15. Jane

My first official lesson of the day is with Avery, but he's already gone before breakfast, so I walk to class with Travis and Drew. They both seem extra twitchy, and when we reach the classroom door, I peer inside, expecting the worst. But it's just a bunch of students slumped at their desks and a blackboard sprinkled with chalk dust. I turn to thank them for walking me, only to find Travis shoulder-checking a guy so hard he goes sprawling. "What was that for?"

"We're just a little on edge," Drew explains, his dimples nowhere to be seen as the guy springs back to his feet and scuttles down the hall. "This isn't our favorite class."

I check my schedule again. "Military History. Is it boring?"

"We should sit in on this one," Travis mutters, cracking his knuckles and scowling through the doorway. "Make sure Waterford doesn't go off-script."

Drew looks like he's considering it. "We could hang out at the back. Keep an eye on things."

"That won't be necessary," a cold voice says behind me, and I spin to face an alpha in full military uniform. "I assure you, gentlemen, I always adhere to the curriculum."

I quickly glance at the gold leaf on his shoulder strap. Major. He has gray streaks in his hair, but he's big and broad, with a square jaw. Strange to see a senior officer in a classroom instead of at the front, but as he limps past me, I get my answer. He's been wounded, and badly. For an alpha to limp like that, he must have been close to losing his leg. "Hurry up, Cutter. Locke and Wake, off to your classes."

Travis shoots a murderous glance at the professor's back, but I grab his hand and squeeze it. "I'll be fine. Don't get in trouble for my sake."

There's a snort from a student pushing past us, and when the guys start to growl in unison, I nudge them down the hall. But pushing Travis is like trying to tip over a brick wall, and he hisses through his teeth, "This fucking school…"

"It's fine," I say again. "I can handle myself." He scowls down at me, and I put up my fists in the defensive pose he taught me. "Remember? I'm a lethal weapon now."

A small smile softens his face, and I feel the tingle of his approval all the way down my spine. Especially when Drew leans in and squeezes my waist, his breath ghosting over my scalp. "Law will meet you here for Strategy and Tactics. Just don't go anywhere on your own, okay killer?"

I purse my lips at the nickname but nod and hurry into class. Major Waterford is standing at the front, his cold eyes tracking me as I search for a seat. My heart sinks as I realize Carmen Van Ness is in this class. She looks immaculate in her school uniform, one silky leg crossed over the other, but her hard stare as she studies me is anything but friendly. I turn, awkward in the sea of staring students, and feel a rush of relief when I spot a familiar face. But Avery averts his gaze so quickly, I'm worried about neck strain. Clearly, he doesn't want to sit beside me, even though there are only a couple of empty chairs – one next to him and the other next to Carmen.

"Sit next to Cadet Van Ness, Cutter," the major snaps, clearly fed up with my dawdling.

But Carmen is already on her feet, striding past me to sit by Avery. It leaves me little choice but to take the desk she just vacated, and I'm just sliding onto the chair when loud boots stomp up behind me. I whirl around, expecting to be confronted by the professor's icy stare, and my heart almost stops to find Manson looming over me. His thin lips curl down as he jerks a finger over his shoulder. "Move."

I blink at the empty chair next to him. "What's wrong with that desk?"

He shakes his head. "I always sit against the wall. You take this one or sit on the floor. I don't give a fuck."

I thought that now I was his blade boy, he might treat me a little better, but I guess that's not how it works with the Trap Team. Instead, he jerks out the chair he doesn't want, and I have little choice but to sink into it. As he settles at the desk in the corner, Major Waterford gives a weary sigh and points at Van Ness. "Where was Professor Dawley up to in the curriculum?"

"We were just about to start our research projects," Carmen tells him, sliding a glance at Avery. "It's a pairs assignment, I believe, sir."

"Fine. Then you'll partner up with the person you're currently sitting beside." He casts a quick glance around the room. "And no seat swapping. You're not going to be able to select your fellow soldiers on the battlefield, so get used to making do with each other."

A student with a slick part and a straight spine raises his hand. "Sir, will we still be able to choose our own research topics?"

The major's mouth turns down. "What did I just say about your autonomy on the front, cadet? No, you will research what I give you." He flips open a worn textbook in front of him and starts barking out topics, pointing at pairs of students as he goes. When he reaches Avery and Van Ness, he says, "Technological improvement in military data management over the past fifty years."

