten path to be stumbled upon by any but the most dedicated of wanderers. He rose with a satisfied noise as the kindling caught the spark from his flint at once, the lodge brightening up with a merry flicker.

With his task done, Jacob wandered over to the couch and sat down to await the Deputy, tossing the throw blanket over the armrest. It was a nice enough place, he mused as he alternated between glancing out the windows for threats and taking in the sight of his little paradise. Whoever had owned it was a recluse—Jacob's kind of man, or woman—but had a fair bit of money to invest in some fine enough furnishings. The fireplace was one of those old miniature wood-burning ones that boasted the cabin's age, but the couch was plush and the appliances new. No bed, but there was no need—this wasn't meant to be home, not really, just a hidden gem for a hunter's purposes. Last time he'd crashed overnight here, he'd made up a cot out of the couch cushions and the furs in the cupboard. In another bizarre moment of out-of-character emotion, Jacob hoped she would like it. He was almost glad to share it with another person.

He scoffed at himself with an audible breath, crossing his arms and trying to ignore the deep-seated exhaustion in his bones from too long awake as he leaned back against the cushions. He shouldn't give a shit one way or another whether she approved of his cabin or if she wanted to burn it to the ground. The only thing he cared about was whether she was brave enough to face him, and smart enough not to bring along an entourage. If she didn't like him now, she certainly wouldn't like him any better after he slaughtered her friends. Maybe she'd even kill him. He almost welcomed the idea of the end, of never again having to think or question what to do going forward, if not for his duties to the Project and his Family.

Jacob didn't even notice himself drifting off until he was dragged from darkness by the alarming feeling of a hand on his shoulder.

The familiar rush of adrenaline shot to his every nerve ending, pushing him to leap off the couch and grab his assailant's wrists. The breath was knocked out of them as he expertly kicked their legs out from under them and pinned them to the floor with an iron grip, their weapon clattering to the floor just out of reach, the muscles in his arms tense with the urge to wrap around their throat and squeeze until bones broke.

Instead, his sleep-addled vision cleared, and he found himself staring into the wide-blown eyes of the Deputy.

Green, he noticed dumbly in his shock. Like the forest.

"Son of a—" she choked out, struggling for breath after the sheer strength of his knockout, and he felt a brief twinge of regret. She regained her bearings soon enough, because she glared up at him and hissed, "Why the fuck do you keep doing that, asshole?"

He frowned back and replied dryly, "Typically people know it's a bad idea to startle a war vet."

She opened her mouth like she wanted to say more, but her breath caught again when his eyes couldn't help but wander down to her chest, round, shadowed in the firelight, heaving with panic and glistening with sweat. He tensed when he realized why such a tempting sight was being dangled in front of his eyes—because he was on top of her, his knees pinning her hips in place, her wrists held down by her head like captured prey about to be ravaged, and sweet Jesus, the position wouldn't be out of place in a fucking porno.

The realization had him hardening in his pants faster than he thought possible anymore, but his sole saving grace was the Deputy's wonderful tendency to keep her hands covered by gloves. Their skin wasn't touching, so they could still keep their minds and rectify this little slip-up…

…if not for the painfully tantalizing way her breath shivered out of her as she too registered their situation, puffing over his face in a pleasant tickle. He stared her down, jaw clenched, unable to tell what expression he was wearing as his mind short-circuited at the sight of the mighty Deputy still and pliant under him, brown curls threaded with gold like sunlight through branches spilling over the animal skin rug. His inhale rattled, and only helped to breathe her in, the scent of her like the sweetness of wildflowers and autumn leaves. Everything about her reminded him of the woods—and dear God, she was made for him, wasn't she, everything he ever reveled in caught in the nimble, powerful body of a warrior woman. Her chest dipped and rose with every barely restrained breath, and he had the insane wish that he had more than two limbs so that he could keep her in place and pull out the breasts straining against her tank top for his hungry gaze.

Instead, his eyes were drawn from her wary ones to a jagged, violently red mark on the side of her pretty neck. He frowned down at it the longer he looked—the skin at the edges was torn like someone had tried shoving a serrated blade into her, and the thick white strands sticking out of the ends of the gash were odd. Was that fishing wire? He caught himself making an upset growl, even if a part of him was impressed with her ingenuity. What kind of fucking healthcare did the Resistance have? Or was this done to stop her from bleeding out in the middle of battle?

"What happened?" he barked, glaring at the offending wound.

"John's another man down," she answered, her voice caught between curtness with a slightly breathy edge.

She did flee to John's region, he realized… and he'd coaxed her back to him. Triumph.

"Is that fishing wire?"

"All I had," the Deputy bit out, trying to shrug but failing under his still-strong grip.

"You killed the fucker?" he asked seriously.

