Warning: NSFW (again. horny bbs)

Chapter 5

He woke with the immediate sense that something was off.

Not because of any outside noise or memories that had snaked their way into his dreams, which was what usually got him scrambling in the mornings, but because of the distinct lack of either of those things. Soldiers were silent, the Judges were silent, the prisoners were silent—the only sounds came from the rustle of wind through leaves and the faint hum of an appliance somewhere nearby. His sleep had been deep, undisturbed, dreamless… comfortable?

Something was definitely wrong here.

Jacob lifted his head with a confused grunt, his brain sluggishly catching up with his surroundings. He'd been lying face down on the carpet, naked as the day he was born, using his now numb arm as a pillow. It took a moment of shaking the feeling back into it for the realization to hit him.

The Deputy.

He sat up so rapidly he almost tipped back over, hissing at the soreness of overexerted muscles that hadn't been used in years, a very unfamiliar feeling. A quick glance around the cabin found it empty of anyone but him, and he wasn't awake enough to do anything but sit there in mild disappointment for a moment. Aside from his own nudity—and the scratch marks he felt burning between his shoulder blades—there were no traces of her presence ever having been felt in the cabin, her clothes gathered, her guns gone… save for the cupboard doors left ajar and the bundles of furs that had been tucked around him.

What had to be a stupid grin broke over his face as he pinched the edges of the speckled furs. She may have fled his presence, but she'd left behind a trail of telltale behavior he easily picked up on. For one, she hadn't killed him (and the stupidity of falling asleep next to the enemy with her arms and her radio easily accessible wasn't lost on him) which was telling enough as it was. The opportunity to put down a Herald had quite literally shoved itself into her arms, and she wouldn't even have had to look him in the eyes while doing it… but she didn't. For another, she'd taken clear care to drape him in warmth and comfort while he slept, and even gathered his discarded clothes into a pile at the base of the couch.

She, or at least a part of her, was his now.

Like the gruff old man he was, he shook off the egoistic satisfaction of last night and stood with a grunt to return to the Center. The sun shone in through the windows from well overhead, indicating how late he'd slept—Christ, it had to be, what, 1100 hours? Had he ever slept so late before?—and he had to piss like a racehorse, so he hurriedly pulled on his old clothes and boots and hunted around for his things. Somewhere in the chaos of last night, his radio had been knocked underneath the coffee table, and he crouched over to grab it. He'd left control of the Center to his Chosen, who were more than capable of running things in his absence, but he hadn't given any indication of when he'd be back, and wondered idly if any of the yet-to-be-broken recruits had noticed his absence and tried to mutiny. Shrugging his recurve bow and quiver back over his shoulder, Jacob did his business outside before jogging in the direction of St. Francis, hood drawn up to conceal himself.

"Anyone hearing, be informed I'm heading back to the Center, ETA one hour," Jacob barked into the radio, shielding his eyes from the bright yellow-green of the sun filtering through lush leaves.

It was a moment before anyone responded, but instead of news that business at the Center had imploded in his absence, Jacob received a confused, "Brother Jacob?" from what had to be some new blockhead, because who the fuck else would it be?

Snorting, Jacob answered curtly, "Is there a problem?"

"Yes, sir," was not the reply he was expecting. "Brother John arrived at the Center at 0800 in search of you, sir. When we couldn't establish contact, he sent out search parties. He'd assumed you'd been captured by the Resistance."

"What?" Jacob snarled without pressing the button, halting his march back home to stare in bemusement at the radio. He was gone for one night and John assumed he'd gotten his ass handed to him by the fucking Whitetails? "Tell Brother John there's nothing to fear, and send my men back to their duties," he ordered, once the sheer offense of the idea had worn off.

He shoved the radio back in his pocket without waiting for acknowledgement, the pleasantness of last night crushed by the clear shitstorm that was waiting for him back home. He could only hope John hadn't called on Joseph during the search—the last thing he needed was both of his little brothers fretting over him like he was a demented old man who'd unwittingly wandered into danger.

How the hell hadn't he heard John's calls, even with the radio buried out of reach under the furniture? Jacob angrily shook his head at his own foolishness as he trudged through the woods, trying to make up for the absurdity of sleeping through anything at all, let alone John's (probably panicked) shouting, with careful maneuvers away from known Whitetail cameras and areas of Resistance activity.

When he arrived at St. Francis, the front entrance was abuzz with dozens upon dozens of armored trucks and ATVs carrying his best Chosen, who showed their relief (if they could feel it anymore) with a stand to attention and a salute in his direction as he passed. He was too irritated to appreciate the acknowledgement, barking orders to get back to work as he stormed into the courtyard in search of John. The pretty boy hated the messiness of the Center, so Jacob circled around towards the makeshift helipad where John would certainly be loitering in wait for him. Sure enough, his babyest brother had his hands shoved into the pockets of his ridiculous coat, sunglasses glinting as they turned to face him.

"My office in thirty," Jacob snapped, before John could do anything but open his mouth.

