16. Avery

There's still a whole day of classes to go, so I help Jane scrub my blood off her sleeve, and then tuck the Trap Team knife in my backpack. I can tell by the little wrinkle between her eyes that she's worried what might happen if someone finds it in my possession, but I shrug. "I'll say I found it in the bathroom and was going to hand it in during gym class."

Not that anyone would care what explanation I gave, since touching the Trap Team's equipment would get my ass kicked right across campus. Followed by the suspension of the few privileges I have, and another black mark added to my already tainted student file. Not that I give a rat's ass what this school thinks of me. My life isn't in these classrooms with their archaic curriculum and brainwashed instructors. Like I told Jane, the only place of any importance is the world inside my computer.

Or, at least, that's the way it's always been, right up until a wide-eyed Mercy gave me a healing kiss.

"And Dryer?" Jane asks as we head into the hall, other students pushing past us as they hurry to their next class. I glare at the guys who bump into her like she's invisible, fighting the urge to wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her into my side. "Will he come after you again?"

I snap a glance down at her and realize I loathe the sound of that neanderthal's name coming out of her mouth. The only thing that should be on her lips is me .

But the last thing she needs to see are the chaotic thoughts inside my head, so I just lift a shoulder. "Between Travis and Cutter's cousin, I think he'll keep his distance for a while." I smile at that last part, and her gaze sticks on the corner of my mouth. It's the first time I've felt lucky to have the dimples I share with Drew, and I put it to good use now, leaning down to murmur, "Come on, I'll walk you to Strategy and Tactics."

She nods, those long inky lashes fluttering, and as we shuffle down the hall, I can't resist wedging my arm against hers. I usually hate the crowded corridors, with all those prime opportunities for other students to get their hits in. But right now, I'm loving the cover that lets me brush my fingers against the back of her hand. She must realize it's deliberate, because she lifts those big, gleaming eyes to mine and smiles. "Have you memorized my schedule, Avery?"

I snort, rubbing my thumb over the silky skin of her palm. "I created it, which is lucky for me since I plan on shuffling a few things around."

Her brow crinkles again. "No more Military History? Because Major Waterford sent me to tell you I'm your new partner." I stop dead in the middle of the hall, and her fingers suddenly trail over my knuckles, circling the bones. "Of course, I can always ask Manson to switch back…"

I jerk her towards me by her belt loops, a growl burning up the back of my throat. An answering flare of heat dances in her eyes, and for the first time in my life, I forget where I am. I could be standing in front of a Trapshot target with every crossbow aimed my way, and I still wouldn't blink. Because right now, the only thing that matters is Jane and the way her tongue darts out to brush her bottom lip…

Until a hand comes down on my shoulder, squeezing the bone in an over-friendly way. "Where have you two been?" Law asks in his obnoxious voice, his eyes bright with curiosity as he looks between us. "I ducked my head into Military History, but you weren't there."

Jane takes a rapid step back, and I turn to my brother's friend, my scowl full of menace. I usually do my best to ignore the most entitled guy on campus, but it's not easy. Lawrence Michaelson III literally glows with privilege, his uniform cut to accentuate every lean muscle, his silver hair grown well past military regs, and his eyes sparkling with a confidence I couldn't even begin to fake. And why shouldn't he act like he's on top of the world? As both a lord and legacy, there's no door closed to him, and no student who wouldn't fall over backwards to be in his good graces. Except for me . "You're not exactly reliable, my lord , so I decided to walk Jack to his next class. "

Law's silky brows jump in surprise at my cutting tone. "Who got your nose out of joint, little Locke?"

My eyes narrow, that growl that was lodged in my throat about to rip free. Flaunting himself around campus and slumming it in our house is one thing, but calling me little in front of Jane – when I'm as tall as him and five minutes older than Drew – makes me want to scatter his perfect teeth all over this hallway.

Which must be why Jane grabs my arm, her fingers squeezing my wrist. "That was a pretty ugly class," she says quickly, her gaze on Law. "Can I expect the same in the next one?"

Law bites the inside of his cheek before giving a dismissive wave of his hand. "It's Strategy and Tactics. Basically, an excuse to run around and shoot each other."