"My cougar did."

Jacob blinked. "You have a cougar?"

"And a bear."

They returned to staring each other down in silence, the Deputy with a carefully schooled expression of neutrality, Jacob with what had to be utter astonishment at the listed arsenal of wild animals she apparently had at her disposal, wondering if this savage thing had tamed the entire forest to fight her battles.

Definitely my soulmate, he thought dreamily, before leaning down to lick a wet line over the wound.

The gesture was unplanned, irrational and plainly animalistic, but Rook howled out her approval under his mouth and he might have matched the noise—he didn't know for sure from how pleasure exploded on his tongue, and it tasted like salt and heaven. The ecstasy from his bond to the wild woman pinned underneath him bowled him over just as badly as the first time, dumping so much pure goodness into his empty body he thought he might be crushed from the weight of it. Her leathery hands were scrabbling onto his back as though trying to grab hold of him—when had he let go of her wrists?—but he was too overwhelmed to do anything but moan, actually moan, into her pale throat.

"You feel so fuckin' good," he slurred against her skin, feeling it vibrate against his mouth with her answering call of approval.

Her hips hauled themselves off the floor and collided with his, grinding the zippers of their jeans together. He jerked forward to join her when the motion pressed a semi-satisfying friction against his still-hard cock, and then growled at the fucking audacity of this woman, going from turning his world entirely upside down one minute to throwing herself at him like nothing would feel better than dry humping him in a cabin miles away from civilization the next. In punishment, he snarled and leaned over to the other side of her neck, sinking his teeth into the warm flesh just deep enough to be felt, just enough to mark her a little without giving her another wound. Her hands plunged into his hair at once, and Jacob half-expected her to try to tear him off, but to his utter delight she shoved his head closer and threw her hips up again, whining like a bitch in heat.

Fucking perfect, Jacob purred to himself as he licked and nipped and sucked at her throat, the air in his lungs leaving him every time she managed a particularly well-angled grind against his fly. He had to mark every inch of her, leave her with bruises and teeth marks so prominent everyone on Earth would know she belonged to him, without causing too much damage—a foreign feeling, but instinctive with her. But the buttoned-up Deputy had too much skin hidden away for him to complete his task, so he let go of the fistful of curls he'd grabbed at some point and began tearing with all his strength at her flannel shirt, fully intended to rip the fabric apart and get it out of his way once and for all.

The clattering of buttons flying in all directions apparently triggered something in his soulmate, because Rook made a strangled noise and, in a shocking show of strength, hooked her booted foot around his knee and flipped him onto his back. He landed on the carpet with a comical 'oof' as the breath was knocked out of him once more, and he was torn between utter awe that she'd gotten the better of him and unbearable grief as their skin parted.

She hovered over him, just long enough for Jacob to regain his bearings and stare up at her, half-dazed and half-wary as the high crept away and sanity (what was left of it) returned. Rook, though her expression was hard as stone, was beautifully flushed and straddling his hips. She wasn't pushing him away… yet.

"Tell me why you left me for the Whitetails," she panted, thighs tense around him like she was halfway to darting out the door. "Why'd you put me through all that and then get rid of me?"

Jacob almost laughed—she wanted to talk about this here, right now, her pert little ass inches from his erection?—but since that'd probably set her off he just met her eyes. There was hurt in her voice, maybe the same kind he felt when she called him an emotionless monster, and he ached to fix it.

So he told her the truth, or part of it. "I didn't know I wanted you yet."

He almost cringed at how simultaneously crass and dramatically mushy it sounded, and it didn't seem to change much in terms of how Rook was looking at him. But he didn't move, pretended he wasn't trembling slightly from arousal and the desire to grab ahold of her again, pretended like he didn't want to shy away from her intense gaze. It lasted no less than a brief second, however, because Rook seized his face with her gloved hands and leaned down to kiss him.

He growled with triumph into her mouth, the pleasure returning in full force accompanied by the most glorious realization: she wanted this. Maybe it was the soul bond talking, but right now, she wanted him. Had she been all talk earlier, ruffling her feathers to try and intimidate the big bad predator away, where now she presented her neck in submission (metaphorically and literally) to his assault? This might all come crashing down around his head once they both cooled off, but right now he reveled in it, sliding his hands down to her hips to press her harder against him and kissing her back with such ferocity it almost hurt. She was just as feral as he was, biting at his lips and battling against his tongue, snarling every time he dared to try and up the ante.

It was a fight for dominance, he realized, and she was winning. Not for long.

It actually took much of his strength to wrest control out from under her and flip them back around, only instead of pinning her back to the floor he hauled her up so he was upright and she was seated in his lap. Rook made an upset noise when he overpowered her, but purred when the position allowed her to rock herself even more effectively against his dick—fucking Christ, he was harder than steel right now, and the jeans were not helping one bit—and her hands began wandering again. He bit at her exposed collarbone, continuing the trail of licks and bites and carefully straddling the line between visibility and pain.