He ignored his brother's annoyed grimace as he turned back around and stalked into the building, waving away greetings and relieved exclamations about his safety from passing soldiers as he trudged up towards his bedroom. The bow and quiver he tossed outside in the hall to be gathered later, pulling off his crumpled plainclothes to change. He thought at first to grab his laundered clothes and jacket and head straight down to yell at John, but the idea of making the bastard wait a bit longer made him drop the folded clothing back onto his bed and instead beeline for the shower.

As the water splattered the tiles and steam rose, Jacob took a moment to look at himself in the mirror, grimacing at his crumpled hair and the stubble dotting his neck. John would probably break down the door if he took the time to shave, but then he caught sight of the peppered marks his wild Deputy had left on him—one round teeth mark circling his nipple, another under his ear just barely covered by the scruff he'd been frowning at—and his pleasant mood from earlier returned. He wondered what marks he'd left on her, as he soaped himself up under the hot stream and avoided both the stinging lines she'd left down his back and the twitch in his dick from the thought.

He emerged freshly washed and freshly cross down the steps, finding John sitting cross-armed on his desk instead of the chair like the asshole he was and grimacing at the mess in his office, sunglasses in his hair now.

"Where the fuck were you?" was John's greeting, a succinct payback for Jacob's earlier tone. "I've been calling you all night."

"So I've been told," Jacob said shortly, matching his brother's cross-armed posture. "I'm gone one night and you take my men away from their duties for a fuckin' search party?"

"What else are we supposed to think when our brother doesn't answer anyone's calls?" John retorted, and Jacob groaned internally.

Our brother.

"You called Joseph?"

"Of course," scoffed John, and Jacob pretended to massage away a nonexistent headache for an excuse to bury his face in his hands. "All of us tried to get ahold of you, Jacob. Joseph has not stopped praying since sunrise, and Faith has yet to stop calling me for updates on your whereabouts. Which, by the way, you still haven't revealed," his brother added, punctuated by a jab of his pointer finger in Jacob's direction.

"Why do I need to let everyone know where I'm going all of a sudden?" Jacob deflected grumpily, but his good mood waned yet again, this time in favor of guilt. Knowing Joseph, he'd tortured himself on his knees before that stupid altar in his cabin for hours. Had he even eaten breakfast yet? He should let him know—

"If I disappeared and went radio silent for half a day, you'd have done the same," John interrupted his train of thought.

"Yeah, 'cause you'd stumble your way into the Resistance's waiting arms if we didn't keep an eye on you," he groused.

"That one was weaker than the traffic one," John said dryly, but at Jacob's glare his expression smoothed back out into seriousness. "You had us worried, Jacob. Don't do it again."

It was on the tip of his tongue to bark out a short-tempered, 'fine', but the longer he stared at John's expectant face, the more he started to look like the wide-eyed, chubby-cheeked little boy from decades ago who would ask Jacob in earnest why Daddy beat him so much harder than the rest of them.

"Sorry," he muttered instead, half to John and half at his boots. "I'll call Joseph and—"

"No, I'll call Joseph and," John quipped with a satisfied smile. "He'll want to see you, and I'm sure you'd rather wait until that bruise fades."

Jacob just blinked bemusedly until John tapped the side of his own neck with a knowing grin, and Jacob huffed out a breath and covered the Deputy's mark with his palm as though that would make this awkward-as-fuck conversation go away.

"Unbelievable," his brother said almost gleefully, ignoring Jacob's dangerously sharp glare. "How sinful of you, Brother. I would've never expected it."

"Jealous?" Jacob taunted instead of rising to John's bait, removing his hand and cocking his head to the side in a smug display of shamelessness.

John just smirked and replied, "I could hardly be jealous of someone who just got laid for the first time in decades."

Little fucking shit, Jacob thought with a rush of poorly concealed irritation, because it was true.

"Who should I be calling up for the Atonement, Jacob?" John continued, but his smirk fell as Jacob's annoyance bled away for surprise.

"Joseph didn't tell you?"

"How—why would Joseph tell me anything about that?" he asked bemusedly.

They spent a solid moment staring at each other, Jacob questioning all the while why Joseph wouldn't boast Jacob's 'wondrous news' to the rest of the Family, considering how pleased he'd been at the revelation.

Maybe it was to allow for the sheer satisfaction of John's reaction when Jacob leaned back against the wall and said, with a smirk of his own, "Found my soulmate, Johnny. Turns out it's the Deputy."

"Your soulma—the Deputy?" his brother spluttered, and it was comical enough to make Jacob actually laugh. "The Deputy is your soulmate? That hell child rampaging through our lands? That's who you were with?"

If it weren't for the pink-red flush on John's arched cheekbones, Jacob might have missed the tiny hint of jealousy simmering under the utter shock in his tone, and Jacob's smirk only grew at regaining the upper hand. He tilted his head in smug acknowledgement, and John carded a hand through his fancy hair, forgetting his sunglasses, which tumbled out and fell onto the desk.

"God certainly has a sense of irony," John said, but his tone was too shaky to be mocking. "And-and Joseph knows?"

"Told him yesterday morning," Jacob nodded.

"And she agreed to meet you?"

'Agreed' wasn't technically the right term for the Deputy's non-committal response to his request (even if she had been delightfully agreeable underneath him) so Jacob just shrugged.

