Chapter 7

This was Jacob Seed's new routine, at least for a while.

By daylight, he returned to the Center to make war and shed blood and bark orders like a good soldier, while she did the same under the guise of the enemy's banner. Come nightfall, they came together like the perfect storm to their hidden paradise in the woods, fucking each other senseless in their nest of borrowed furs and enjoying each other's company until the dawn.

Every day for nearly the entire month, Jacob could be caught sneaking along the northern mountains in the tree cover, anxiously awaiting the moment he would open the door with an unsaid, "Honey, I'm home!" to find his other half awaiting him, sometimes already nude, sometimes not. He'd never forget that one time he was late coming back from the Grand View and found her flushed and cooing from fucking herself on two fingers, sweaty skin sparkling in the firelight, mouth curving into a delightful laugh when his response was to tear off his clothes and fist his cock at the sight of her once he was finally done gawking.

During the day, Jacob did his best to keep up with his work. Though he rarely replied beyond necessary reports, he and his siblings exchanged intel as usual, including on the Deputy. There became an unspoken agreement among the Family that Jacob's little security issue would be left mostly unmentioned—barring some unsubtle jabs John tried to slip in here and there, his brother let him and the Father know every time a sinner was snatched out of his clutches, every time a new outpost fell to Rook's otherworldly stealth. Faith likewise pretended she knew nothing in her own reports of Bliss shipments being compromised and fields being burnt. He'd smirked to himself reading them at first, because they all noted the way she seemed to 'mysteriously disappear' (as John's report had put it, probably on purpose) from their region where she hadn't before…

They all knew it was to spend time with him.

But when she was out, she fought like a hellhound, stole back supplies and people and outposts, and was spotted with her motley crew of zoo animals and Resistance friends—Jess Black included. She fucked with his plans and the Project's efforts every day and then sauntered back over enemy lines to have her wicked way with him whenever she liked.

It was comfortable (if that was the right word to use for whatever it was they had going) because it was structured, an easy routine to fall into just like his other ones, and that kept Jacob grounded a bit better than when they'd first started all this. Yet at the same time, he undertook it with the looming knowledge that this couldn't possibly last… not with the way things were, in any case. Sooner or later they were sure to get caught by people who knew neither of them personally, let alone people loyal enough to forgive such a transgression, and the fallout would be catastrophic, rivalling Joseph's own predicted apocalypse.

He tried to plot out how he could keep Rook and his family all at the same time in a million different ways, but found nothing but scenario after scenario of the many ways she could be taken from him—the Whitetails could turn on her, or even the friends she trusted so much, or she'd be felled in battle by a stray bullet or a lucky shot, or she'd slip trying to climb up somewhere (why the fuck did she have to climb Raptor Peak anyway?) or the Collapse would come and he wouldn't get there in time. He could see it on her skin, a prophecy unfolding right on her flesh—every day she came to him with new scrapes and bruises, new cuts to be kissed better, new scars for him to wince at. But he couldn't stop. How could he, when she was the only good thing he'd had in so long?

It was a battle of wills, and Jacob wasn't stupid enough to leave unrealized that he was already losing.

It all really started to spiral the night she extended that first personal invitation to see her again, rather than vice versa. Jacob was unashamed to admit he'd forgotten everything else in existence in favor of supplicating himself before her and burying his face between her thighs, licking her raw until the embers in the fireplace died and her voice grew hoarse. He'd made her come on his tongue twice, swatting away her shaky attempts to push him away after the first one, before bending her over the armrest of the couch and fucking her hard until they came together shouting each other's names.

Everything was perfect, just as blissful and detached from his horrifying reality as the last time, enough that he was fully prepared for the third time to drift off for another full night's rest to the sight of her nakedness rummaging around the kitchen... until he was jolted out of his contented doze by Rook turning to address him.

"Want some?" she asked, waving a pack of powdered hot chocolate up in the air for his scrutiny.

Like the suspicious old asshole he was, Jacob frowned and sat up—it set him on edge just for how sheerly domestic it was, almost like she'd just decided to happily ignore the direness of their situation where he'd been agonizing over it.

"It's hot chocolate, Jacob, not a landmine," Rook teased when he didn't respond, and for a moment he was taken in by the twinkly little grin on her face and the cocking of her bare hip.

"Why did you want to see me again?"

She blinked at his abrupt tone. "Does that really need an explanation?"

"Maybe it does, kitten," he said shortly, "considering not even a week ago, you just about hated my guts."

The mood was immediately ruined, the genuine smile he'd been treated to fading as she tossed the packet onto the counter, arms crossing protectively over her chest. He almost cursed himself—why did he have to ruin everything?—but Rook just replied on a mumble, "You don't know what you're doing either."

