21. Jane

After a restless night processing everything – and doing my best not to roll to Manson's side of the bed - I'm bleary-eyed as I pull on my uniform and eat the energy bar that passes for breakfast. While I feel tired down to my bones, Manson looks ready to take on an army single-handedly as he zips one of his crossbows into a protective case and shrugs on his Trap Team jacket.

"You've got a new class schedule," he tells me as we jog down the stairs and head out of the den, Parker falling into step beside us. "You're basically my shadow from here on out, so if at any time you can't see me, you better hustle to get back in my line of sight."

It's a chilly fall morning, the sun barely peeking over the tops of the Sentinel Mountains. I've always thought they look a little ominous, and now I scowl up at their gray peaks. Given my present company, it's hard not to think of them as the bars of a cage closing around me. "But I like the classes I was in before."

"They're the same subjects for the most part," Parker tells me, holding out his tablet so I can see the schedule on his screen. "Except now they're freak-free."

We're crossing the lawn to the North Wing, and I stop so abruptly, the last bite of my energy bar gets caught in my throat. I cough it back up, my eyes watering while the two alphas watch me with amusement. "Stop calling them that!" I splutter, swiping at my damp cheeks. "You want me to go along with you and be your pet mercy, then you have to stop insulting my friends!"

"Pet mercy?" Parker repeats, cocking a brow. "Is that kind of like the team mascot, only with some sexy benefits? "

"No, it isn't!" Manson and I both growl at the same time, and when Parker laughs, I snatch the tablet out of his hands. "What's the first class?"

"Military leadership in the North Wing," he replies. "And not to insult your friends, but this is one class they definitely don't qualify for."

Because they're the sons of the country's most notorious traitors.

I sigh and thrust the tablet back at him. "Then they're not going to let me in, either. According to my college records, I'm a Cutter, remember?"

"You're also a member of the Trap Team and Manson's roommate," he corrects me. "You're basically untouchable now."

That perks me up for a moment, but Manson stops abruptly and wraps his hand around the nape of my neck. "Except to me." He tightens his fingers just enough to make sure he has my attention. "I tell you to jump today, you jump. And forget about trying to sneak off to catch up with the freaks. They're under house arrest until further notice."

My head snaps back, dislodging his hand. "What do you mean? What did they do?"

Parker gives me a look down his long nose. "Other than try to meet up with a rebel spy who snuck onto campus? All their security is under review. They'll be lucky if they don't get shipped off to some other school."

As that sinks in, my stomach gurgles unhappily around the energy bar. Why are the guys always punished for things they didn't even do ? It's not like Travis asked his brothers to breach security. "This place isn't fair," I mutter as we mount the stairs to the main academic building.

Manson holds the door open for me, but his gaze is just as judgmental as Parker's as he says, "And you're just working that out?"

We don't speak again until we're sitting in Military Leadership. Instead of desks, there's a large, polished table in the center of the room, and I try to ignore the curious looks as I sit in a swanky leather chair between Manson and Parker. The faces of past generals stare down at me from the walls, and I only feel more out of place when Carmen Van Ness stalks into the room. She's heading right for the chair I'm sitting in when she stops abruptly and raises a silky eyebrow at Manson. "Did you take an extra hard blow to the head at practice? Or are we playing show and tell today?"

Manson curls a lip at her derisive tone, but before he can answer, she slides into a different seat and turns her shoulder, blocking him from view. I have no idea what kind of relationship they share, except that every time he looks in her direction, she snaps at him and turns her back. I understand the urge, but I can't tell if it's because they're not-so-friendly rivals or if I'm caught in the middle of a lover's tiff. The thought makes me sink down in my chair, but my discomfort only grows as the instructor walks in, and I recognize Major Waterford from Military History. His icy stare burns into my face before he focuses on Manson. "I assume this is cleared with your father?"

"General Manson told me to cultivate a potential aide-de-camp." Manson replies in a flat tone, then nods in my direction. "Jack seems like the perfect fit so far."

The silence is suddenly thick enough to choke on, and as every eye in the room bores into me, I feel my cheeks ignite with heat. Does he have to make everything sound so inappropriate?

"Your aide-de-camp," the major repeats, sounding dubious, and I can't blame him. Only senior officers have them, and they manage all their records and correspondence, while also acting as a go-between with other staff. They have to have a security clearance to match the importance of the job, and with my dubious family connections, I'd probably be the last potential candidate on campus.