"…off," he caught her mumbling into his hair, pulling him back to the present. "Want it off, take 'em off…"

He'd barely registered her tugging at his sweater, but the idea seemed pretty fucking genius to him, and he pressed whiskery kisses to her jugular while sliding his hands up her jacket. She hissed at having to stop yanking at his clothes to let him pull the jacket off her arms; the flannel was little more than scraps now, so he made quick work of it by tearing the fabric in two and tossing the useless bits somewhere behind them. He was left struck by the sight of her in nothing more than a black bra—borrowed, from how clearly her breasts strained against the too-small cups—her pale skin so close to flawless if not for the sprinkling of freckles here and there and the occasional scar. It would take barely a twitch of his fingers to get the fabric out of the way, already picturing the way her pretty tits would spill out into his hands, he wanted to kiss and bite and taste—

His vision was blurred by fabric coming up around his head, blocking his view of his beautiful girl, and he felt genuine rage bubble up in him at the offense. A second later, he realized she'd succeeded in wrangling his tee off him, and her bare hands (when the fuck had she taken her gloves off? He was almost concerned at how many things he kept missing) slid over his cratered chest. His head kicked back at the searing pleasure that spilled from her fingertips into places that hadn't felt anything but hard punches and open wounds in decades, while she leaned over to mouth at his throat and sink her teeth into his skin. It was ruinously good, but a faint alarm bell remained in the back of his mind as her fingers slid over his mangled skin, dipped into scars from bullet holes, thumbed at the blisters from the chemical explosion and the splattered slices from the shrapnel that followed it. He wasn't exactly the prettiest looking thing around, and he tensed slightly with the anticipation of a negative reaction, of Rook deciding this old man almost twice her age was too battered to be worthy of her attention.

It was a stupid, insecure thought, he realized a split second later, when she bent over to bite at his nipple.

"Fuck," stuttered out of him against his will, heat shooting down to his cock so strongly he almost went off in his pants.

There was no way in fuck that was happening—the swiftness of his last orgasm was humiliating enough—so he ignored her cocky grin and shoved her back down onto the floor, tearing at her bra with his teeth. He licked at the left breast when it tumbled free, reveling in the flutter of her heartbeat against his mouth and the wild moans that filled his ears, before Rook grew impatient again and started attacking his belt with one hand, playing with his chest with the other. She just seemed to know instinctively how to push all his buttons, the hand occupied with his jeans pausing every so often to grind the heel of her hand against his straining dick.

They were about to be naked, Jacob realized dumbly, once the shock of her touch had worn off. He was going to have this gorgeous thing all to himself. He'd get to be inside her.

The mere imagining of having his soulmate's wet heat wrapped around his cock had him calling for mercy into the sweet valley of her tits, and he was overtaken by the immediate need to make it a reality. Breath coming out in uneven pants, Jacob hooked his fingers into the waistband of her jeans and yanked at them, unable to help bending down to kiss the dip of her belly right beside her hip. She whined and began wriggling underneath him; he snarled, thinking she was trying to fight him for control again, but he heard the muted thump of boots hitting carpet, and he nipped at her hip in a silent plea for forgiveness for his harsh judgement.

"You want me inside you, baby?" he rumbled against her skin, surprising himself with his ability to talk.

"Fuck, yeah," Rook said in a pleasure-thickened whisper, like she was sharing a terribly wonderful secret with him.

It was such a life-affirming response that Jacob's head swam, and he found his hands instinctively moving to help her pull his jeans off alongside hers. She made the cutest growling noise when his cock was freed, coming to rest against her warm thigh—she was so fucking wet, her thighs were slippery with it, because of him?—and just that light contact had Jacob hissing and fumbling to finish stripping.

"Hands off, kitten," he ordered, a little unsteadily, when she reached over to grab his length. "Don't want this to be over already, do ya?"

He expected her to be cross at being bossed around from how the night had gone so far, but never in a million years did he expect her to smirk up at him like a smug, disobedient brat and ask him coyly, "Do I make you hard, Jacob Seed?"

He loved the way she said his name, like a title of the highest honor.

"The fuck does it look like?" he snarked at her with no real edge, grinding his dick against her to prove his point, and then again when it felt good.

She looked up at him with her woodsy eyes, wide with faux innocence while a smirk played on her mouth, giving Jacob pause. She wasn't just referring to right now, he realized, and felt his face heat up and his jaw tense. How did she know?

"How hard did I leave you last night?" she murmured, her hips moving in small twitches so the softness of her thigh lightly caressed his shaft.