Jane blinks at him. "That sounds bad."

"It'll be fine," I tell her in a soothing voice, falling back into step beside her. She only comes up to my shoulder, but I can feel her body warmth through her blazer. I need more of that, and soon, and this next class might just give me the excuse. "I helped set up the program. You can be on my team, and I'll get you through all the traps."

"Traps?"

She's gnawing on her lip now, and I have to stop myself from leaning in and kissing it better. "You'll be fine. I promise."

I shoot her a confident wink as we push through the doors and cut across the quad, but Law is staring at me like I just sprouted a second head. "You're actually going to come out from behind the curtain and join in? I thought you said war games were for meatheads."

A flush burns up my neck, but I give the arrogant ass a haughty look. "It's not joining in when I leave the rest of the class in my dust."

Jane coughs into her sleeve like she's trying to smother a laugh, but in no time, we've reached the stadium, and her smile fades as she gazes up at the steel dome. I'm pretty sure she's never been inside the sports complex, but if she's really the mercy that's lighting up the dark chat forums, then she's been around long enough to know what it was built for.

"This is where they hold Trapshot matches," I tell her quietly, and am rewarded with a jerky nod. Law scans his way inside and we follow, Jane's eyes skipping over the field with its soaring stands and red-and-black targets mounted at each end. While it's practically a religion at the war college, I've never given the barbaric sport more than a passing thought. But now I can barely draw a breath as I imagine Manson and the other meatheads charging past Jane with their weapons out. Their last blade boy lost a finger, and that was from the safety of the sidelines. Even if I have to engineer a school-wide blackout that could get me thrown into military prison for the rest of my life, there's no way those assholes are going to put her in harm's way.

"Good to see you down here, Mr. Locke." My head snaps up as the instructor strides towards us. Sergeant Peters is an alpha female who got me the job on the college's VR team and is the only instructor on campus who treats me like a real person. Everyone else just sees the surname and assumes I'm a traitor in the making. "We've been told to mix things up for a bit, so there's no VR today. We're going back to basics."

Peters scans us into one of the prep rooms where the Trap Team runs simulations between games. It's also where the Strategy and Tactics classes are held, providing cadets with real-life battle scenarios to sharpen their skills. I usually stay behind the scenes, making sure the games I've programmed run without a hitch. It keeps me out of the firing line of the bullies, while also earning me extra credit towards my engineering degree. But I'd been looking forward to showing Jane that even geeks have skills in the VR world.

"But we have those new goggles to try out," I protest.

Peters gives me a frustrated nod, since she's almost as obsessed with tech as I am. "I know, but we'll have to wait until next class. Right now, the administration wants to see us brushing up our core skills." She steps closer, her voice dropping a notch. "If you can't handle it, I can send you to the storeroom for some supplies I'm pretty sure haven't been shipped in yet."

On any other day, I'd take her up on the offer, even though I can hear an edge of pity in her voice. But not with Jane at my side, looking around the dimly lit room like she expects her worst nightmare to pop out of the shadows. "I'm good," I tell Peters. "It's been a while since I ran the course, so I could probably do with a refresher."

The sergeant looks at me curiously, then turns her attention to Law and Jane. Most instructors fawn over the lord and legacy, but Peters is as blunt as they come. "Am I going to need to separate you two?" she asks, wagging a finger between them. "If you end up going at each other's throats, I'll be the one dragged before the administration when Lord Michaelson gets hurt."

Law almost looks insulted, crossing his arms over his chest. "I can look after myself, Sergeant. "

"That's yet to be seen," she retorts. "So far, you haven't turned up to a single class of mine this year." She doesn't wait for him to offer an excuse, fixing Jane with a hard stare. "I don't care what your name is, cadet, we don't do damage in my classes, got it?"

Jane bites her lip, her face shining with sincerity. "I promise I'll keep my hands to myself, ma'am."

Peters grunts, eyeing her a beat longer. "It's sergeant. And that pretty smile of yours doesn't work on me, so zip your lip and keep your eyes open."

