#ch: samira abdullah.

[deputyzed]

@wolfbeacons sent: ❝ do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in right now? ❞

HER HOME IS COMPLETELY DARK when she returns, still riding the high of the day's victory and the pleasant buzz a couple of celebratory drinks at the Spread Eagle had left. Today marked a huge triumph for the resistance. John Seed was dead, and with his death, there remained a flicker of hope that they may just succeed in washing away the stain left by the cult. Though there was still so much work to be done, especially in the Henbane and the Whitetail Mountains, the Peggies' influence in Holland Valley had all but crumbled. Now it was just a matter of time before the other regions followed suit and were liberated from their respective Heralds. The fight was far from over, but tonight was not the time to plan for the future, tonight was a time to revel in the glow of her achievements, leave the hard work for tomorrow.

Perhaps it was the influence of the alcohol that had distracted her, or her own smug pride that kept her from taking complete stock of her surroundings before getting too comfortable for she did not notice the dark shadow lurking in her kitchen. Not when she first entered her home, nor when she turned her attention to the fridge while humming a cheery tune to herself as she perused its contents. It was not until a soft, but familiar voice cuts through the darkness that she became acutely aware she was not alone. 'do you have any idea how much trouble you're in right now?'

At first her mind refuses to believe the sound, the voice which haunts her nightmares is right here with her in her home, and not being blasted over some radio, or over the crackly static of an intercom at a Peggy outpost. More pressingly, she refuses to acknowledge the truth of the matter. She'd let her guard down, she'd become too comfortable, and had missed all the signals that someone had forced themselves into her home. Except this wasn't just a random thief in the night, this was him.

He was perhaps the most dangerous brother of the Seed family. His military background, army of Chosen, and understanding of the human psyche made him an intimidating target, and a deeply fascinating character, moreso than the rest of his family. He had put her through his trials once already, had played his sick games with her mind, and now she had walked right into his trap. Goosebumps crop along her arms, the hairs raising on the back of her neck as she stands frozen in place. A small, prideful, part of her is glad that he cannot see her shocked expression, she would not let him see her fear. Another, more logical, part of her realizes that her back is turned to him, making her all too easy prey, weak even. And you know what happens to the weak.

Quickly, she grabs a knife from the wooden block on her counter as she whirls around to face him. flipping on the lights in the process. The dim light reveals the large figure of Jacob Seed sitting quietly at her kitchen table, as if he had come to visit and was waiting all too patiently to be served his dinner. Like Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf, except there was no woodsman to save her, and she refused to be made into his next meal. Brandishing her knife in front of her, she glares at him with all the hate and disgust she can muster. She does not answer him, but instead asks a question of her own, her voice filled with venom. Her own form of rebellion in the face of danger. "Is that why you're here then? To punish me for all the trouble I've caused?"

[deputyzed]

THERE WAS LITTLE DOUBT THAT THE BRUISES ON HER JAW would be the only reminder of his visit that night by the time they were finished. If he wanted to mark her, then let him. He would not leave her house unscathed, for she would fight back tooth and nail, brand him with her own fair share of scratches and bruises. Despite being roughly handled to face him once more, pinned beneath his weight with her jaw smarting at the painful press of his fingers, she takes some satisfaction in the sight of thin red lines forming along his cheeks where her nails had marred his skin. An eye for an eye, a mark for a mark.

Her arrogance is ruined only by his mirroring smile. Of course he liked this, the sick bastard that he was. He wanted her to fight back much like the other times she had fallen into his grasp. And just like the other times, a small part of her briefly considers playing weak, to let him do as he pleases with no complaint if only to deny him the pleasure of seeing her struggle. Yet the desire to rebel ultimately wins, just as it always does. She was too proud to give in to his intimidation. The smile she once wore is replaced instead with a scowl, meeting his smug grin with a glare of her own.

The moment is soon broken by the hand around her throat. Though she had fortified herself to rebellion, fear takes over. An unbidden memory surfaces to the forefront of her mind, of him snuffing out the life of a prisoner deemed too 'weak' to continue his trials at the veteran's center. All it had taken was just a simple squeeze of his hand around their throat and their windpipe was crushed in a matter of seconds. Eyes wide, breath gasping, her hands fly to grasp at his wrist as she twists and writhes beneath him in a panic. Trying to free herself from his hold by any means necessary. But she soon realizes the pressure he applies is not deadly. She can breathe, not easily, but she will not die.

Though it was only a brief moment of weakness, there was no hiding the naked fear that had taken over. She wanted to kick herself for letting him frighten her so easily. He had undoubtedly noted her reaction, especially with his face a mere few inches away, and his fingers resting tight against the errant pulse beating in her neck. Refusing to let him intimidate her any further, she stills beneath him taking a slow, steadying breath. "The end of the road is when you and all your family are dead, and I can dance freely on your graves. You will not own me." She practically spits, fixing him with the same angry look as before. Shoulders squared, chin tilted high, and her nails digging into the skin of his wrist as she attempts to pry his hand loose, she continues. "John is already dead, Faith and Joseph are next." The smile returns, but this time it's not born of arrogance, but rather a deranged sort of vengeance. "I think I'll save you for last so you can watch as all your family dies around you, and you're left with nothing but ashes."