Van Ness' pretty face frowns, her hand shooting into the air. "I'm planning to follow in my father's footsteps after graduation, Major Waterford. Wouldn't it make more sense to study the contributions the Military Research Division has made to the United Armed Front?"

It's a less-than-subtle suggestion, but the Major doesn't look up from the textbook. "It would make more sense to do as you're told, Van Ness. But if your partner is happy to study the topic, then go ahead and rewrite your orders."

A prickly silence follows his curt reply, and then he's lifting those cold eyes my way. "I suppose it's only fair I let you pick as well. Military discipline, with a focus on the Alpha Elite Corps. Or… the greatest military traitors of the last decade."

A ripple of shocked laughter passes through the room, but I can sense Manson stiffening beside me. I glance at Avery, but his head is down, his lashes dark shadows on his cheeks. Carmen looks amused, but the professor is staring hard at me, his fingers tapping the textbook impatiently. "What will it be, cadet?"

I don't like the sound of either topic. But then, I don't plan on being here to complete the assignment, so what does it matter? "Military discipline," I blurt out, casting a side glance at Manson. To my shock, his face is pale, his hard mouth slack. I have no idea why he's reacting this way, but my stomach sinks. "Or, whatever," I mumble. "Manson can choose."

But Major Waterford is already turning to the board with a flourish of chalk. "Chapter Fifteen of your textbooks, cadets. If Cutter is passing on military traitors, we'll cover it together as a class."

I sink in my seat, feeling my ears burn. I'm still confused, especially when Avery mirrors my pose. But the sly looks being cast our way are quickly explained.

"Colonel Richard Locke." The professor says in a ringing tone, his chalk scratching the name across the board. When he turns, his eyes spear into Avery's bowed head. "Former chief archivist for the United Armed Front. He was convicted twelve years ago, along with his co-conspirators Captain Nicholas Wake and Lieutenant Cole Cutter. What was the crime they were charged with?"

"Espionage," one student offers.

"Selling secrets!" someone else calls out.

The student with the slick part at the front of the class chimes in. "Conspiracy to disclose national defense information, sir."

"Aiding the enemy." The voice is so low, it takes me a moment to realize it's coming from Avery. When I glance his way, his eyes are narrowed behind his glasses, his jaw white. Up until this moment, I thought he looked like a pale imitation of Drew, but the fire under his skin makes him almost incandescent. "That's the charge you're looking for isn't it, Major?"

Before the professor can respond, Avery has scooped up his things and is out of his chair, head down as he bustles to the door. I half-rise from my seat to follow him, but Manson shoots out a heavy hand, pushing me back down. When I glare at him, his eyes burn into mine. "Rats run. Blade boys sit and take it."

I gape at him, but he's swiveled back to the front, his hand gripping my shoulder for one more second before he rubs it across his thigh. Like he's trying to wipe away a smear of dirt.

"He might be a rat," I mutter under my breath, anger burning through my bones, "but he's loyal to his family. I'd take that over being part of the Trap Team any day."

"Cutter!" I'm still glaring into Manson's hard eyes when the major's voice slices into me like a knife. "If you've got so much to say, you can read the chapter out loud to the rest of the class."

There are more twittering whispers, but the guy on my other side shoves a textbook in front of me and I start reading in a monotone voice. I'm sure the professor expects me to be furious that he's forcing me to recite my family's shameful past, but I secretly find it fascinating.

And heartbreaking.

According to the dry account in the textbook, over a decade ago, my housemates' fathers were all caught in one of the biggest military scandals in the history of the Civin States. As the chief archivist at the United Armed Front's headquarters, the twins' father had access to highly classified information. Travis' father, who was a decorated officer until he was convicted, used his connections to forge a deal with the enemy. Classified files were extracted by Locke and funneled to Wake. He then transported them to the front, and Cutter – my fictional uncle – smuggled them behind enemy lines and straight into Vistrian hands. There's little in the account about Cutter's official position in the military, other than to say he was skilled in reconnaissance and infiltration. Talents he then used against his own country.

"Well, Cutter?" The Major isn't the only one staring at me when I finish, but the dislike in his gaze pins me to my chair. "Do you have any personal thoughts to add?"

I have a lot more questions than answers, but I just lift my chin. "Just that there are two sides to every story."

Something glints in those cold, cold eyes, but then he says in a dismissive tone, "Not in the military archives, there isn't. Alright, enough of that. To complete the lesson, I want you to work on the outline of your assignment. You'll submit it at the beginning of our next class."

