2. Jane

There are only two pathways in life for omegas, both of which are determined when we first present. Omegas who develop a ripe, alluring scent are highly sought after by alphas. They are courted, bonded, and welcomed into a home where their every comfort is assured. The unofficial term is ‘breeder', since these omegas are also extremely fertile. Once they're officially mated, they rarely leave their nest, either because they're with child, or they're in the process of busily making one.

The rest of us are clumped together as service omegas. This means we work alongside betas, usually in a domestic capacity. A very few of us in this group are gifted with a healing power which sees us taken from our homes in our mid-teens and sent to a training facility. We're still in service, but our purpose is to absorb the pain of others. We call ourselves healers, but behind our back, most people call us bleeders.

Breeders, bleeders, or the invisible person who cooks meals, sweeps floors, and launders the bedding off other omega's nests.

Not a lot of choice, but then, that's not something omegas are supposed to want. In fact, according to my teachers, omegas need structure and clear boundaries to thrive. We should always know our place and be content with that knowledge. For breeders, that's the nest. For service omegas, it's to be rarely seen, and never heard. And for bleeders, it's doing our duty, one healing kiss at a time.

I've been a mercy for five years; three years in training and two on the ward. I've seen hundreds of patients, suffering every kind of ailment, and I know I've eased a lot of pain. I've done my duty, and I'll continue to do so until my last breath. But I've never felt quite as scared as I do right now, pushing my power into Steele's failing body .

His lips are soft, but alarmingly cold. I force my way past them, his tongue unresponsive as I breathe into his mouth. I taste sweat and the faint musk of a beta, along with his own fresh laundry scent. It's not unpleasant, and the kiss itself is far from the worst I've endured. On the ward I often have to watch for flying fists, and I've even been torn into by gnashing teeth when the pain overwhelmed a patient. But Steele is too far under to fight me, because his injury is a lot worse than it looks. Something I only realize as I taste the poison in his blood. The Vistrian who attacked him must have coated his claws in poison, and the lethal toxin is now racing to his heart, his other organs already collapsing from the infection.

I push as much of my power into him as I can, but grimace in dismay as it dissolves in the toxin like mist coming apart in sunlight.

"He's dying," I croak as I pull away, wiping my mouth on my sleeve. "The wound is poisoned."

The colonel makes a low, growling sound, his entire body shuddering as if he's the one who took a claw to his chest. "No. That's not…" He scrubs a hand across his face, despair swimming in his dark eyes. In a single step, he's so close his leg is touching my knee. "Listen to me, Omega. Save him, and I'll give you anything. Whatever you want."

It's not the first time I've heard that. Death turns the strongest of us into beggars. "It doesn't work like that, sir."

"You can do it! He believed in you. I wanted a doctor, but he insisted on a mercy."

I swallow a groan, wishing with all my heart that this alpha had stood up to his mate. Then we'd be down on the ward, with a dozen doctors telling him the same thing. "It's spread too far. It's too dangerous…"

"Save him!" The colonel hisses, snatching a knife from his belt and pointing it at my throat. "Save him, or you die by his side."

I freeze, staring at the wickedly sharp blade. I don't doubt him for a second. He's more animal than man right now, driven by his alpha instinct to protect his mate at all costs.

What must that be like? To be so loved, a man will stab a healer to give you a chance at life?

I push the pointless thought aside and gesture at the door. "Then turn the doctor away. No one can witness this."

Hope flares in his face, almost painful to witness despite the fact he has a knife at my throat. "What are you going to do? "

"I'm going to kill the infection." And probably myself in the process . But I don't tell him that part, since it's quite possible I'll kill his mate, too.

"We have to strip him down. It helps if we are skin to skin." The colonel's lips thin again, and I pause. I can't blame him for feeling uncomfortable; full body treatments like this are never used on the ward. But the Mother gave us skin for a reason, and it's still the body's largest organ. "We don't have to do this. It's likely the treatment won't work, anyway."

"But there's a chance…"

I nod, and he tucks his knife away and strides to the door. I unbutton my cuffs with numb fingers, listening to him bark at whoever's in the hall to tell the doctor it's a false alarm. He's back before I've stripped off my tunic, but he doesn't comment as I pull the heavy garment over my head. I shiver as I peel off my tights, leaving me in my underwear, but the colonel doesn't glance my way, busily removing Steele's pants and dropping them over his boots. I quickly check his body for other wounds, then stretch myself carefully over him, making sure I cover as much skin as possible. Only then do I look at the colonel's face. I expect fear, disgust, anger, even jealousy… but all I see is gratitude shining back at me. "Thank you, Mercy."

I cast a quick glance at the door. "If they find me like this…"

"No one would dare enter my quarters," he says with his alpha arrogance on full display.

But a tremor runs through my body all the same. I've often felt exposed when patients are touching me, clawing me, sobbing into my mouth, but I've never felt this vulnerable. Like I'm spread out on a cold stone floor, a hundred eyes watching from the shadows. And once I'm under, once I've given everything I am, I have no idea what state I'll be in when I surface. If I surface. "I'll be in a lot of trouble if anyone finds out I did this. Locked up for sure, and probably stripped of my power…"

"No one will ever know," he interrupts me. "I swear it on my clan."

That makes me pause, since only the oldest, most powerful alpha bloodlines refer to themselves as clans. But it's not really much in the way of a vow – no matter who he is, he will be forced to tell them everything if he's questioned by a superior officer. But will I even care if I'm already dead? I glance at the knife he tucked back into his belt. "Then brace yourself. I have to bite him, and you'll probably feel it through the mate bond."

He pales but grips Steele's hand in his larger one. I nod, gathering my courage, and turn until my lips are pressed over my patient's heart. I can feel it beating through his skin, slower now and barely a flutter. It's complete vanity to think I can usher Death out when he has such a stranglehold on this body. But I'm going to give it my best damn shot.