He barked out a laugh, because wasn't that the fucking truth. "I just wanna know what changed."

Rook shot him a look so sharp he felt like he could have cut himself on it. "Jeez, Jacob, I don't know. Could be the giant fucking soul mark on my back? Maybe you've seen it?"

Jacob returned her sharp look with one of his own. "So this is what we're doin', then? Just pretending we're not enemy leaders at war with each other?"

"I'm not a leader," she tried to interject.

He waved it aside and said, "Kitten, there wouldn't be a war without you fightin' on the other side, and you know it." She deflated, but a pretty blush swept over her freckled cheeks, and he watched it go for a moment before continuing, "Do the Whitetails know you're out here? You tryin' to play double agent, Deputy?"

He was expecting one of two things: genuine affront, or fake affront. What he was not expecting was for Rook to snort and roll her eyes skyward, hip cocking again into that sexy little pose of nonchalance.

"Oh they tried," she said dryly, busying herself again with tearing open the packet and parceling it into two mugs. "Doesn't mean I tell them what we're up to."

"What's it mean, then?" he asked, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice as he watched her prepare his drink. Come to think of it, when the fuck was the last time he drank anything flavored?

"Means I'm never gonna tell them how good you are with your tongue," was her cheeky reply, an air of lightness in her tone that was punctuated by another peachy blush.

He grinned lazily, watching her fight her own smile. "What was that?"

"You heard me," Rook muttered, hiding her face from him by busying herself with the kettle.

That wouldn't do, so Jacob stood up from his post by the fire and sauntered over to join her. "Don't think I did. Old man, remember?"

"You're so full of—this is boiling water, asshole!" she exclaimed, when he sidled up behind her and gave her ass a pinch.

"Very hot."

"That was—Jacob Seed, did you seriously just try to make a joke?"

"Don't remember. What were we talkin' about?"

Before she could chastise him for all the old man jokes, he coaxed her into turning around so he could kiss her, backing her up to lean against the counter with both hands on her ass. Her giggles tickled his mouth, and they were music.

"Is that why you're here?" she asked quietly, when they parted and spent a moment just breathing each other in, enjoying the closeness and the gentle thrum of their soul bond. "Are you trying to make me play double agent?"

He frowned down at her, busying himself with playing with one golden-streaked curl so he could figure out how to admit that yes, that was exactly what he wanted.

"You were right," Jacob said carefully, on a low murmur, "I don't know what I'm doing. Only thing I know is that I want you on my side."

It was the third time that night he made her blush, but this one was tinged with sadness. She ducked her lovely face away from him, and his instinct was to press his mouth to the top of her head in reassurance, inhaling the floral scent of her hair.

"I can't be on your side, Jacob," she said quietly after a long pause, but didn't pull away from him. "This war is wrong. What you're doing to people is wrong. Why can't you see that?"

He frowned into her hair, carefully mulling over his response. War was always wrong, technically—but to him, it had always just been. Moreover, in all his years as a soldier, Joseph's war was the only one he could say for certain wasn't wrong, not after the things Joseph told him, not after what he'd seen. Why couldn't she see that?

An idea occurred to him. "I'll show you."

Jacob ignored her confused blinking as he released her, striding over to the radio set underneath one of the kitchen cupboards. He fiddled with it until he found the correct frequency, a broadcast they'd been playing on loop filling the lodge. This would give her a taste of the outside world, show her why their preparations were necessary, show her that the world was on the brink.

"… remain at DEFCON 4 as of 3:12 a.m. this past Monday," came the tail end of a soft-voiced man's reports, the sound tinny through the old radio. Jacob saw Rook tense, stepping forward for a better listen. "North Korea has gone radio silent in the wake of the President's most recent threats of retaliation, but satellite imagery of the Punggye-ri Nuclear Test Site suggests they have begun to mobilize their forces. Peace talks are underway to try to diffuse the situation. Russia has yet to make any sort of public statement…"

The man continued to rattle off news, but Jacob ignored it in favor of glancing over at his soulmate. He almost felt guilty for showing her, noting the way her jaw hardened and her arms came back up to hug herself, but before he could move to comfort his soulmate she spoke again.

"I know things are bad out there," Rook admitted, gaze still locked on the floor. "I'm not stupid Jacob—I know something's wrong when a federal marshal goes missing and nobody tries to come find out why." Jacob almost smiled in satisfaction, until she added with a sharp look, "That doesn't mean it's because of God's fucking apocalypse, and it definitely doesn't mean we should all be torturing and murdering each other."