"It's true, sir," Parker pipes up. "Cutter's on a trial run right now, but so far, he looks like he has the goods."

I shoot him a murderous glance, but the other Trap Team guys in the class just chuckle, since they've no doubt already witnessed Manson putting me through my paces.

Major Waterford clearly knows something is up, but he just gives a weary sigh. "Alright, let's get on with the lesson. Cutter, if you're planning a career with the military elite, perhaps you can tell me the three most important qualities of a leader."

I clear my throat, caught off guard. "Um, I suppose I'd say respect, self-awareness, and compassion."

Carmen snorts and studies her perfectly buffed nails. "Sure, if you were leading a knitting circle."

A few students snicker, and the major looks at Manson. "Perhaps you'd care to offer some suggestions to your future aide, cadet?"

"Strength, courage, and endurance," Manson rattles off, like he's got the leadership textbook memorized. When he turns in his seat, I'm surprised by the intensity in his eyes as they meet mine. "Respect is earned by displaying those qualities. People follow strong leaders who can deal with whatever's thrown at them. And as for self-awareness, that's just another word for overthinking things. On a battlefield, that will make you hesitate. And compassion, more often than not, means sacrificing the strategic objective and probably getting yourself or your men killed in the process."

I blink at him. "You don't believe that. Strength, courage, and endurance are fine for your average soldier, but leaders have to think beyond that."

Manson stiffens, but Van Ness gives a tinkling laugh. "You really do come from sub-standard stock, don't you?"

I gape at her, but the major has walked over to tap a plaque on the wall. My heart sinks as I realize it's the coat of arms of the Alpha Elite Corps. " Virtus, fortitudo, tolerantia ," he intones, looking at me with raised eyebrows. "You need to start thinking like an alpha if you want to survive amongst us, cadet."

I shrink into my seat and somehow manage to avoid the spotlight for the rest of the lesson. Major Waterford gives me a bunch of reading for homework, and then it's off to weapons training. I keep my head down, happy to trail behind Manson and Parker as they discuss the Trap Team game tomorrow night. It sounds like another perfect opportunity to prove I really don't belong among a bunch of war-hungry alphas, and the more they talk about takedowns and kill shots, the more my blood boils.

When the target range comes into sight, I snap and grab Manson's arm. "You really believe that, don't you? Why else would you have strength, courage, and endurance tattooed on your ribs?"

Manson shoots Parker a grim look, and the other alpha flaps a hand. "I'll go ahead and get us set up. Just don't kill her, okay? Not until the end of the season, at least."

Parker shoots me a smirk as he trots off, but Manson's hand is back on my neck, and this time I wince at his grip. "You never, ever mention anything you see behind the closed doors of the den, got it?"

I huff as I try to pry his fingers off. "Why? Parker's your best friend..."

"He's my teammate . And that doesn't mean I want him to know what's written on my body."

But haven't they been friends since elementary school? How has Manson had countless communal showers and never exposed his tattoo? And come to think of it, why did he let me see it if it's such a big secret? "Are you ashamed of it? You just told everyone in class it's what you believe. "

"Of course, I believe it," he grunts, dropping his hands and gripping his hips. "Look, my father would skin me alive if he saw it. He's old-school, and having identifiable tattoos when you're on covert missions is against the rules."

That makes sense, but his dad is the commander of the Alpha Elite Corps. Maybe he would be proud that his son takes their motto so seriously, not that I'm about to suggest that in his current mood. "But what are you going to do when you join the Corps? Won't they check your body for tattoos?"

Something flashes through Manson's eyes, but then he gives me a hard look. "That's not your problem. I might call you my aide-in-training, or my blade boy, or even my pet mercy, but it doesn't give you an inside track to my life. You're just a convenient roommate until I graduate in a few months. Got it?"

That's fine by me, and I give an indifferent shrug. "Whatever. Your body, your rules."

"Yeah, and your body, my rules, so keep those lips shut until I need them."

He doesn't wait for me to respond, turning and stalking towards the weapons range. He spends most of the lesson shooting crossbow bolts at different targets, then switches to practice knives, chopping and slicing at Parker until they're both covered in tiny cuts and bruises. When they're done, I expect Manson to drag me off into a dark corner to heal him, but he just zips up his crossbow and leads me to our next lesson.

The rest of the day continues in the same pattern, with the two alphas learning how to be better soldiers while I trail behind them like an afterthought.