I slowly sink my teeth in, ignoring the initial flush of blood in my mouth. It's unpleasant, and his skin is slippery against my lips. But I don't stop until I'm latched tightly to his body, his pulse fluttering sickly against my tongue. And then I release every bit of power in me. Not just the nearly empty well in my core, but everything I've squirreled away. Every secret hope, buried shame, and hidden dream. It's me , in essence. Not just the mercy, but what lies underneath. Omega, girl, woman, human, animal, body and soul…

I give this healing everything .

And the surge of power coming out of me is like a wall of flames fanned by a hurricane.

My muscles seize, and if I wasn't biting Steele, I would shriek at the blistering heat in my blood. It gushes out of me, scorching my tongue and making Steele convulse. I hold on with my teeth, groaning and panting around his flesh as his body tries to shake me loose. My eyes are screwed shut, every limb knotted in agony, and as pain ripples through me, I almost forget where I am. Given a choice, I'd spit him out, stitch my lips together, and never heal again. But just as I start to whimper, I feel Death waiver. The flesh in my mouth grows warmer, the heartbeat roused from a flutter to a cautious thump.

But the well inside me is dry… almost down to the last drop. I scratch the bottom, trying to summon even a trickle more, but my hands come away empty. It's an odd feeling; I've carried some measure of power inside me for as long as I can remember.

But it's done now. Death has let him go, but he's caught sight of me hovering in the shadows. At the end of the day, the Grim Reaper still needs a name for his book. And isn't this how I knew it would be? That I'd give my last breath in the name of service?

I try to find peace in that as my limbs go numb. The end has come too soon, and I'm far from ready, but it's still a victory of sorts. A sacrifice I can be proud of. For years I've maintained a precarious balance between power and service - giving enough to do my job without draining myself dry. I've always had more than most, so I've given more. Served harder and longer. I know I'm an exceptional mercy; a natural healer with a gift at nurturing my power. But this is the first time I ever truly understood what the lack of power feels like .

And power hates a vacuum.

The words, slyly spoken, jolt me back from the precipice. I can feel Death's cold fingers around my throat, shaking those last feeble breaths from my body.

And for the first time, I struggle. I don't want to give in and accept my fate. Power is important, but air, blood, and a functioning heart are essential . And I'm not willing to just hand that over to Death, so I buck under his hand, casting around for a lifeline. I don't have the option of taking from the body under me. His heart might be thumping, but it's still weak, the poison's damage slow to fade. But I can sense something else connected to him. A whole churning, beating, pulsing slab of power.

So I fling an arm to the side. The colonel is still there, hovering so close to his mate, I can feel his tears dripping on my naked hip. I grab his arm, sliding my numb fingers down until they're clutching his.

And then – against everything I've ever been taught - I take .

It starts as a trickle. Just enough to ease Death back a step. But I'm too weak to be gentle, and I grab their mate-link with my last strength, tugging it like an unspooling thread. The colonel grunts, clearly feeling my handiwork, and I know he's going to resist. He's a soldier, a warrior, and he recognizes the signs of invasion. But I'm the stealth attack, the thief who creeps under his defenses in the dead of night.

He groans, a horrible sound, but I'm too empty to retreat. His power is like a living torch, and I'm the needy moth. Or perhaps the vampire bat, because I don't just warm myself at his hearth. I grab those pulsing coals up in greedy hands, gulping them down like a starving demon, and then his power comes at me in a rush.

"Fuck!" He's on his knees, his face against my leg. I can feel the bristles on his chin, the grimace of pain on his lips. His hand – the one not squeezing my fingers to pulp – slides up my thigh to clutch my hip. "What the hell are you doing?"

Of course I don't answer. It's bad enough that a mercy is taking for herself. To put my crime into words would probably bring the whole mountain down on my head.

Instead, I use the next burst of power to sink my fingers into his hair. It's softer than I expect, sliding across my sensitized palm like cornsilk. I grip it roughly, giving him no choice but to lift his head. His face is painted in cruel strokes of grief and shock. Mouth slack, eyes leaking, but a spark of something ignites as I slant my mouth to his. "I saved him," I breathe on his twisted lips. "Now serve me back. "

It's ludicrous. An alpha – a senior officer – doesn't take orders from a mercy, let alone serve her in any capacity. But I'm not really asking. And the power I've drained from him doesn't give him much of a choice. His knife is still in his belt, and he could probably punch me hard enough to knock me out. If I wasn't curled over his mate. I watch his options flicker through his mind, his fingers digging painfully into my hand. But the rest of his body is sagging heavily against me, all that coiled strength and hard-packed muscle giving way. So, I cover his mouth with my lips and take what I need.

It's so far from a healing kiss, it hits me like the punch he no doubt pictured in his mind.

Because I'm not just taking from a colonel, which when it comes down to it is just an unknown number of stars on his shoulder. The essence curling across my tongue and filling my body is alpha, mate, man, beast, body and soul…

And beneath it, something that uncoils from the darkness. Not a shade of the man, but an intent. Dark and deadly, and fixed on me with terrifying purpose.

Traitor.

I try to jerk away, but the colonel has passed out and I'm too slow to sever the connection.

I feel darkness tugging me down, right as heavy boots sound behind me. Shocked gasps. Cries of alarm. I'm barely conscious as the words swarm over me.

"What the fuck is she doing?"

"Get her off them!"

"Colonel!"

"Colonel York, are you alright, sir?"

And then a gritty curse, thick with command. "Knock the bitch out!"

It's not a voice to be disobeyed, and a heartbeat later, the butt of a rifle slams into the back of my head. Darkness takes me in its throat, as deep and certain as death.