"Rook," said Jacob impatiently, and like the stubborn bitch of a soulmate she was, Rook responded by scowling and crossing her arms. "This world's on the brink of falling apart. Who cares who's responsible for it? Don't matter if it's 'cause of God or the loudmouth in the White House—society's about to collapse, and we have got to be prepared for it."

"Jesus Christ," she muttered to herself, like he was the one being stubborn and unreasonable. "All right, let's say God's about to drop a bunch of nukes on us or something. Why wouldn't you guys just crawl into your bunkers and leave everyone else alone? What's the point of kidnapping and torturing people if all you gotta do is wait?"

It was Jacob's turn to cross his arms. "Only the Strong survive, kitten. We need an army to endure the Collapse."

"I thought Joseph said the next world is supposed to be a paradise," Rook said, and Jacob narrowed his eyes at her—when the hell had she talked to Joe? "Why do you need an army without an enemy?" Before he could answer, she pressed forth, stepping into his space with an infuriating expression of triumph. "An army with no war to fight is useless, Jacob. They'll have no purpose. They'll be weak."

He balked at that, because the clever thing just actually tried to use his own rhetoric against him, and she even managed to make some sort of sense with it. But he wasn't going to admit that he was just as skeptical of Joseph's promises that the next world would be the perfect embodiment of peace—no place that housed human beings would ever be like that.

Her hand on his chest broke him free of his thoughts, fingers sliding softly over the grooves of his mangled skin, and when he found the gesture accompanied by the most gentle-eyed stare he'd ever seen, all Jacob could do was try his damnedest to commit it to memory.

"Let the ones in the cages go," Rook implored in a soft tone. "You don't need them—you have your army. They'll be dead anyway, when the Collapse comes."

'When', she'd said, and not 'if'. He knew it was just for his benefit, but it still sparked some hope in him.

"I'll think about it," he muttered noncommittally, because Jacob Seed was never one to concede in a battle.

She gave him a frustrated look, but it softened when he gave into the bizarre urge to lift her hand to his mouth and kiss her fingers. Her eyes skirted to the ground and her lower lip stuck out adorably, like she was trying not to look pleased, and he caught it between his in a kiss to do what he apparently did best: distract them both from their problems with sex.

The next morning, Jacob Seed released the half-dead weaklings in the cages.

As he watched them scurry away like vermin trying to escape a collapsing building, he'd scowled and tried to rationalize it as not falling prey to Rook's brand of kumbaya rhetoric, but because she was right—they were useless, a drain on the Project. He had his army, the finely-honed collection of brainwashed tools he'd cultivated over the last few months as well as the devoted Chosen who would sooner throw themselves onto a pyre than betray him or the Father, and they were perfectly equipped to handle whatever clumsy attempts at retaliation the weaklings might try. And if they ever managed to do even a bit of damage, he'd be justified in broadcasting his mental trigger over every loudspeaker in the county and watching as they tore apart the Resistance from the inside out.

"Tell the Chosen not to waste any more resources on weaklings like them, unless they've got any actual goddamn chance at fighting," Jacob instructed coolly to Peaches, who was trying his best not to look confused and failing miserably. "Allocate the unused cages for new Judges in the meantime."

"Yes sir," said Peaches, and the man raised a hesitant hand before deciding against vocalizing whatever stupid remark was in his head before hurrying into the Center.

It made him irrationally angry—not just for the way Peaches was treating him like he'd been replaced with a clone of himself or something, but for how it went against everything he stood for at the start of this war. The world was simple: the Weak fell, the Strong survived. Moreover, Jacob Seed was not used to being convinced by anyone but Joseph to change his mind. Still, he reasoned, if anything would coax his kindhearted soulmate to his side, it would be through appealing to her obnoxious moral compass…

…which was confirmed when, after Jacob stepped into the lodge at the usual time, he was promptly shoved against the door by said soulmate, who dropped to her knees and took him in her mouth with absolutely no ceremony.

"Fuckin' Christ, Rook," had been the last coherent thing to come out of his mouth before she looked up at him with challenging eyes and swallowed him all the way to the back of her throat, and then all he could do was keep himself standing and try not to shoot off in her mouth mortifyingly quickly.

They spent the rest of the night going at each other like rabbits, Rook in particular acting utterly wild for him, and what could he do except gladly fulfill her wish? The next morning, he woke alone again, and was righteously annoyed about it… right up until he was pulling on his clothes and noticed one of his dog tags was missing, the chain unbroken. A cursory look around the lodge yielded nothing, but just as Jacob was starting to grow cross at its mysterious disappearance—

"Hey, how come the Army misspelled your name?" chirped Rook through the radio with cheeky amusement.