"The fact that you both left each other alive is a good sign, I take it?" John was back to remarking slyly, and Jacob's eyes narrowed at him.

"The fuck does that mean?"

"I'm assuming you followed the will of the Father and brought her into the fold?" When Jacob continued to just blink at him, John huffed impatiently. "Did you bring her over to your side?"

Jacob barked out a laugh. "Does it look like she's here right now, Johnny?"

John looked progressively annoyed as he replied, like he was talking to a child, "I can see that, thank you. Is she or is she not a double agent for the Project now, Jacob?"

Jacob paused once more, unsure how to respond. Technically she was, but that was more due to the triggering seed he'd sown into the depths of her mind with her first and only conditioning trial, rather than any persuasiveness on his end. Shit, he'd barely gotten more than a few sentences out before, during and after they'd thrown caution to the wind and fucked on the goddamn floor, let alone enough to convince his stubborn soulmate to switch sides.

Instead of voicing any of that insanity, Jacob just crossed his arms and remarked condescendingly, "You've got a lotta faith in my prowess for someone who thinks I haven't gotten laid in decades."

The deflection was clear, but the embarrassment of the implication was just enough that John flushed in anger instead of continuing to drill him for answers Jacob couldn't give.

"Suppose I'll have to ask her next time I have her in my bunker, then," John shot back coolly, standing up from the desk and reclaiming his sunglasses with a dramatic sweep of his hand. "I'll call Joseph and Faith and let them know you're not rotting in the woods somewhere."

Jacob snorted at the idea, even if the statement was clearly meant to be a jab, but added at John's retreating back, "Tell Joe to fuckin' eat something while you're at it."

John's response was just a flourishy wave of his inked hand, and Jacob allowed the frown to overtake him the moment he was sure he was alone.

What the fuck had he been thinking?

Sighing heavily, Jacob kicked the door shut with one booted foot and sank into his desk chair, replaying last night's events and filing away every out-of-character behavior he'd exhibited—essentially the entire goddamn night. He'd started off so well, alerting the Chosen to look on the cameras for suspicious activity in the area, taking precautions to scout the area in case the Whitetails would try getting the best of him on the Deputy's word… and then he'd gone fucking insane, or at least that was the only explanation he could think of for how easily he'd fallen prey to the touch of her skin, the smell of her hair. How the hell did the two of them go from snarking wooden insults at each other to… that?

She'd been able to keep some of her head, at least, if her hard-eyed question tinged with hurt about why he'd abandoned her to the Whitetails after her trial was any indication. But he'd just… dissolved, for lack of a better word, his vocabulary narrowing to slurred praises and his finely honed survival instincts turned completely off. For fuck's sake, there had been at least three weapons in the cabin—the fact that he didn't know exactly how many was a testament to how far he'd fallen that night—and he hadn't even thought about the possibility of her using them to kill him, of unloading their magazines or throwing them out of her reach, and felt safe enough with her to fall asleep in the warmth of her arms. His mind catalogued all the ways last night could have gone wrong, all the mistakes he'd made, and mocked him for it through the burning of his cheeks.

His back twinged when he tried to hunch over in his chair and bury his face in his hands, reminding him that, despite all of his own failings, he was wearing the proof of her own temporary insanity—he, at least, wasn't alone in that. Jacob sat back up, thumbing curiously at the bite mark on his throat, carefully tracing every lingering indentation of her teeth. The almighty Junior Deputy, de facto leader of the ragtag army that was admittedly putting up a decent fight in a war they'd been wholly unprepared for, came alone to an unmarked cabin to meet the enemy and chose to fall into him instead of taking every presented opportunity to strike a blow to the Project with his death. She'd held him, trusted his word when he promised her no harm, trusted him with her life as they lay surrounded by their respective weapons—shit, she'd even trusted him with her soul-searing confession about how keyed up she'd gotten that night in his bedroom, used it to get him off, no less.

He couldn't help but grin lazily, even as he continued to reel from his own foolishness. She sure as fuck wasn't a double agent, at least not in the sense that John was thinking or in the way Joseph desperately wanted, but if she was half as turned around as he was, he might yet be able to coax her to his side… figuratively, and literally, if all went well.

With barely a conscious thought, Jacob pulled out his radio again and flicked through frequencies until he found hers. They needed a more secure channel in the future, he considered, but for now this one would do.

"Next time we see each other," he drawled, with all the smug satisfaction of a hunter inches from capturing their prey, "are you gonna stick around for the morning, Deputy?"

Unease crept in just as quickly as triumph had, when he was left sitting in his chair for several moments with nothing but silence for company. An anxious knot started up in his chest the longer his words were left unanswered. Maybe she only thought of last night as a terrible lapse in judgement, and fled the cabin because she'd regretted it? His expression slowly crumbled until a scowl, but he sat up in his chair abruptly when the radio crackled.

"—uck me, godda—it," was the Deputy's startled, stuttered reply, and he almost laughed at the mental image of her fumbling to keep from dropping her radio.

"Bad time?" he asked with a grin, pretending his blood wasn't singing from the relief of her voice.