SHE CLAWS AT HIM IN DESPERATION, like an animal backed into corner, bearing its teeth in some futile attempt. he always admired that about her. where others would crumble against the weight of it all, samira somehow found the strength to fight back. she was strong. never weak. and that was why she was special. the object of his obsession, the perfect little soldier. jacob almost laughs as she leaves her mark against his cheek, no doubt dragging away skin like a trophy. it's obvious from any angle that there's a grin forming at the corners of his lips, and it's enough to prompt the removal of the knife from the equation.

in one fell swoop, the hunting knife slams against the wood of her kitchen table, dug away into its new home. but where the blade once stood, a hand soon returns to her jaw, where he roughly turns her around to face him. better to face the little lion now. see what more those claws could do now. his weight is the key in keeping the deputy pinned beneath him, even now as she's backed against the countertop. " there's ways of punishing you that don't require me killing you, " his suggestion is left open to interpretation. regardless, there's a look of disappointment in his eyes. his prodigy, his key to ending the whitetails' reign, was becoming quite the liability. joseph demanded retribution. all of their people in holland valley wanted to see her dead. how could he not make her pay for killing his little brother?

" honey, you ain't even seen scared yet. " he threatens her, cold eyes seem to glow against the dull lighting of the kitchen. the hand that once pressed too deeply into newly forming bruises slips down, finding a place beneath her jaw, around her neck. the squeeze that follows is a gesture of purpose. a threat. " what do you think is at the end of this road, samira? hm? do you think you're going free? ''

[deputyzed]

UP CLOSE AND IN THE LIGHT HE IS EVEN MORE menacing than before. She should have kept the lights off, let him remain a shadow, a monster hiding in the dark rather than the snarling beast snapping in her face. But it was too late for her to do anything now. The fact that she holds a knife in her hand doesn't register through the bone crushing grip he has on her jaw, all she can focus on is the pain and the cold ice of his eyes boring into hers. For a brief moment her expression betrays her, wincing at the initial sting of his touch. The true fear shines in her gaze then, before she steels herself to keep a stiff upper lip. Defiant to the very end.

Even when he swats her knife away, as easily as taking scissors from a child. Even when he smacks her forehead against the countertop, the only weakness she allows an involuntary hiss of pain. Even with a knife pressed to her throat, she resolves herself to continue her rebellion. Slowly, careful of the blade against her skin, she turns her head so that her cheek is pressed into the cold tile, and she can fix him with the same, impetuous look from the corner of her eye. "You mean we're not already having fun?"

She's acutely aware of the proximity of his face, close enough that his breath stirs the fine hairs framing her temple and brow. His body is like a large weighted blanket of muscle and bone, pressing her further and further into the countertop. A wolf playing with his food, but she was no innocent lamb ripe for the slaughter. Never one to back down from a challenge, she squirms against the confines of her cage knowing it would be nearly impossible to escape.

Despite the way her heart pounded in her ears, she couldn't deny the part of her that buzzed with excitement. There was small pleasure in the fact that the man responsible for her entrapment could kill her, but an even greater thrill in knowing that he wouldn't. If he wanted her dead, he could have killed her long ago. Pounced on her the moment she walked through the door, silencing her before she could have even screamed, and yet he held back. No, she would not die tonight, the knowledge of which brings a smug smile to her lips.

"If you're not going to punish me, then what are you doing here? Are you trying to scare me into giving up? Because no matter what you do, it's not going to work." She's taunting him, a stupid decision knowing that would likely only anger him even more. But she doesn't care. Her pride won't allow her to succumb to whatever fucked up machination he had planned without a fight. Without warning, she reaches up behind her and claws harshly at his cheeks. Marking him in much the same way he had along her jaw.

HIS CHILDHOOD MEMORIES ARE PAINTED IN BRUISES AND BLOOD. jacob had fought their father, tooth and nail, to protect them from wrath. he had learned, even at a young age, that there was no place in this world for weakness. there were always predators, there was always prey. and their parents were the first predators to sink their teeth into their skin. it wasn't long after graduating high school that he was shipped off to fight the gulf war. little john and joseph were split between two homes, destined to become victims of the system. he would be lying if he'd said that there weren't countless nights that he stared up at the stars, wondering if they were staring up at them the same. that naivety was lost in the war, crushed beneath the weight of gunfire and explosions.

when joseph pieced the family back together, there was hope. at least in the eyes of the father. jacob had a hard time subscribing to the idea of the voice, or this destiny they were meant to carve out. he couldn't relate to his brothers, or the countless faiths that lined up to slaughter. war prepares you for death, for the inevitable loss of your brethren. so, why did the news of john's death pull at something dead inside of him? his youngest brother was an idiot, controlled by his own weakness, but - his bloodshed was celebrated by those who did not deserve to breathe the same air.

and at the center of it all was the deputy. the golden girl. the beacon of hope the people of this county clung to in the midst of the reaping. she was weak. even now, as she wandered through her home, unaware of the danger that lurked in the darkness. he had sat at this table for an hour. a patient predator always gets its prey. and, like a lamb wandering from too far from the flock, samira finds herself in the jaws of a wolf.

the knife she holds doesn't pose any threat to him. he could kill her before the opportunity to use it would even present itself. it doesn't take much for jacob to rise to full height and close the distance between them. her defiance was unacceptable. her willingness to continue to fight with the resistance would be noted. his hand is almost as big as her face when he grabs her by the jaw. it's worth noting that the grip would likely leave its mark in the morning. she could stab him now. right through the heart. but he doubts she has the guts to try, not when he was commanding all of her attention.

" do not mistake my tolerance for weakness, angel. your worth does not outweigh your crime. " that's a threat. there's something serious about the way he speaks now. no more mind games, no more dancing around the point. the deputy had managed to take something from him, and she would pay the price. when he lets go of her face, he shoves her against the countertop and confiscates the knife. it's all done in a swift motion. before samira knows it, her face is pressed against the cool tile with a knife against her throat. the weight of his body against hers is a restraint. there's a long pause before he speaks against her ear. " i could punish you now. but that would take the fun out of it, wouldn't it? "