I rest my hot palms on my thighs, dreading the one-to-one conversation with Manson, but in the next breath he's out of his chair and stalking towards the front of the room. He murmurs something to the major, and with a grudging nod, the professor leads him out into the hall. At least it gives the rest of the class something else to whisper about.

Except for Carmen Van Ness, who turns towards me, her perfect blonde hair spilling over her shoulder as she stares at me with her piercing eyes. "You don't really think your uncle was innocent, do you? That's what you meant by two sides, right?" I shrug, knowing that keeping quiet is in my best interests, but she taps her fingernails impatiently on her desk. "My dad said duplicity runs in the Cutter family. Even before the betrayal, your ancestors were playing both sides."

My skin goes cold at the memory of her father, peering down at me with hungry eyes during the trial. There's no way the two moments are connected, but it still makes my stomach flip. Duplicity , a word I can so easily imagine coming from his cruel lips, could mean betraying your country, or it could mean tricking someone by living a lie. Like a girl disguised in a boy's uniform. Or a mercy who hurts instead of heals.

I'm saved from responding by the return of Manson and the professor. I straighten in my seat, but Manson ignores me, swinging into Avery's vacant desk. Major Waterford casts me a disinterested look. "Van Ness and Manson will work on a topic of their choice. Cutter, you'll find your errant housemate and inform him that you're his new partner." When I don't move, he looks meaningfully at the door. " Now , cadet."

As I step into the empty hall, my spine sags with relief. There's still at least half an hour before the next lesson, and while I have no idea where Avery has gone, I'm certain that anywhere is better than Military History. I always thought history was a dry subject, but I feel like I've just crossed a minefield. Blindfolded. On my knees.

I consider finding an empty room and just waiting out the rest of the period, but as usual, my bladder has other ideas. So, I head to the bathroom at the far end of the hall, relieved to realize it's for females only. With such a predominance of males on campus, most of the female alphas just share their facilities. This bathroom, tucked away and mostly ignored, is the perfect place to hide out until next class.

As I push my way inside, a wave of sights and scents washes over me, my gaze jumping from the bloody smear on the floor to the two guys up against the wall. One is slumped, barely struggling, while the other slams his head back against the tile. Iron and acid burn my nose, and it's only as I almost trip over the bag at my feet that I realize it's Avery's, his electronic tablet peeking from the open top. I freeze, my palms going clammy as the alpha slamming him into the wall turns and snarls in my direction. "You want some of this, freak?"

He's not particularly tall, but he's got thick shoulders and solid arms that end in wide, meaty hands. Avery's face is dark red, sweat streaming from his hairline as the other guy squeezes his throat. With the way his broken nose is dripping blood, I know he must be struggling to breathe at all.

"What the hell are you doing?" I demand, lurching forward to get between them. "Let him go!"

"Mercy…" Avery's voice comes out in a tight, desperate wheeze. "Get out of here!"

It's an echo of Travis' voice playing through my head, but I know by the time I run and find him, this guy could have crushed Avery's windpipe.

"Get your hands off him!" Grabbing the alpha's jacket, I try to wrench him away. "If you don't let him go, I'll scream."

The alpha shoves me back with a hard thrust, sneering at my less-than-manly threat. "Yeah, go ahead, pretty boy. You think anyone cares what I do to a pair of freaks like you?"

"Travis will," I growl, my heart lurching as Avery's face starts to go purple. "Haven't you heard? I sleep in his bed." And it's like Travis is in my head now, ordering me to look for this alpha's weak spots. Throat. Groin. Knee. Frustration burns through me, because I can't reach any of them while he's got Avery up against the wall. "He's really protective of me, too," I taunt, folding my arms across my chest. "You hurt either of us and he'll bury you in the woods."

I feel bad putting words into Travis' mouth, but the alpha has turned towards me, and I can't miss the stab of fear that pulses through his eyes. When his hand relaxes its grip on Avery's throat, I think I've made the right call. But then he's suddenly stalking my way, his bloodied knuckles squeezing into fists. I backpedal, groping behind me to pull the bathroom door open. There's a blast of cool, sweet air, but then the alpha's hand is latched around my throat, his eyes boring into mine as he starts to squeeze. He drags me back into the bathroom, the door banging behind me as he shakes me like a dog with a rat in its jaws. Pain slices down my spine and I taste blood in my mouth. When a weak whimper is torn from my lips, he grins and hurls me against the counter. I grip the edge, struggling to stay on my feet as my gaze drops to the sink in front of me.

What the mercy…?