She nods in my direction, like she's warning me to do the same, then claps her hands, drawing the rest of the class around her. She gives them the same spiel about the administration wanting to test our basic skills, then divides us up into four teams. It's a small class since there's only limited VR equipment, which means I'm put with both Jane and Law. Since Peters is all about strategy and tactics, I'm guessing she thinks that Law's reputation will protect me from the worst hits, while also making sure that the wild card Cutter doesn't hurt the lord and legacy.

"Since we're going basic today, you'll need to strip off your blazers and play in your shirts," Peters tells us as she hands out the leather chest plates. They fit over our heads, buckling at the sides, and I shove Law's hands aside to help Jane into hers. "It's really simple," Peters goes on, pointing to the table against the wall where a set of black air guns are laid out. "The pistols are loaded with chalk pellets in different colors. You only have six each, so make them count. Each clean shot earns your team three points. A hit that's closer than two feet or lands anywhere other than the front or back of the chest plate is considered a foul and not counted towards your score. Any body blow that doesn't come from your chalk pellets is a disqualification, so keep your fists to yourselves. This is about strategy, not brute force, cadets. Get through the course quickly, with as few hits taken as possible, and you're the winners."

"What's the prize?" Law pipes up, giving the instructor his signature toothy smile. "I'm assuming there's something more than bragging rights in it."

"There is actually," Peters replies. "The winning team gets free access to any campus facility for a period of three hours."

I perk up at that, but one of the other students – a hulking meathead called Logan who is on the Trap Team - rolls his eyes. "How is that a prize? We can already go anywhere we want." His small eyes slide my way, and he gives a nasty smirk. "Except for the blacklisted freaks, of course."

"Zip your lip, Logan," Sergeant Peters barks, scowling in his direction. "And if you don't want free access to the dining hall's dessert bar before anyone else, I'm sure another team will gladly take the win."

My stomach rumbles at the thought. No matter what Drew does to increase our food allowance – including taking the occasional charity package from Law – there is never enough to go around. Travis is an eating machine, and all of us seem to be suffering from a never-ending growth spurt. Since half of our grocery deliveries are either spoiled or well past their use-by date, meal times are usually a form of torture. Just another petty way the college reminds us that we're the lowest of the low.

"Unlimited desserts," Jane murmurs at my side, her finger stroking the trigger of her pistol. "That's worth taking out a few of these guys, right?"

I grin down at her, glad the dim light hides exactly how hungry I am right now. "We just have to be smart about it. I don't want you getting hurt."

"I'll be fine," she says quickly. "Even if it looks like I'm in pain, it doesn't last for long."

There's a clear subtext to her words and I wonder if the self-healing rumors about mercies are true. I've never met one in person, since medical care is pretty low on the college's priority list for Bleak House residents, but I've read a bit. Every mercy has to maintain a balance between their healing power and their own health. Give away too much and they'll get sick, but the bottom line is, their life is service. Mercies must always give more than they take, even if it means draining themselves dry.

"Nothing is worth risking yourself," I tell her quietly, and she loses her smile, her eyes searching my face. "I don't give a fuck if they think you're here to serve others. You look out for yourself, no matter what."

Her pupils, already dilated in the dim light, grow wider, like she's trying to drink me in. "That's not how it works in my world," she whispers, so close I can feel her breath on my cheek.

I lift my pistol, waving it at the room, the college, and everything beyond that. "You think this world is all that's out there? They don't get to tell us who we are, Jane."

"Jack!" Law says so loudly, I nearly turn and shoot him in the face. It's only as I see Peters scowling in my direction that I pull up short. And the look the legacy shoots me confirms that I've come dangerously close to blowing Jane's cover. "What do you say, Locke? Are we going to stand around and strategize, or are we going to win ourselves some strawberry mille feuille ?"

I'd roll my eyes at his fancy pants mouth if the rest of the class hadn't already disappeared through the door ahead of us. "We want higher ground. Draw them in. Focus our shots on the biggest targets," I rattle off as we chase after them.

"Or I could just get the kitchens to send me the whole dessert menu and you guys could come back to mine," Law drawls as we enter the training course.

I shoot him an annoyed look, but Jane grips his arm. "I want to play, Law. It'll taste better if we earn it, right?"