He grinned like an idiot, and then spent the rest of his day in a pleasantly distracted daze as he wondered if she was wearing it now out in the field, hidden under her shirt, his name pressed up against her chest until it indented into her skin.

They continued like this for weeks, in a practiced dance of sex and sly quips, and Jacob could feel himself becoming lost in her. He tried his best to convince her, to bring her over to their side ("Empires rise and fall all the time, Rook. Babylon, Rome, America. We think we're different but we're not. We think we're indestructible, but we're on the edge of destruction. Can't you see that?") and sometimes it even seemed to work ("I know, Jacob. We could be one bad Twitter rant away from being permanently fucked—I'm not blind."). He tried coaxing the location of the Wolf's Den out of her, first with threats—then, when that earned him nothing but snarls and another one of her audacious smacks upside his head, with lips and tongues dragged over secret places. He tried to tell her of all the times Joseph had been eerily correct, how he found both of his brothers with no money and no help, how he predicted things like the start of their following in Rome, the authorities' interference and their move to Montana, betrayals among their ranks, and even which among them would fail and which would ascend to new and honorable positions.

But Rook… Rook went a different route, by showing him how to make the Project more efficient.

Why bother wasting the effort to find new soldiers, she queried, when he already had a highly trained army bigger than any normal US base at his disposal? They would just clog up the bunkers, requiring more supplies to outlast the nuclear winter after the Collapse, and that would necessitate wasting time on stealing more. And why should his Chosen waste their talents hunting down stray Whitetails scouring the woods for said supplies? It only increased chances of retaliation and unacceptable losses. They'd never find them anyway, unless they somehow managed to gain the ability to tunnel 2000 feet underground.

At the beginning, he made a show of begrudgingly agreeing, despite his instincts to shut that shit down—he'll play the long con, pretend to be caving in towards peace, and in time she'll stop seeing their two sides as divided at all.

And the insane part was that it seemed to be working.

Daily casualties were down, resource expenditure at an all-time low, and the Whitetails spied and squirrelled away in their bunkers and kept to themselves. He wasn't stupid—it was all her, whispering her silver-tongued suggestions into their ears just like she did to Jacob (among other whispered things) but when an entire week passed without a single skirmish with the ragtag militia, Jacob had to wonder whether or not his soulmate could rival Joseph in her predictions… or her persuasiveness, perhaps.

But Jacob Seed was hardly fooling himself anymore. Never mind whether or not her methods were making his side of the Project the most structured and efficient of the lot, or who won this drawn-out battle of wills—what he wanted most was to fall into her, willing to forget the Project and all his life's burdens so he could hold onto the privilege of telling a dry joke that caught them both off guard with how it made her laugh, and then keep going until he was laughing more than he ever had in his life and so was she, without any pretext beyond pure happiness. He wanted her at his side permanently, instead of this frustrating back-and-forth tango of having to let go of her in the mornings and wonder whether or not this would be the day he received the news of her death, before running right back to her the moment the sun sank behind the mountains. He wanted to show her off to both sides of Hope County as if to say, "This is mine, be jealous," because his soulmate was better and stronger than all of them.

For the first time in his life, Jacob Seed wanted to do more than just survive—he wanted a life with her. Where once his dreams had been nothing but Miller's raspy screams through a desert-dry throat as Jacob plunged his knife into his neck, the sear of boiling ammonia exploding over his skin, the grasping fingers of those he buried alive in their foxholes, now they were filled with gracious images of a future together. They could have a cabin all their own, his rifle and hers propped up side by side, her bomber jacket hanging off the back of a chair, and she'd hunt and scour the land with him to sustain their comfortable life, right at his side.

It was a fool thought, one that frightened Jacob with how much he wanted it.

Either way, she came home to him, and he was graciously allowed the pleasure of her skin and her giggly laughter every night, and for once, Jacob Seed was happy.

The first blow to their perfect world came when Jacob entered the lodge, and found it dark and devoid of his soulmate.

That wasn't unusual—Rook's wartime escapades could run late sometimes. Last time it had been because she had been busy blowing up the last of his wolf beacons… for which he'd taken great pleasure punishing her by having her spread over his lap and squealing while he smacked her ass until sunrise. But she always radioed him ahead of time to warn him of potential delays. He frowned at the empty cabin and the unlit fireplace shining in the moonlight, the untouched ashes of last night's fire still in place. The barren scene set Jacob's teeth on edge—something was wrong, he could feel it.