I don't stop to think, my heart hammering in my chest as I snatch up the tactical knife and grip it in my hand. It's big and black, with a familiar emblem on the hilt.

"What the fuck?" The alpha grunts, stopping dead in his tracks. He's only a couple of feet away from me, and his sour scent clogs my throat like old meat. "Where did you get a Trap Team blade, freak?"

"Didn't you hear?" Avery rasps from where he's slumped against the wall. "Jack is their new blade boy. You hurt him before Friday's game, and you'll have the whole team kicking your ass."

"Bullshit," the alpha sneers, but his face is flushed, his gaze locked on the knife. "Why would they pick a little freak like you?"

"I'm a Cutter, aren't I?" I twirl the blade, glad I had a little practice getting the feel of it during gym class. "I guess they decided to put my natural talent to use." I advance on him a step, the knife pointed his way. "But if you don't believe me, I'm happy to give you a demonstration."

My bravado sounds weak to my ears, but the guy pushes past me so hard, I stumble, going down on a knee. Another bruise to add to my collection, but I stay there, unmoving, until he's slammed out of the bathroom. A sweet scent swirls around me again, and I suck in a slow breath, lifting my head to look at Avery. He's still slumped against the wall, blood smeared across his face and his glasses hanging from one ear. But his lips are pulled up in the ghost of a smile. "Lucky someone left that knife lying around."

I couldn't agree more, but how it ended up here – right when I needed it - is a mystery for another day. Pushing myself up off my bruised knees, I place the knife on the counter and walk over to inspect his injuries. Up close, his nose is a mess, and the bruises around his throat are already turning purple at the edges. "Why did he do this?"

"He followed me in here, demanding I change his test results," Avery says with a weary shake of his head. "But the guy is an animal. There's no way I'm doing him any favors."

I admire his integrity, but I'm worried about the way his nose is swelling. "We need to get you to the ward so they can set that break."

I reach down to lift him away from the wall, but instead of taking my hand, Avery grips my wrist. "Can't you just do it here?" he asks quietly. "You're a mercy, right?"

I stare into his hazel eyes, warm as honey but sharp as glass. When he called for mercy and told me to run, I just assumed it was a cry for help. But there's no point in denying it when I can see the truth in his gaze. "How long have you known?"

He shrugs, rubbing at a smear of blood on his hand. "I looked into the Colonel after he fucked us over with the footlocker." He pushes up his glasses, but winces as they make contact with his broken nose. "There's chatter out there about a mercy who attacked him and his mate, putting them both in hospital."

"Out where?" I whisper, my heart clenching.

Avery pushes himself to his feet and limps over to his bag. He takes his tablet out with all the care of a parent cradling their injured child, grimacing at a small crack in the screen. As he rubs his thumb over it, he says, "This is my world. Everything that matters, and all the information I need, is right at my fingertips. But if you tell me they got it wrong, I'll believe you. "

I watch silently as he tucks his tablet back in his bag and then slings it carefully over his shoulder. "It's not wrong," I admit. "I mean, I didn't attack them, but I hurt them all the same. So you should think about that before you ask me to heal you."

A rare smile tugs at the corner of Avery's mouth before he winces again and cups his nose. Pulling off his glasses, he tucks them in the breast pocket of his blazer and gives me an appraising look. "I've always wondered what a mercy kiss feels like."

Dangerous. Draining. Like the desperate act of someone who's a breath away from death.

And that's not the worst part of this nightmare. "But the colonel will come after me. Even if his mate is okay, he'll still want to punish me for what I did to him."

Avery shrugs. "The travel logs say they've gone back to York's estate. If he's looking for payback, it won't be for a while."

Maybe even until after Family Day?

I feel a sliver of hope worm its way inside me, but then look back at Avery's bloody face. "Things have been… a little out of control lately. Going to the hospital might still be the safer bet."

But Avery just shakes his head. "The doctors don't treat traitors." I wince at the word, and his eyes darken. "I'm guessing Waterford told you all about my shameful past?"

"We just read some stuff from a textbook," I say quietly. "I told him there's two sides to every story."

Avery gives me another half-smile. "I bet he didn't like to hear that. He was under Travis' dad's command before it all went down, so he likes to stick the knife in whenever he can." His gaze drifts to the Trap Team blade on the counter. "There's a new entry on your schedule as a Trapshot blade boy. You sure that's a good idea, given you're trying to lie low?"

"Definitely not," I groan, looking up at him helplessly. "But it's not like I had any choice. They were practicing in the gym while I was doing the newbie fitness test and it just kind of happened."