His eyes spark with heat at her words, and I have to admit, my mouth waters as well. But then Jane sticks her pistol in the back of her pants and slithers up the side of one of the columns. They must have handholds I can't see, because she's crouched on top of the ten-foot platform in seconds and peering down the other side of the course. She nods, like she's just confirmed something, then slithers back down. "It's set out in concentric rings, one way in and one way out," she informs us. "That alpha with the big mouth – Logan – has set up an ambush just inside the next ring and another team is taking heavy fire. They'll definitely be out of contention. The last team got ahead of Logan's, and they're not looking back. I'm guessing they hope to win on speed alone, or they'll set up an ambush at the end of the course and then unload their shots."

I exchange an open-mouthed look with Law before he turns and grins at her, white teeth flashing. "That's the first time battle tactics ever sounded sexy."

I nudge him hard in the ribs, but a faint pink blush spreads across Jane's cheeks. "Where I grew up, tossing cow pies at each other from haylofts was our only entertainment."

She gives a cute little shrug, but her eyes cling to his, and jealousy prickles down my spine as the moment stretches. Law, the asshole, is eating it up, but as if sensing my resentment, Jane quickly turns back to the course. "If I can get from this column to the next circle, I can take out Logan's team from higher ground and you guys can rush anyone left standing."

Law steps forward to give her a boost, but I grab her arm. "It's just a game, Jane. Winning isn't worth them getting their hands on you. "

She gives me a quick nod, then starts clambering up the column, her movements smooth and confident. When I catch Law staring at her ass in her tight uniform pants, I punch his shoulder. "Put your eyes back in your head."

Instead of looking ashamed, Law steps close enough to bounce his chest plate against mine. "What I want to know is why she smells like your blood, and you smell like her mouth, Locke."

I flush, pushing him away. "None of your business, asshole. Now, step aside so I can go back her up and win this stupid game."

Lawrence just laughs, but we're shoulder-to-shoulder as we rush into the course, his pistol up and ready to fire. I'm not much of a soldier once it gets past the theoretical, but my dad made sure I knew how to shoot around the same time I mastered tying my shoelaces. He might have worked in the archives when he was arrested, but he was a sniper in his younger years and even captain of the Trapshot Team for a while. Duty, hard work, and a competitive spirit were bred into us, right up until our family estate was raided and my dad was dragged away in handcuffs.

The ugly memories are shoved aside as the splatter of exploding chalk pellets hits my ears. Two members of the team caught in the ambush are pressed up against the walls, their third taking direct fire from Logan. The big-mouthed alpha, as Jane calls him, is down on one knee and completely unmarked as he jeers at the defeated players. But as he spins to start chasing down the team that got ahead of him, Jane shoots from her higher position, catching him dead center in his chest plate. He curses, his teammates looking around in shock as Jane hits them too, bright yellow chalk smears blooming on their chests.

Logan lifts his pistol to shoot her, but Law has already squeezed off a round that takes him in the back. I clip both of his teammates, and they shoot furious glances my way before they turn and run. Jane slithers down the column a second later, her eyes dancing with excitement. "Nice shooting, guys."

"Same," I grin, because her excitement is contagious, even if I think shooting idiots with chalk dust is lame. "Want to go finish them off?"

"I can already taste the strawberry cream and it's delicious!"

We laugh as we start around the next column, only to have a fist explode in my face, pain radiating out like a shrapnel blast. I stagger back, falling against the wall as blood pours from my nose for the second time today. I have some vague awareness of Logan knocking Jane's pistol from her hand as he kicks her aside and grabs Law by the front of his chest plate. "The only reason you're not on the floor with those maggots," he spits, "is because you're a legacy. But you need to pick a better team next time, Michaelson, or it's open season on your ass as well."

He shoves Law away, and grinning down at me, stomps hard on my foot. I'm wearing boots, but he grinds his full body weight down on my ankle, and I grunt in pain as I feel something tear loose. Spitting on the ground between my feet, Logan turns and saunters off, like he's daring us to shoot him in the back. Law looks tempted, but Jane is already falling to her knees beside me and reaching for my face. It just about kills me to pull away, but there's no way she can risk a healing right now. "I need to be bleeding when this is over, or they'll know."