"It's a war, Jacob," she replied deadpan, but he was just glad to be called something other than 'Seed' or 'asshole'. "I, um. I couldn't stick around. I had to help some girl catch whatever that big fish was called, I don't—"

"You robbed me of the privilege of waking up naked with you to go fishing?" Jacob interrupted, half in amusement and half in genuine insult.

The line went silent again, but this time Jacob was too busy being crushed under the shock of his own words once his brain caught up with his mouth. His frown returned with a vengeance as the back of his neck heated up—Jesus Christ, he sounded like a smitten little boy fumbling through a limited repertoire of half-baked flirtations. He didn't even know if she was alone right now, or if he was making an ass of himself in front of potential eavesdroppers.

"Um," the Deputy spoke first, and the half-word was so bashful that Jacob found it almost charming. "She hurt her hand?"

The response was so silly it made Jacob bark out a laugh. Shaking his head at the absurdity of their situation, he sat back and responded coyly, "Guess we'll just have to fix that next time, kitten."

"Next time?" she repeated—not sarcastically, but not hopefully either.

"Next time," he confirmed, because there would be a next time. "When can I see you again?"

She took another long pause, and Jacob pictured her in the woods somewhere, sunlight filtering through her earthen hair as she gazed down at her radio just like he was doing and mulled over his request. It was warm out today—he wondered if she'd suffered through bundling up to keep his marks covered up, or if she was displaying them to the world like proudly-earned battle scars.

"Tomorrow night," the Deputy said quietly, and Jacob grinned in triumph. "But we're talking."

Jacob breathed out a chuckle she couldn't hear—they'd have to keep their hands off each other first, which Jacob had no intention of doing. Or he could coax her into filling his ear with dirty words again, maybe even return the favor this time. That qualified as talking, right?

"Looking forward to it," he rumbled, with zero shame.

There was another pause before she signed off with a mumbled, "Shut up," and he let out another laugh. Jacob Seed, making the big bad Deputy shy with some off-kilter flirting—who would've thought?

Pleased as punch, Jacob pocketed his radio and strode out of the office to slip into the day's work, and spent it trying not to picture the promise of Rook's lithe body writhing underneath his while his teeth sank into her skin.

Jacob's good mood was soured by midday the following day. His pace to the lodge was hurried and carelessly loud despite the darkness, barely bothering to scope out the area in his furious impatience. The moon was hanging well overhead, and he scowled at it like it was the culprit for the day's misfortunes.

He was late to see the Deputy, and it was all because of the stupid Whitetails.

Jacob could only assume word had gotten out about his mysterious 'disappearance' the day prior (hard not to, with John barging into the region and sending every one of his Faithful out to comb the woods for him) but not about his return, as the Whitetails had sent a surprisingly large contingent of their soldiers on a mission to break into the Veterans Center. He'd been at the Grand View for the afternoon conditioning runs when word reached him about the Whitetails' assault. Eli had been absent, of course; the coward wouldn't dare leave the Wolf's Den for anything riskier than reconnaissance. The attack was daring, but sloppy—the Whitetails had relied on the element of surprise to make up for their piss-poor knowledge of the Center's layout and Eli's shitty absentee leadership. They must have been expecting, with Jacob gone, that order at the Veterans Center had broken down enough to be taken advantage of…

They certainly didn't expect a righteously furious Jacob to roll up from behind with his Chosen in armored trucks, guns blazing as wildly as his temper.

Still, they'd managed to free a few weaklings in the process, though with over a dozen dead on their end to show for it. Those who had escaped would be recaptured soon anyway. It was little more than a nuisance, but to Jacob it was an affront. Because it was hours after sunset, and all he could think about was how he'd kept the Deputy waiting.

The thought did occur to him, as he trudged through the woods like an angry bear whose territory had been threatened, that she might have known about the attack. But it was quickly dismissed—for one, if she had known about it, she would have offered a time to meet during the assault on the Center, to keep him out of the way. For another, the Whitetails hadn't known a thing about the security flaws the Deputy had so expertly taken advantage of to slip her way into his bedroom.

For another, the assault wouldn't have been so pathetic with her holding the reins.

Jacob was pleased to find the vicinity cleared, and a flickering light already on in his cabin. Out of pure caution, he used his camera to peer through the windows and confirm who was inside, humming in satisfaction at the sight of her curled up in front of the fireplace with her back to him, jacket off and shoulders bare, her loose hair catching in the orange light. She'd waited for him, he noted with relief.

He'd reward her for her patience.

She didn't jump when he opened the door, recurve bow clattering against the doorframe as he stepped in, but she did turn around to look at him, her expression calm and serene… even as a cougar lay draped across her lap, its eyes narrowed and teeth bared in his direction threateningly. He paused in the doorway, gesturing with the end of his bow as if to say, 'what's this?'

"You're late," Rook said instead of acknowledging the angry cougar, setting aside an open takeout box.

There were two, he noticed. She'd brought them both dinner?

Before he could fall down the rabbit hole of questioning what that meant, Jacob shrugged and said, "Had to deal with a Whitetail attack on St. Francis."

She frowned at once, looking genuinely shocked. "What? When was that?"

"About an hour ago. You didn't know?"

