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It was just a normal day. It had started with training, Peyton's early morning routine, then a shower, a fresh change of clothes, and breakfast. Time had been spent with Astrid before the life had gone off to her afternoon Duties, and Pey was left to her own devices.

Because she was a Sun, and because she made a habit of getting her divisional work down early, it left her days fairly open. There were other duties, of course, but nothing for her on the rooster until much much later. So left with an abundance of free time, the girl had nipped down to the library and found a book on The Horsemen of the Apocolypse. She hadn't been on the last mission, but there was enough rumors rolling around the island to make researching the bastards a wise idea.

Book propped open on her knee, she had sprawled herself on a large chair in one of the common rooms. Her bare feet were kicked up on arm of the chair, nails painted a lovely shade of turquoise. She was wearing shorts - she was always wearing shorts - and had gone with a looser fit halter, rather than her usual camisole and t-shirt combination.

As of yet everything seemed to progressing normally, but Peyton didn't know that Jane had been called into Caelius' office, nor the events tat were already transpiring.

She heard someone coming, but upon seeing Jack as she tore her gaze away from the page she'd been reading she made a softly disgusted sound before returning to her reading. Anger rolled up in the pit of her stomach like some leviathan, and she attributed it the stunt he'd pulled at the end of the last mission they'd been forced to work together on.

It never occurred to her that anything out of the ordinary might be wrong. Jack was an a*****e, and there was no lost love between them. Swellings of negative emotions were expected when their path's crossed.

The desire to bait him placed a snarky, bitchy little comment on her tongue, and she pressed her lips in a thin line to keep it from escaping. Usually she'd have not bothered holding back, but then usually she didn't feel quite so violently enraged by his mere presence. Just the sight of him today was enough to make her lip curl.

<You didn't seem this pissed after the mission.. >

Apparently it's been festering.

<Yeah, but..> The demon trailed off, not at all convinced, given he had access to the hunter's thoughts.

The departing footsteps came to a halt, and Peyton's jaw set in a hard line. Of course he wasn't going to just walk away, that would have been too damn easy, wouldn't it? His voice filled the otherwise quiet room, and the tone alone was enough to have the teen grinding her teeth.

"Involuntary reaction to something unpleasant." Pale eyes rolled up from her page, head turning just enough for her to glance towards where he stood.

Why couldn't he just go away? Why was he now walking towards her, bent on ruining her comfort? By the time he had reached her side she was practically bristling. Warrick was growling through her mind, hackles raised and ready. He did not like the tall hunter anywhere near his hunter, not after the hospital, and not after what had happened at the end of their shared mission. Her fingers, where they gripped the cover of her book, were white-knuckled.

The anger at his presence was normal, the lever of aggression his very presence seemed to inspire would have been strange, had she been able to reason through it.

She couldn't

He stood over her, and she glared up at him, then the hand with the cup moved, and there was a split second to think 'He wouldn't dare', then the cup was tipping, and scalding liquid was spilling over her chest in a burning rush.

"Mother ********!" She spilled off the couch, escaping that hot stream of coffee, and landed on the floor with a feral snarl contouring otherwise delicate features. There was enough of her left, despite the swell of rage, to resit summoning Warrick even as he roared through her head. Instead she threw her weight to the side, swinging her leg into Jack's to knock him off his feet.

She probably should have expected him to make a dive for her as she foot swept him. It's what she would have done. It was an oversight, one that would let him slam her back into the carpet between couch and table, too surprised to properly register what the ******** was happening before a blow to the cheek threw her head to one side, accompanied by a short starburst of darkness that ate at her vision before his voice managed to slip through the ring in her ears. Then everything just went red.

Rage swirled up inside her. Warrick screamed in her head, the wrath demon's anger feeding into her own, until she thought her blood should boil. It washed away the pain from the burn, and her jaw was just a distant ache. It would hurt like hell later, but for now there were other things to worry about.

Like the tall Life hunter looming over her with something close to murderous intent. One big hand twisting into her hair.