In case of an ambush, Jacob crouched low to avoid being spotted through the window and pulled out his Swiss army knife, clicking on the flashlight and aiming it at the floors. There was no sign of a break-in or a disturbance, no indication that Rook had arrived and had been snatched away. Still, he kept himself out of view, desperately searching for a tiny iota of space that was disturbed since their last departure… but there was nothing. Where was Rook?

Shoulders tense, Jacob pulled the radio out of his pocket and found her frequency.

"You're late, Deputy," he barked, his tone waspish from anxiety. "Everything all right?"

He waited one minute, and then two. No answer.

Ignoring the hundreds of possible explanations running through his head at mach speed, Jacob clenched his fist around the radio and tried again. "Deputy, I ain't playin' around. What's your status?"

—hurt somewhere, trapped somewhere, someone has her, she's dead, you got her killed—

"Rook, you better goddamn answer me before I come get you myself."

There was a low growling sound that startled him out of his growing upset, but he soon realized it came from him. His breath was rattling in his chest in an arrhythmic panic—focus, you idiot, she's out there, she needs you lucid—and Jacob Seed found himself falling back on his old box breathing techniques, closing his eyes and letting his steady breaths calm himself until all that was left was the beat of his heart and a slowly forming plan.

Someone had her. If it was the Whitetails, he'd torch down the forest to find them, but first…

"John," was Jacob's curt greeting, the name an accusation over anything else.

There was a brief pause before his brother's voice drawled out, "Hello to you too, Jacob. Long time no chat."

Before John could go off on a snide tangent, Jacob interrupted, "Where's Rook?"

"You lost her?"

"Quit your bullshit, John," snapped Jacob with so much hostility that it surprised even him. "You threatened to take her back down to the Gate last time. I just wanna know if you made good on the promise."

"Lord, don't come between Jacob and his toys," came a muttered reply that John fully intended Jacob to hear, causing him to pull the radio away from his mouth and stare at it for the sheer audacity. "I don't have your Little Wrathling, brother."

"My what?"

"Your soulmate," said John dryly. "Her sin is Wrath."

Oh for fuck's sake.

"My sin's gonna be Wrath too if you don't tell me where she is, Johnny," he responded through gritted teeth.

"For the love of—I don't have her, Jacob, I promise you! She hasn't been in the Valley for a week." That John knew of, Jacob left unsaid. "Now can I please get back to my scallopini or are you going to keep yelling at me?"

Jacob had no idea what the fuck that was either, but he clenched his jaw and left John with no reply. If he didn't have her, who did?

"Faith," was Jacob's next guess, trying his best to lighten his tone so as not to upset the perky little girl and failing miserably.

There was a pause, before Faith's delicate voice replied with far more cheer than seemed humanly possible, "Brother Jacob! I haven't heard from you in so long! How are you?"

"Where's my soulmate, Faith?" Jacob replied curtly, ignoring her fluff.

Faith remained unperturbed in her tone. "I have her here, at my Gate."

Jacob spent a silent moment just melting with relief—she wasn't hurt or dead somewhere, she was okay, she was with Faith—until he seized up again with panic. That faux-virginal siren had his soulmate in the Bliss, guaranteed. She wouldn't turn his girl into an Angel, would she? He didn't want to wait to find out.

"She speaks of you," Faith cooed through the radio, breaking him out of his thoughts, because all reports stated that his Rook was a silent statue—that couldn't be true, could it? "Would you like to come and visit us?"

No, he thought angrily, he wanted her here, where she belonged.

"Don't fucking move," Jacob said instead, hitching his bow back over his shoulder and storming out of the cabin. "I'm on my way."

Faith's reply was just a giggle. He'd wring that tiny girl's neck if she hurt one hair on Rook's head, Joseph be damned.

It took him far less time than normal to reach the Center again, running on pure rage and adrenaline. It was his first instinct to grab the nearest truck without a word to his subordinates and hightail it south into the Henbane, but he couldn't be stupid about this—she had to be protected, coming back.

And she'd never forgive him if he went and got himself killed trying to go get her.

Shaking that soul-shattering thought out of his head, Jacob pulled aside an on-duty Chosen and hollered orders for a helicopter. His men seemed to sense he wasn't fucking around, because it took mere minutes before they were lifting off the ground, Jacob in the backseat clutching his MBP.50 like a lifeline and jiggling his leg impatiently. How long had Faith had her? How long did it take for people to start becoming Angels? He'd never been interested in the shit the Henbane cooked up beyond what it could do for him—capture targets, create Judges, help the conditioning—but now he cursed himself for not studying it. What if Faith had already ruined her? He didn't know how to undo it. Could it even be done?