Her eyes went cold, but she shrugged like she was trying to feign nonchalance. "The Whitetails don't tell me much."

That seemed like all she was going to offer, so Jacob set his weapons down on a nearby shelf and stepped inside, eager to join her by the fire and fit their bare skin together again. Her cougar immediately sat up from her lap and raised its hackles, loud snarls filling the cabin. He held up his hands in mocking surrender, more amused than intimidated by Rook's unusual guard. The thing had a fucking collar on, for God's sake.

"Shush, Peaches," the Deputy scolded, shoving it off her lap like it was nothing more than an oversized dog.

She named it Peaches? Oh, the irony.

"You smell like a Peggie," she offered coolly by way of explanation, even as the cougar calmed at once and sat down on its haunches, blinking warily at him.

He ignored the thinly veiled insult and leaned over to offer his hand for it to smell. "There'd be a reason for that, kitten." She shot him a look, but he just added, "You name it that?"

"Nah, Miss Mabel did."

He had no idea who the fuck that was, so he just let the cougar nose at his palm and continued, "This the one that killed the fucker who stabbed you?"

When the Deputy nodded, he chanced a pet on Peaches the Cougar's head in unspoken praise for protecting his girl; the cougar grimaced at him, but didn't snap at his hand. He pulled back with a glance at Rook, finding her watching silently, her camo-covered body outlined with a golden shine by the firelight. He remembered how her naked skin glowed last time, and his gaze must have turned hungry, because she ducked her head with a bronzy blush, allowing him to see the trail of tinted bruises disappearing into her shirt.

"Take it off," he ordered, because he wanted to see how far they went.

"I—what?"

"Take… it… off," Jacob repeated slowly, as he sauntered towards her and dropped to his knees behind her, shoving the takeout boxes out of the way.

She looked like she was about to protest, but he fitted his mouth right over the love mark he'd made at the base of her neck, and the sear of pleasure from that small bit of contact caused whatever she was about to say to get choked in her throat. He growled in pure satisfaction, pressing his (unfortunately) clothed front to her back, wanting nothing more than to sink into her like last time, but angry noises from the cougar alarmed his pleasure-addled brain into snarling back and thrusting himself in front of her, trying to put himself between his soulmate and the threat.

"P-Peaches, out," the Deputy stuttered out breathlessly, gesturing towards the door he'd left ajar even as she slumped against him, and the cougar turned her nose up but obediently padded outside. As Jacob reached over with one booted foot to kick it closed, the Deputy swallowed audibly before saying quietly, "We were supposed to talk…"

"Later," Jacob murmured, already leaning over to lower her down onto the floor with one hand on her back, the other tugging her top up.

Her stomach jerked when his fingers trailed over a sensitive spot by her hip, and she muttered, "Fuck it," and lifted her hand to her mouth, teeth sinking into the tip of her glove to pull it off.

He grinned in triumph, and then groaned when her bare hands seized his hair and pulled him down to kiss him, interrupting his attempts to strip her bare. He settled for pawing at her underneath her shirt as he nipped and bit at her plump lips, and God she was so small, his broad hands almost engulfing her entire ribcage, but every inch of her seared through his veins, burned like he was cradling the sun in his palms. It bowled him over just like the first time (and the second) but in a way that was familiar instead of wholly overwhelming.

Still, he throbbed in his jeans and pressed himself to her hip to relieve the ache, groaning at the memory of burying himself in her depths. She shuddered under his touch, whining out what might have been his name against his mouth and pulling at his hair hard enough to make him growl again, the ache feral and good. Her poorly stitched scar stretched when he tilted her head to the side to drag his mouth down her cheek to her throat, and he tongued at it just like before, because she seemed to enjoy it well enough last time.

"Fuck," breezed over his ear in a throaty hiss, making gooseflesh erupt over his neck and shoulder, and she followed the trail with her hands, shoving off his plain jacket so hastily it caught on his elbow.

They stripped like their lives depended on it after that little encouragement, the two of them trading angry, animalistic noises every time one interrupted the other to pull a shirt over their heads or fumble with buttons. It didn't help that they kept pausing to bite and lick at newly exposed skin, and Jacob spent an ungodly amount of time mouthing smugly at every mark of his he found scattered across her body like a constellation of his own making. He didn't remember making such a large bite mark by her right breast, but God help him if he didn't immediately bend down to make a matching one by the left one.

"Mine," he snapped against the skin of her chest when she tried pushing him away to pull off his jeans.

She huffed out what could have either been impatience or laughter, but Jacob proved his point by drawing a nipple into his mouth, and he growled when she pushed her breasts into his face with a purr of approval. Her body arched under his, and this time he had enough headspace to recognize a building attempt to flip him over; he thwarted her plans with a growl loud enough to shock the both of them and the seizing of her hips between his thighs, pinning her in place.

"I wanna be on top this time," Rook snapped, and he smirked against her nipple at the almost petulant tone.

"Only if I get to bend you over the counter later," he grumbled, reveling in the fierce cry she let out at the mere idea, or maybe from the way he pressed his erection into the inseam of her pants.