Avery grimaces, touching the bridge of his swollen nose. "Nothing really just happens at this school, Mercy. Everyone has an agenda."

I bob my head, fighting a grimace as I remember how determined Manson was that I join the team. Somehow, I don't think he's going to let me back out before game night, but there's nothing I can do about that now, so I steer Avery over to the sink. Grabbing a bunch of paper towels, I run them under the cold faucet. "I'll clean up what I can, and then…"

As I press the wad of paper to his chin, he quirks a brow. "You'll kiss me better?"

I roll my eyes at him, but it's not the worst place to be, standing between his feet as he leans against the countertop. Up close, the differences between Drew and Avery blur, and I remember my first impression of his brother. I thought Drew looked like a fairytale prince with his square jaw, sandy hair, and dimples, but while their features are identical, there are sharp edges to Avery that I don't see in his twin.

"Why did that guy really hurt you?" His amber eyes cling to mine as I gently wipe away his blood, and I feel something clench in my chest. He's like a wounded animal, both poised to run and leaning into me at the same time. "Does this happen a lot? Guys hunting you down and hurting you like this?"

Because if he just wanted Avery to change his test scores, he wouldn't have cracked his computer. Besides, what I'd seen in that bully's face was malice, plain and simple.

I feel him stiffen, but then his head falls forward, resting heavily on my shoulder. "You see a lot, Mercy."

I pause, warmth blooming under my fingertips as I brush the edge of his jaw. His scent is different to Drew's – caramel to his citrus – but it tastes just as appealing on the back of my tongue. Why do I like being close to these guys so much? I'm surrounded by men all day on the ward, but I've never given any of them a second look. What is it about the Bleak House residents that I crave? If I see a lot, it's because they're fascinating to me. "Well, you're worth noticing, Avery."

His hand suddenly grips my hip, his fingers fanning over my waist in a soft caress. "Others would disagree," he murmurs, his lips only an inch from my neck. "That asshole – Dryer – for instance. He just likes to remind me I'm lower than the dirt under his boot."

"I don't think Dryer is the authority on much of anything," I sniff, cupping his jaw and lifting his face to mine. "And even with the Omega Oath, I wouldn't kiss him better if his lips were on fire." That draws a deep chuckle – and a wince – from Avery, so I brush my thumb over his bottom lip. "Ready for your healing?"

He cocks his head, his gaze almost shy as he says, "I'm at your mercy, Jane."

I swallow the puff of his warm breath, and then fit my mouth over his. For the first time in my life, I have to remind myself this is a healing, because the burst of sensation on my lips sends a shudder through me. I can taste his blood, but it's the caramel sweetness of his breath that draws me in. My tongue darts in to touch his, and I feel his chest hitch, his hand tightening on my waist. With a groan he turns us around, until I'm pressed up against the sink, his lean frame brushing my chest. Power surges up through me at the contact, but I squeeze it into soft tendrils, feeding it gently into his battered body.

I try to tell myself this is just the mercy way, but this is affection dancing across my tongue, attraction humming in my blood, and the realization sparking in the back of my mind that Avery's pain is mine . Somehow, they come from the same place. In this moment, I can't pretend I'm just a healer and he's just my patient. Because every brush of his tongue, every moan that falls from his lips, is mine , and I gulp them down greedily. My fingers tighten on his shoulders as I deepen the kiss, and I know that if we were closer, if we were skin-to-skin, I could take him into my body the way he's taking me, and I would never let anyone harm him again…

I jerk away, my head spinning as my body clenches with loss.

"Is it always like that?" Avery asks shakily, and I blink at him in shock. His face is perfect, not a blemish in sight, but there's so much awe in his eyes, so much wonder and hope , I try to duck away. But it's his turn to cup my jaw. "Tell me, Jane. Was that just a healing to you?"

The Omega Oath flashes through my mind. It states that I'm here to relieve his pain, not engage his feelings. My mouth is no more than an instrument, like a scalpel or a syringe. I promised to remain professional at all times, to rise above instinct, and to always act in accordance with my conscience…

"No," I admit, and the flare of heat in his gaze makes my cheeks burn. "It was more. And I'd probably be banned from the profession for a kiss like that."

If I wasn't already exiled for nearly poisoning someone to death.

But Avery smirks, his shoulders straightening as the dimple in his cheek pops to life. "Good, because I might not be an expert on kisses, but I'm pretty sure that was the best one of my life."