They touched down at the base of the hill where Faith's Gate was nestled, Jacob's feet hitting the ground before the helicopter's did. The screech of crickets was loud, audible even over the chopper's slowing blades. The air was murky here, heavy, thick, too unlike the thin air of the mountains—he couldn't see more than a few meters ahead. He was surrounded by Bliss flowers, the gentle breeze carrying their potency on the wind and dampening his senses only slightly—he and his army made themselves all but immune like Faith a long time ago with microdoses of the stuff, so that their own weapons could never be used against him—but it was still enough to slow down his reflexes. He fucking hated it down here.

But then he turned and found her, nestled at the base of a tree just outside of Faith's Gate, the moonlight tinting her silver. The palpable relief he felt at finally seeing his soulmate's legs covered in her half-dozen weapon holsters was almost destroyed when he saw the rest of her, draped over Faith's lap, her hair braided with flowers. She was smiling, but not in that smart-aleck way she did when they were bantering or in that triumphant way when she managed to coax an inhuman noise out of him when they were fucking—it was too innocent, too unaware, even if it was unbearably beautiful. Her gloved hands pawed at the air, chasing some invisible thing. She was docile, placid, and it didn't matter how pretty she looked in all her smiling, starlit, flowery glory—Faith stole her from him, stripped away her mind, made her weak.

Unaware of Jacob's inner turmoil, Faith smiled sunnily at him as he approached, scowling and ready to trade words.

"I'm so glad you could make it," crooned Faith, like it wasn't all her fault he was down here. Before he could snark out a response, she nudged Rook's shoulder with a gentle hand and whispered, "See? Didn't I promise he'd come for you?"

There was the briefest flicker of confusion over Rook's face, before she shot up like a rocket, so quickly she tipped off of Faith's lap and collapsed in a heap into the flowers. It would have been comical if she didn't immediately scramble upright, swivel her dreamy head towards him and absolutely fucking beam at the sight of him.

He'd never seen such a look of pure happiness on her face—anyone's face—let alone directed at him. He forgot how to breathe for a moment, just watching her smile and stumble through the flowers and reach out with eager hands towards him in a silent plea for his touch, and how the fuck was he supposed to do anything except concede to her request? She made the happiest noise when he caught her by her wrists, pressing herself tight to his front and rubbing her cheek against his chest like an affectionate cat. Pure relief washed over him from the pulse of their bond through her skin into his, the world righted again, his worries briefly alleviated in the truth of her safety.

"Didn't think you'd come," she slurred, blinking up at him, the stars reflected in her eyes. Christ, she was gorgeous. "Thought you'd hate this."

He did. Not her—never her—but her earthy scent was overtaken by the sharp smell of Bliss and she could barely keep her eyes open and he'd just spent the last hour in a complete state over where the fuck she'd been. She belonged in untamed wilds, not in whatever false world Rook was seeing now, stumbling all over him with none of her normal barriers of safety and preservation.

He hated all of this.

Ducking his face by her ear so Faith wouldn't hear, Jacob murmured, "Always gonna come for you, kitten."

"Diiirtyyy…" she giggled, the sound muffled by his shirt, and he sent her an exasperated look she couldn't see before turning to address Faith, who had risen to her feet and was watching them with warmth.

"The fuck is this?" he asked shortly, letting go of Rook's wrist to gesture at her.

"Is something wrong?" Faith said, smile never wavering. "Your soulmate is safe."

"I can fuckin' see that now," Jacob replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm as Rook made silly cooing noises and did her damn best to wrap herself around him. "Why the hell did you bring her into the Bliss?"

"She is happy here," said Faith primly, unperturbed by his hostile tone. "Can't you see?"

She was happy with him.

"What really happened, Faith? What toy of yours did she take from you?"

There it was—the brief flicker of annoyance that passed over the girl's face before it was hastily covered up by her lie of a smile. "The Bliss is not a punishment, Jacob. It frees you. Look at her. Isn't she so open, so trusting, so loving?"

He didn't even want to contemplate the idea, but Rook sighed in response, still nuzzling her way underneath his jacket like she wanted him to consume her, merge with her until they were the same entity sharing the same skin. He swallowed thickly, bringing a hand up to cradle her head. A part of him wondered if he should be happy—wasn't this what he once wanted, to fill her mind with nothing but the Project, to want nothing but him?—but it was easily overtaken by the flame of rage burning in his gut.

Rook wasn't Rook without all her walls. He didn't want this, not anymore.

"Did she do anythin' to you, wildcat?" he asked her seriously, dipping his chin to look down at her and feeling oddly charmed by the way she tilted her head up to meet him.