He'd apparently shocked her out of words, because all she did was nod jerkily, and with a triumphant grin he let himself be rolled onto his back, grabbing generous handfuls of her frankly fantastic ass as she settled herself with a pleased hum on top of him. Her pretty tits bounced in front of his face and he tried leaning upwards to continue his work, but his controlling soulmate shoved him back down by his shoulders so violently the breath was knocked out of him. He snarled when he got his bearings back, but his ire could only last so long while she was dipping her hand into his unbuttoned jeans, the other tugging at his belt loops to shimmy them off his hips.

"Christ, kitten," Jacob cursed to the heavens, tossing an arm over his face and trying to think of anything but her tight strokes over his cock. "You're gonna kill me."

She laughed, a glorious bell of a sound that filled him up and left him scrambling to pull his arm away so he could see her smile, but she was already busying herself with pulling his jeans the rest of the way off. He made an upset noise at having missed such a phenomenon, vowing secretly to coax her into it again, see how her sweet mouth looked when she was doing more than just smirking at him.

Then she was wriggling out of her jeans, every sway of her hips a tantalizing tease that he watched with sharp eyes and wandering hands, and then she was naked above him and glowing golden in the firelight and sinking down on his cock—

"Fuck, fuck," Jacob half-shouted, trying to seize her hips to still her before things ended embarrassingly quickly, but she batted his hands away.

"Touch me here, touch me," Rook panted as she started rocking on his dick, and Jacob had to scrounge together enough thought to realize she was drawing his hand down to where they were joined.

"Hnnh," was his reply, when his thumb slipped over her clit easily—so fucking wet, all for him, only him.

She absolutely slammed herself down on him in response, gold-brown hair tossed over her shoulder as she threw back her head in beautiful abandon, and he could do nothing but watch the show and rub fiercely at her clit and try not to lose it too quickly. It was easily the hardest battle he'd ever fought—her slick walls hugged his cock and her powerful thighs flexed around him with the force of her thrusts, one damp lock of hair clinging tantalizingly to her lower lip, and the friction was perfect, he'd never make it.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, too good," he slurred out in a half-baked warning, reaching up with his free hand to make an uncoordinated grab at her tits.

His words were rewarded by a grinding roll of her hips, causing the head of his cock to slam into some spot inside her, apparently, because the breath flew out of her in a wild cry and her eyes actually rolled back into her head, and he would've accused her of putting on a show if her thighs hadn't started violently trembling alongside it all. He tilted his hips for an even better angle, a strangled noise leaving his throat at the way she shook every time she dropped back down on his cock.

"Press harder," she whined, her hands coming up to seize her own breasts, one hand curling over his to coax him into squeezing.

He gritted his teeth against her brutal thrusts, his approaching orgasm ratcheting just a little bit higher with every slide of her cunt around his dick, trying with all his might not to disgrace himself so quickly. Then, like it caught her by surprise—

"Oh, oh fuck, Jacob, fuck, I'm—" and then a beautiful cry when she fell to pieces on top of him, clamping down around him so hard it almost hurt.

It was the perfect storm to send him right over with her, hips jerking up uncontrollably as he pulsed inside her, his groans of relief intermixing with hers like the howling of a wolf pack. She curled over him with quiet whimpers, her sweet head resting itself on his chest when they finally stilled, clinging to each other like they might fall apart if they let go. It was on the tip of his tongue to slur out her perfection again, strengthened by the lingering throb of his orgasm and the hum of their soul bond ringing in his ears, but he'd made enough of a fool of himself last time so he just mouthed at her ear instead, chuckling darkly when she squirmed and giggled out a squeaky protest.

"Tickles," she scolded.

He grinned, but before he could respond he hissed with the sensation of her lifting herself off him, the warm combination of their fluids spilling over his oversensitive cock. The feeling reminded him of something important, a horrifying swoop in his stomach prompting him to sit up so quickly she jerked back to avoid being smacked in the face by his chest.

"Jesus Christ, kitten, we didn't even think—" he snarled, staring down at where they'd been joined with a panicked frown.

"What?" Rook matched his frown.

"Protection, Deputy," Jacob snapped, trying to clean her up with his cupped hand as though that would fix the problem. "Fuck, why didn't I—?"

"Oh," she replied with a shake of her head. "Implant. You think I'd be that stupid, Jacob?"

He scowled at her even as his muscles unwound in relief, because what did that make him then? "Neither of us were exactly thinkin' far enough to ask, kitten."

"Maybe you weren't," Rook said sweetly, but he could hardly be upset by the jab when her round ass swung around and swayed over to the sink.

Jacob watched as she wet a cloth with warm water and sauntered over to clean them up, and he hissed at the teasing pass of the cloth over his softening cock. He wasn't young enough to have another go at her any time soon, but maybe later he could coax her into bending over the counters like he'd bargained for.

"C'mere," he groused when she started busying herself with gathering the clothes they'd strewn all over the place—as if he'd let her put those back on.

She sent him an exasperated look but obeyed, slinking over to him and settling herself down beside him. He shook his head with displeasure before seizing her by her hips and dragging her into his lap. They let out concurrent sighs at the flare of their bond, dampened by recent orgasms but still wonderful, and she leaned herself into it, making him smirk and push her hair aside to press whiskery kisses to the back of her neck, drawing her soul-marked back against his chest.