"Know what?" Law asks, crouching beside me and wincing at the blood pouring from my nose. "That Logan is a massive asshole who couldn't follow the rules of engagement if they were tattooed on his ugly face?"

I snort, but instantly regret it as pain throbs through my skull. But it's the damage to my ankle that is shooting bolts of agony through my body, and from the way Jane is cradling my boot, I'm pretty sure she knows how bad it is.

"You guys should go on ahead," I tell them. "We might not win, but you can stop Logan from taking first place."

But Jane narrows her eyes at me, her lips pressed into a stubborn line. "I'm fixing it, Avery. The tendon is ruptured, and if you try to walk on it, you could end up with a permanent limp."

I bite my lip, but Law is gazing at her with a curious light in his eyes. "You can tell that just by looking at him?"

"I'm a mercy," she says quietly, her fingers brushing over my cheek. "And the longer I don't fix this, the worse the damage will be."

Law's mouth snaps shut for probably the first time in his life, but my focus is all on Jane. "Just the ankle, then. And only enough so I can walk."

She sighs, but I've got my stubborn face on too, and she knows it. "Okay, but we fix the rest straight after class."

I nod, but she's already cupping my face, her lips brushing mine. I take a shuddering breath as she pushes her power into me. I've been drunk, stoned, high on energy drinks and the adrenaline of solving complex equations. But I've never felt anything as glorious and addictive as this .

It's like inhaling pure electric light, the tendrils curling through my limbs and making my synapses buzz with sensation. I don't even realize I'm kissing her back until she carefully peels herself out of my embrace.

"Hot damn," Law breathes at my side. "Where's a vindictive bully when I need one?"

"It's still a secret, dumbass," I tell him, my tongue tingling as I get to my feet. My ankle is still weak, but there's no pain when I put my weight on it. "Thanks, Jane. I'm feeling great now."

She's still scowling at my bloody nose, although it feels less like ground beef after her healing kiss. "After. Class. I mean it, Avery."

I have to admit, I love her bossy healer voice, but Law is already tugging on my sleeve, and we hurry through the course, only slowing down to check before we round each corner. The sounds of battle are coming from the other side of the room, so we speed up, Jane climbing another column to confirm we're only one turn from the end of the course. "Looks like Logan's team is out of pellets," she says. "I think they're at a stalemate until one team decides to rush the other."

"Then we go over the top," I reply. "All of us climb the column and drop down the other side. We can use up our pellets firing back into their ambush, and since none of us has taken a direct hit, we should win on points."

"Sneaky," Law grins, giving me a fist bump. "I like it."

Jane nods her agreement, and we creep forward, getting as close as we can to the column we need to scale. The other teams are trading insults, which gives us some much-needed cover as we start to climb. The stone is slippery under my hands, and I'm red faced by the time I reach the top. I have no idea how Jane makes it look so easy, but she slides down the other side without making a sound, and Law quickly follows. I lie flat on my belly just long enough to hit Logan directly in the face, then drop down next to them.

"Definitely not a waste," Jane tells me as Logan starts cursing up a storm, furiously wiping the chalk dust from his eyes. By the time he's done, we've taken out his teammates, and the guys who set up the ambush have crossed the line behind us in second place.

Sergeant Peters materializes out of nowhere to clap us all on the shoulder. "Well played, cadets," she says, holding up her tablet. "You used all your pellets without taking any hits of your own. I'm pretty sure that's the cleanest run this course has ever seen."

"Except for the cheap shot to my face!" Logan fumes, spitting chalk dust everywhere.

"Well, there's always some collateral damage in a battle," Peters says with a hard look in his direction. "And I'd say that's a fair trade for a punch to the face and putting hands on a legacy." Which is probably her way of telling us there are cameras on the course, but even as her gaze flicks over Jane, there's no crack in her stoic expression. "So, what do you want me to record for your win, cadets? First crack at the dessert bar?"

It's on the tip of my tongue to agree when I have a better idea. "The rec center," I say quickly. "But only if the snack machine and coffee maker are in working order."

Peters gives me a wink. "I'll make sure the maintenance guys have them in tip-top condition, cadet. Now clean up and get to your next class."