"You always smell good," was her stoned reply, rising on her booted tiptoes to press her nose into his throat. "Like the mountains. Makes me think of you, when I'm runnin' around up there. Can't wait to go back to the cabin 'n' ride your—"

"Rook," he said in warning, glaring murderously at Faith's stifled giggle.

"Mhmm…" she hummed, rebellious tongue darting out to taste his jugular.

Maybe it was the spike of soul-striking pleasure that came from the brief contact, or maybe it was the haze of Bliss in the air dulling his senses, or maybe it was just the fact that it was Rook… but for the slightest of seconds Jacob seriously considered laying her down in the sun-dried grass just beyond the flower field and letting her do whatever she wanted with him, audience be damned.

"Focus," he snarled instead. "How did she get you here?"

He pulled back, watching her Bliss-drunk eyes (were they always such a pale green?) dart back and forth as though she were glancing between pieces of the past, trying to connect them all together.

"Burke," was what she managed to utter after a long moment of thought. "I took him. Earl told me to."

"You took who?"

"The Marshal," she whispered, with a woozy glance back at Faith, who was doing her best to look neutral with her hands clasped behind her. "I took him from the Gate. I took him away. We left t'gether…" Bingo. Jacob shot Faith another glare, one she blinked innocently at in response. "She took me back. Only me, not him. Said I was wrong to take him away when he wanted to stay. But I wanted to stay with you, 'n' she took me away…" She trailed off into a frown. "… s'that how I made Burke feel?"

"Now she sees," Faith exclaimed with a satisfied sigh and a beam he wanted to smack right off her face. "The Bliss has helped her understand."

"'m sorry," Rook said quietly, and Jacob let out an angry noise—his Deputy should apologize to no one, least of all some fake little hypocrite who stole her away from her rightful place at his side.

The combination of the bizarre sound and the way Rook was starting to tip forward into his arms made him realize he'd lingered too long in the hazy air.

"Lemme take you home, wildcat," he suggested, trying to tilt her head back upright to confirm she was still conscious.

"But you're already here," she slurred, voice tinged with confusion.

Later he would realize what that half-baked utterance really meant, but at the moment he brushed it off as more Bliss-addled nonsense, pressing a placating kiss to her brow.

"Don't ever do this again," he warned Faith as he placed an arm underneath Rook's knees and scooped her up.

"Don't you like seeing her on our side, brother?" his fake sister said, the light tone in her voice offset by the hardening look in her eyes. "Don't you like seeing how much she cares for you? I've helped her see. I've made her yours."

"You made her weak," he hissed at her, turning on his heel and storming towards the chopper before Faith and the polluted air could confuse him with any more talk of Rook's feelings.

He was barely a few steps out of the flower field when Rook's fingers tugged on his jacket, and he looked down at her in case something was wrong. He froze in his tracks when he found Rook looking up at him with her chin trembling and wide eyes rimmed with tears, oh God she was crying? Jacob tensed at once, fully prepared to lay her down in the grass and look her over for wherever she was hurt until she spoke, her voice broken and soft like wind over rock.

"You think I'm weak?"

Goddamn it, he thought in frustration, resuming his stride over to the helicopter with an extra quick pace. Jacob had no idea how to handle women when they cried, let alone women he wasn't trying to break for the Project's purposes, let alone his woman.

So he told the truth.

Pressing his mouth to her hair again, he said with fierce conviction, "No, wildcat. There's no one stronger than you."

She gazed up at him with drunken, teary adoration at his stalwart proclamation, and if he stared a little as he loaded her into the helicopter, who could really blame him? Her hand found purchase in the collar of his jacket as she crawled her way into his lap, cloudy eyes blinking slowly shut into sleep and head tipping to rest on his shoulder, and he made sure to send a fierce glare or two at the driver to make sure he wouldn't dare comment on the way Jacob closed his eyes to savor it.

He couldn't take her to St. Francis for a multitude of reasons, so he had the driver drop them off at a clearing tactically shielded by trees and shooed him off with one hand, the other hitched around Rook so he could carry her home. He watched her sleep off the Bliss in the furs with serenity in her expression and her hand clenched around his for dear life, his own face marred by a frown from crashing adrenaline and the crushing realization that he was far, far, far out of his depth.

The sun was just creeping overhead when Rook finally stirred, arm blindly flopping out in search of him. He was half-asleep on the couch at that point, but the sight of her lifting her frazzled head to scowl at the empty space he'd normally be occupying caused him to let out a quiet breath of a chuckle, which alerted her to his presence.

"Hey gorgeous, whatcha doin' over there?" she cooed with a sleepy smile, the searching arm beckoning impatiently for him to join her.