"Y'know, I went through all the trouble of getting dinner and everything," Rook commented breathily, even as she snuggled herself into him.

He bit down lightly on her neck, smiling as she cooed. "How thoughtful."

She threw a sharp look over her shoulder, batting him away to reach over and drag the takeout boxes towards them, pushing one into his hands with finality. He grinned even as he flipped open the box, the label of the Grill Streak slapped across it, revealing a surprisingly good meal of grilled meat chunks, potatoes and salad. She looked at him expectantly—hopefully, even—but it sharpened again when he was captured once more by the shine of sweat on her skin, already leaning over to lick it off, the box forgotten.

"Will you eat something, please?" Rook said impatiently, lifting herself up as though to move off his lap; he grabbed her hips with his free hand, locking her in place by wrapping his arm around her. "Something that isn't me," she added, her tone sharp but her blush clear when Jacob darted his eyes over her hungrily.

Without answering, he grabbed the plastic fork resting on the potatoes and stabbed at the now cold mystery meat, shoving it in his mouth to placate the bossy little thing. She looked satisfied, reaching for her own meal and settling herself into his lap with a warm hum, and it made following her orders worth it if she'd make another noise like that.

"What even is this?" he asked as he chewed, finding the meat well-seasoned but oddly textured.

The Deputy shrugged, loading up her own fork with potatoes. "Moose, maybe, or bison? Was probably one of the batches Chad got me to run over with the truck."

He almost choked, swallowing hard before he embarrassed himself. "What?"

She shrugged again, but smirked into her takeout box. "He says it's the best way to tenderize it. At least, I think that's what he said—he's hard to understand."

Jacob snorted at the absurdity of it, but he had to admit the meat was good despite possibly being the Deputy's roadkill, probably would've been great if he'd made it there on time to eat it hot (fucking Whitetails, he thought for the millionth time that night). They ate in silence for a while, enjoying the food and the wash of heat from the fireplace that would need to be stoked soon and the gentle pulse of their bond through every inch of connected skin. She rested her head on his shoulder as she ate, staring into the fire with a thoughtful expression on her face, and he stared shamelessly at the shadows flickering over her dimpled cheeks and how her eyes turned a warm amber in the light, like tree sap.

How the fuck was this lovely thing his soulmate?

"How are we supposed to do this?" she said softly, making Jacob blink out of his reverie.

"Do what?" he asked, setting aside his empty box.

She looked up at him, her eyes round and sweet, and she took his breath away, not for the first time.

"This," the Deputy said lamely, gesturing to the both of them with a half-assed wave of her hand. "Us?"

Oh, he thought with a huff, wrapping his other arm around her. This must be where they start 'talking'.

"We're supposed to be enemies, Jacob," his soulmate huffed, but Jacob was too busy hiding a smirk in her shoulder.

Supposed to be enemies, she'd said.

"Easy," he replied smoothly. "You should join our side. Your lone wolf, one woman army bullshit would put down the Resistance in a goddamn heartbeat."

He was expecting another one of her scowls, maybe an angry retort. What he definitely was not expecting was for her to stare at him like he was an idiot and smack the side of his head with the back of her hand like he was a misbehaving dog. Jacob balked, staring open-mouthed at the scowling Deputy, too stunned to be upset—the absolute fucking audacity of this woman! He'd killed people for less!

"I didn't join the Resistance because it was fucking convenient, Jacob," she snapped. "I joined them because your shitty cult was committing war crimes on a daily basis."

"This is war," Jacob said shortly.

"It wasn't 'til you started it," Rook shot back like a petulant child, trying to wrangle herself off his lap, but he locked her in with an iron grip.

"Little reminder, Deputy," Jacob hissed, ignoring her fiery glare when he wouldn't let go, "that the Resistance you fight so hard for would kill you if they found out who your soulmate was."

Once again, the Deputy did the opposite of what he expected by snorting and crossing her arms haughtily. "You think I didn't tell 'em?"

He froze, staring at her with a bizarre half-scowl half-gape. How the fuck was she alive right now? He'd thought her smarter than that. She took advantage of his shock, ducking out of his grip and darting out of reach before he could make a proper grab for her, and he was too distracted to even frown at how bereft he felt without their connection.

"You actually trusted them not to kill you?" he said incredulously when he found his voice again, eyes narrowing at the way she turned her gaze away.

"You didn't seriously think I'd risk them finding out on their own?" she deflected, arms crossing over her bare breasts. "It was a far better bet telling them upfront than waiting for them to find out I lied to them. That would've been a death sentence."

Jacob's unthinking snarl filled the cabin at the thought of her even risking death at their hands for something so naïve, startling the both of them with the noise.

"You trusted the Whitetails," he stated instead of questioned, despite the sheer absurdity of the idea of Rook spilling her sacred truth to those trigger-happy assholes.