When she turned her head to look back up at him there was blood on her lips from a flesh split on the bottom. The cut bleeding faster as a most unpleasant smile pulled at it. "Was I?" Her voice was an angry purr, and she had a very strong desire to spit in his face.

Instead she lashed out. Her mobility was seriously limited, as were her choices, but he hadn't bothered to pin her hands. They shot up, going for his throat, and her small hands weren't big enough to connect. It made choking him a poor option, but she was stronger now, and she dug her nails into the back of his neck as she pushed with her thumbs to either side of his larynx.

Maybe she did have the strength to strangle him after all. He gasped, and that one soft sound grew her smile into a grin, sharp and feral. She squeezed as hard as she could, nails digging in, leaving little angry crescents in his skin. They bled when he pulled his hand roughly from her curls to grab at her wrists, jerking her hands away from him and pushing them back above her head. Her knuckles hit the carpet, then she was straining against his grip, pushing against his hold on her wrists. Arms raising up by slow inches.

One big hand had been enough to trap her thin wrists, but he'd need both to keep them pinned to the ground, or eventually she would regain the leverage she needed to tear free. She was tiny, but she was a hell of a lot stronger than her delicate packaging advertised.

"Does it?" She laughed, a harsh bark of sound as she glared up at him. "Do I dominate you thoughts, Jack?" Immobilized, she didn't have many options, but that wouldn't keep her from jerking against his hold. "Does it feel good, the bite of nails, the pain? Does that turn your crank, Jack?" She spoke through clenched teeth, head lifted off the ground. If he'd been closer she'd have slammed her brow into his, but he hand't loomed close enough for that. Not yet.

He was wrong, this wasn't the sort of attention she craved, not really. She'd just echoed the conversation that had passed between them in the hospital, but his mind had been made up about her from the moment they had met, and nothing she could do or say would ever change it.

He had her pinned, and she didn't have a choice but to listen as he hissed down at her, but it flowed away, like water off a ducks back. Jack's opinion had meant something at one point in time, but not now. Now it was just the angry ravings of some a*****e. Peyton fought against his hold, yanking on his grip on her wrists, making him work to keep her pinned. Yes, eventually she would get free, but there was plenty he could do before then that would be painful and unpleasant.

The almost gentle brush of fingers along her throat was startling, but it sent her heart pound, eyes going wide, because she knew what he meant to do before those long fingers closed around that slender neck. "Don't you da-" He leaned forward, and her words ended in a choked noise as her airway was cut off.

The first time had been nothing, he hadn't had the strength then, but he had it now, and his own weight, and she couldn't breath.

Panic lent a new strength to her struggling, and she bucked underneath him, drove a knee up into his back, jerked at her arms with everything she had until she could yank one free. It came back as far as carpet allowed her, then she was angling those sharp little knuckles upward, not at his jaw, but through it, as if she really could have shattered that bone and hit something deeper.

s**t s**t s**t! Her hand ached where she'd hit him, knuckles throbbing, but he hadn't let her go. Instead he'd added a second hand to the first, long fingers closing over her throat. Her vision was starting to go grey around the edges, spotting, and she was running out of options.

His soothing voice slid past the rush of blood in her ears, and she could feel his fingertips sliding ever so softly at the back of her neck. Tenderly, unnerving as hell. Wide eyes stared up into his sweetly smiling face, and she hated him. ******** whatever lingering compassion she might have felt, it was dead. Now there was only hate, burning and hot, and she wanted nothing more than to make him hurt.

Everything was closing in, darkness eating at her vision, and she reached up groping half blind until her hands touched his face, and she slid her fingers over his cheeks until her thumbs found his eyes. Then she pushed, thumbs angled to drive painted nails inward, digging, aiming to gouge his eyes if he didn't back the ******** off her.

<Destroy him.> The demon's voice was a angry snarl in her mind, and she echoed it, lips pulling back in a strangled growl.

If she passed out she didn't know what he'd do, and she did not want to be at Jack's mercy.