Ignoring both the question and the gesture, he sat up onto the edge of the seat and tried to resist the urge to stretch out his sore neck. "How you feelin', wildcat?"

She wrinkled her nose with confusion, silently contemplating for a moment. Her eyes blew wide and she promptly plunked herself back down face-first into the furs.

"Oh fuck me, the Bliss!" came muffled from somewhere underneath her. "Fucking Faith." Before he could do something stupid like promise her safety from his false sister, she rolled over onto her back with one hand draped over her eyes. "Ugh, I hate that nauseating foggy bullshit..."

"Did it make you sick?"

"Not this time. Always hits me harder than other people though," she replied with a scowl. "Did the bitch take my stuff?"

Jacob cringed, realizing he'd been so wrapped up in Rook he hadn't even bothered to think about her empty holsters. "Guess so."

"I liked that LMG," Rook whined petulantly, before sitting up and giving him a loaded, awkward look that froze his blood —fucking Christ, she wanted to talk about it, didn't she? "Um. So, uh, I don't... I don't really know if most of what happened was even real. I'm gonna assume you didn't come riding to my rescue on a giant wolf?"

That broke the tension in him enough to let out another chuckle.

"Chopper, but you were close," he said, and then laughed again when she half-heartedly threw one of the furs at him.

"Well... thanks. For coming for me," she finished, with a bashful duck of her head and an off-the-side mutter to herself of, "Jesus Christ, I sound like Jess."

"Don't mention it," he muttered just as awkwardly.

"You sure?" she said with a much lighter tone, and he looked back at her to see her wearing a not-so-subtle smirk and stretching in a way that made her breasts rise tantalizingly. "Could show you how grateful I am..."

He exhaled a shocked breath even as he moved to join her on the floor. "You just woke up from a hard trip in the Bliss, but you wanna fuck?"

"We missed the opportunity last night," she purred as she flung her leg over his unabashedly. "Gotta make up for lost time."

He'd just begun to slide his hand over her hip to grab at her ass when the pocket of her jacket started making muffled crackling noises, making her sit up and frown. She put up a finger to pause his wandering hands as she reached over him to pull her radio out.

"...oadblocks around Fall's End, think they're boxin' us in," came a female voice with urgency. "Lemme know if you copy, Dep."

"Goddamn it," Rook grumbled to herself, before pressing the button and replying shortly, "Standby, Mary May, I'll be there in a sec."

He hated Mary May from that moment on, settling with a disappointed huff into the furs and rebelliously reaching over to cop one quick feel before she inevitably threw herself back into this stupid war. Rook snorted at the gesture, throwing the radio onto the couch before grabbing his free hand and placing it stubbornly on the other side of her ass.

"Aren't you gonna—?" he asked, before being interrupted by her mouth closing pleasantly around his lower lip.

"Said I'd show some gratitude," Rook said cheekily, after a good few minutes of kissing him breathless. "Consider that part one."

The taste of her on his tongue, he watched with anticipation for the future as she shuffled off him to gather what was left of her belongings.

Painfully aware she was now going back into the fray with nothing to defend herself, he sat up and demanded, "Take my rifle."

She made a face he couldn't decode—some kind of a grimace paired with a blush?—and said with a dismissive wave, "Your gun sticks out like a sore thumb, Jacob. I'll just hit up an outpost or steal some Peggie's shit."

"At least take this," he said impatiently, pulling his favored red-handled knife from its holster and holding it out to her. "Not gonna send you out to steal my men's shit with your fists, wildcat."

That somehow strengthened her blush tenfold, and she took his knife and slipped it into her empty holster without looking at him. There was a moment of loaded silence, before she wordlessly leaned over to press a parting kiss against the corner of his mouth and darted out of the cabin with nothing more.

With that, he watched her hightail it into the woods, knowing full well they would never speak again about what was said in the Bliss. Later they would both avoid speaking of the loaded confessions made on both sides and anything else that could upset the delicate balance of the perfect dream-world they'd crafted for themselves—it was their way, after all.

(Part two of her gratitude came later in the form of letting him bend her over whatever horizontal surface he could think of.)

But he secretly kept every moment of that day from then on, her giant smile at the mere sight of him, her sweet, drunken words that perhaps hinted at his place in her heart, and let them settle in his chest like a tiny ember to warm him up on those cold days without her.

Jacob Seed was doomed.

A/N: My perfectionist ass hates this middling interlude of a chapter, but things are set to really get going by next chap :) Fun fact: Jacob's dog tags spell his name with a K for some reason.

Special thanks to RBurger!