"Fuck no," was not the answer he thought she'd provide, and he glared at her for how often she kept defying all expectations. "Eli's all right, I guess, and I like Wheaty and Walker. But I'm not stupid, Jacob—if I became an actual liability to the militia instead of an asset, Eli'd have me killed in seconds. Wheaty would do whatever Eli told him to, and Tammy's already been looking for any excuse to put me down after the Grand View." He was careful not to show any expression when she stared him down in silent accusation, and he wondered if she'd hold that over his head until they died. "I just beat that bitch to the punch by telling everyone first."

"But you still told them."

"Only after I got back from St. Francis," the Deputy said, the ghost of a smirk on her mouth. "No way the Whitetails would kill someone who could get in and out of there alive when they sure as fuck couldn't."

"They could've killed you," Jacob said gruffly, fists clenching as he imagined the scenario, pictured his soulmate's blood cooling on the floors of the Wolf's Den without him ever knowing.

He snarled a second time at the way the Deputy waved off his concerns like they were nothing. "There's no way they'll kill me. I'm a better soldier than all of 'em, and they know it." He would've scoffed at her cocksure statement if it weren't wholly true. "As long as they can use me, no one's gonna touch me."

"Don't do it again," he ordered, gesturing for her to come back to him with an almost angry wave of his hand.

His stubborn soulmate never did as she was told, though, and pointedly stayed at her post by the couch.

"Who else knows?" Jacob said tiredly, giving up and grabbing at the pile of furs he'd left on the couch to make himself comfortable.

"Just the people who matter. My friends. Jess isn't talking to me right now," she mumbled, a flicker of hurt passing over her face, and whoever 'Jess' was, he wanted to punish her for making Rook look like that.

"Her loss," he stated matter-of-factly, and was surprised to have earned himself another glare.

"Hardly blame her," she snapped, a red flush growing over her face and chest. "Your Cook killed her parents, you ass."

"What cook?" Jacob frowned, mind immediately flitting to the recruits he had on chow hall duty. Had one of them stepped outside their place?

"The Cook," Rook deadpanned. "The Chosen? The one we put down like a fucking dog by the Baron Lumber Mill? The one who set people on fire? Do you seriously not know what your own men are doing out there?"

Jacob just blinked at her. That veteran Chosen she'd put down named himself 'the Cook'? That was fucking dramatic. Almost sounded like something one of John's men would do. He knew some of the original Chosen, the ones that predated the Reaping, often got a little creative with following his orders—he didn't have to break the minds of those who were already faultlessly loyal, after all. But if they were straying far enough from his message to name themselves…

"Apparently not," he said in hopes of placating her, not at all having to fake the crossness. Evidently he needed to keep a closer eye on his soldiers… if not to make sure they were in fact carrying out his orders as he ordered, then to stop them from gaining Rook's righteous fury.

She looked uncertain at that, arms coming up to hug at herself. He wasn't sure if it was because he'd broken some preconceived notion of hers, or if she was cold; either way, he huffed out a breath and beckoned her over again, and this time she obliged, padding over to him and shuffling up against his side almost sulkily. Shaking his head at her stubbornness, Jacob roped her back into his lap, sighing out his pleasure across her shoulder when their bond thrummed like the beat of a drum in his blood.

"You must've told your family," she asked after a moment of silence. "Right?"

"Told Joseph first," he confirmed, ignoring the way her nose wrinkled in displeasure.

"And he doesn't think having his brother be soul-bonded to the Deputy might, I don't know, be a sign from God telling him to stop killing people?" Rook said sarcastically.

Jacob tried to hold back a scoff, in case it pissed her off once more, because Joseph sure as fuck wouldn't interpret it that way. "I don't know if my brother really talks to God. That doesn't matter. He's been right countless times before, and he's right about this. This world is gonna end, and we have to do what we need to. Everything we do is for the greater good of our people."

"The Whitetails do the same thing," Rook countered, "and they're not right either, Jacob." At his surprise, she ducked her head and muttered, "Just because you and your asshole brothers started all the torturing and the kidnapping doesn't make Tammy's kiddy pool any less fucked up."

He has no idea what she was talking about, but it felt like a tiny crack had broken through her stalwart support of the Resistance, and he jumped to make it bigger. "Why support them, then? We all do what is necessary. The Weak fall so the Strong will emerge better for it. This is war."

"But why does it have to be? Why couldn't you have just… done all your crazy doomsday prepping in peace and left everybody else alone?"

Because I wouldn't have a purpose, was the first and only response that occurred to him. But she was staring up at him with those round, fire-darkened eyes, looking so painfully earnest in her do-gooder naivety, and he knew he couldn't say so, because it might hurt her sweet little heart.

"Joseph is right," he said instead, with a finality. "You'll see." She shrank in disappointment, or maybe because she was riling herself up for another philosophical debate about the way of the world, but Jacob beat her to the punch with a press of his lips to her bitten shoulder and a husky murmur of, "Didn't want to see you so we could argue all night, kitten. And you promised me I could bend you over that counter," he reminded her with a smirk and a slip of his hand up to her breast. "Not gonna go back on your word, are ya?"

Her expression darkened as he pinched her nipple. He could tell she had more to say, but for now he rejoiced in her surrender to his wandering hands and the cute squeal she made when he scooped her up and carried her over to the kitchen.

A/N: Recognizable dialogue belongs to Ubisoft.