Jesus Christ, she was gonna kill him.

"So goddamn hard, kitten," he confessed, a half-snarl half-plea for mercy. Trying to turn the tables on her, overwhelm her with the truth, Jacob flashed her a savage grin and said, almost proudly, "I came so fucking fast."

Jackpot—her pupils dilated, her breath picked up. She looked briefly drunk on the confession, but regained her bearings soon enough to croon out her own truth.

"You were luckier than me," she breathed, head lolling back when he took the liberty of fondling at her tits with both hands.

"Hmm? Why's that?" he hummed, plucking lightly at her nipples.

"You were already in your bedroom," she growled, seizing his hair and tugging with an almost painful strength for him to look at her. "I had to run before I could do anything about how wet you made me." His mouth parted in awe, floating on the joy of that little confession. "Had to fuck my own fingers in the middle of the fucking woods, Jacob."

The mental image of his Deputy writhing against her hand in the depths of the forest like some pleasure-addled wood nymph, just like he'd wondered, left him struck. His dick gave a vicious throb, and suddenly the idea of continuing to tease himself on her slick thigh was an unbearable hell, and he found himself sliding inside with barely a conscious thought.

They gasped in unison as he stretched her open, Jacob's eyes rolled too far back into his head to notice Rook arch against the floor until he regained his mind somewhat. It'd been a long twenty years since he'd felt warm walls slide over his cock, and never, never like this. His soul was on fire and he was drowning in her essence, and the sliver of brainpower he had left made him wonder if he wasn't good enough to experience something as wholly perfect as her—surely he was unworthy of this.

The thought fled the second his body took over and he started moving.

A small part of him wanted this to last—after all, who was to say Rook wouldn't tell him to take a hike after she'd had her fill of him?—but Rook was wrapping herself around him trying to connect every possible inch of her skin to his and he found himself entirely incapable of doing anything but fisting his hand in her hair and pounding into her so hard she was jerked backwards with every thrust, tits bouncing beautifully. They fucked like animals on the floor, their concurrent grunts and cries getting tangled with the screech of crickets outside and the wind through the trees and the faint cry of some night animal somewhere far away, two people devolved to their most basic instincts rutting in the wilderness, and it was perfect.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck," Rook whined right in his ear, her nails digging into his shoulders.

"Yeah? Good?" he just barely managed to string together.

She nodded drunkenly, head tipping back like he was God's light filling her up again and again.

"Pictured how you'd stretch me when I was touching myself," she whispered like a sinful secret, and he throbbed so hard inside her it hurt. "Could feel how hard you were, rubbing up against me. Wanted it inside me, so deep I could never forget it…"

"You tryin' to talk me into coming?" Jacob growled, half-accusatory half-desperate because dear Jesus, that's what was gonna happen if she didn't shut up.

Her eyes had fluttered closed when his pace became frenzied and violent, but now they cracked open so she could shoot him the dirtiest, most feral grin he'd ever seen. "Is it working?"

Jacob answered with a pained howl and a thrust so powerful it knocked the breath out of her, as his orgasm slammed down on him with all the suddenness and force of a bullet to the chest. The unbearable pleasure of it shot to his every living nerve ending and reawakened long-dead ones as he spilled inside her, holding onto her for dear life so he wouldn't crumble into pieces from the strength of it. He heard her shocked, stuttered breath and her cry of his name before she crumpled underneath him, throwing her head back and nearly screaming as she came, clenching around him so tightly he thought he might die from how good it felt. She was grinding herself against the base of his cock, keeping them both on the high until it became almost painful and he had to seize her hips to get her to stop.

"Fuckin' Christ, you're perfect," he mumbled when she melted over the carpet in satisfaction, eyes closed, pouty mouth parted as she panted.

The look she gave him when she reopened her eyes was so full of alarm and loaded with implications he didn't have the desire or mental capacity to deal with yet, so he just allowed his shaking limbs to collapse on top of her, head pillowed on the sweet cradle of her breasts. He sighed and shut his heavy eyes when she reached up and held him, palms splayed between his shoulder blades.

"You… aren't as emotionless as you make it seem, huh?" she said quietly, the remark caught halfway between a joke and apprehension.

Eyes too heavy to open, Jacob just floated on the buzz of pleasure tingling on his battered skin and breathed in her floral scent, thumbing at the arch of her knee in a half-assed attempt at reassurance.

"Thought I was, 'til you," he slurred into her chest, before the week's exhaustion finally caught up with him and sleep claimed him without warning.

A/N: It has been established in my personal canon that Rook is the queen of dirty talk.

Joseph's Bible quote is Revelation 2:19 New Itl. version.

PS. I base these fics on real in-game geography so feel free to go find the cabin!