At lunch, they lead me into the dining hall, and I'm reminded once again of how hard my Bleak House guys have it, since I'm pretty sure they've never eaten here before. It's like a restaurant in a fancy hotel, with long benches instead of individual tables. Linen napkins and sparkling glasses frame porcelain settings, and I'm pretty sure the walls are covered in silk under all the military tapestries. There's even a chandelier in the middle of the room, and a parade of servers buzz around, filling glasses and removing plates.

As soon as they see Manson and Parker, they descend with decanters of sparkling water and warm bread rolls. "The Trap Team has their own menu," Parker says, pulling out my chair at a table set apart from the others. He seems to realize what he's doing and shakes his head, but the two other guys at the table are scrambling to their feet and snapping off a quick salute. I look around in confusion. "What's happening?"

"It's respect, cadet," Parker purrs, dropping onto his own chair. "Need me to write it down for you?"

I ignore him, picking up the hand-written menu card on my plate. "Grilled chicken, oven-roasted sirloin, or smoked salmon. Are you kidding me?"

"We're growing boys," Parker tells me, snapping his fingers at the nearest server and ordering three sirloins. I barely notice, since my gaze has spied something much more interesting across the room.

"I need to go to the bathroom," I say, popping to my feet.

Manson gives me a long, considering look. "Keep your mouth shut, remember?"

It's clear from his tone that he means more than just protecting his secrets, and I can feel his glare on my back as I cross the room. But my feet are almost flying by the time I reach the bathroom, pushing open the door to find Law leaning against the wall. He takes two giant steps and then I'm swept up in his arms. "Jane, are you okay?"

He doesn't wait for an answer, plopping me on the counter while he crowds in on me. My head swims with his familiar minty scent, and I cling to his shoulders as he peppers kisses up and down my neck. "Fuck me, it feels like I haven't seen you in a month. Where have you been? You're not in any of Avery's classes."

"I know. Manson messed with my schedule." I pull back to look into his face, struck again by his beauty. I know he's more than just his good looks, but after being surrounded by hulking alphas, his sleek perfection is hard to resist. "But I'm fine. Just… frustrated that I've got myself into this mess."

"I didn't help any," he says morosely, regret flickering in his beautiful green eyes. "I didn't want to leave you at practice, but Parker threatened to invite the Dean down to watch. I can usually talk Witless around to my way of thinking, but Manson has him dancing on a string." His brow furrows with worry. "Did I make a mistake leaving you with them?"

"No, it was the right call." He looks so guilty, I don't tell him the real reason I was summoned, or that I'm now Manson's free-use mercy until the end of the Trapshot season. "But what about the other guys? Manson said they're under house arrest."

He pulls a face. "I think it's the only thing stopping them from storming the Den." He cups my cheeks, looking deep into my eyes. "Are you safe, Jane? Because if those animals have hurt you, I'll go back in there right now and lay down the law." His lips quirk. "Literally, probably, but that's a risk I'm willing to take."

"Well, I'm not." Law going up against the Trapshot team is a nightmare I want no part of. "And you don't need to worry. Manson says I'm under his protection. He just insists everyone on the team bunks in the den." None of which is technically a lie, but I still hate dancing around the truth with Law. But what good would it do to tell him that Manson knows my secret and is blackmailing me to help him? "Besides, it's not like it's forever, is it?"

Because no matter what Manson has in mind for me, I'm leaving on Family Day, and I doubt I'll ever see any of them again.

"Yeah, but we need to make sure our Family Day plan is bulletproof. I can get your disguise and ID out of Bleak House, but we're still going to need some pretty big distractions. Manson and his dogs should be busy with official duties, but we can't leave anything to chance."

I nod. "I'll find a way to slip out again and come find you. Maybe we can even meet up at Bleak House?"

There's no disguising the longing in my voice, and Law leans forward, brushing his nose along mine. "Can I kiss you, Jane? Not a healing kiss, although I'm ready to beg for a little mercy if you turn me down."

No begging required, my lips fitting against his like they were made for the act. He kisses me slowly, like we have all the time in the world, instead of a hundred entitled alphas outside the door, and I don't have the heart to hurry him. Because his lips are worshiping mine, his tongue gliding into my mouth and stroking all the way to my soul. I whimper, winding my arms tighter around his neck, and even though I can feel him growing hard and long against his thigh, his hands rest lightly on my hips, stroking soft circles on my lower back.

"I'm scared something is going to break you," he whispers, "and I don't know whether to hold you tighter or let you go."

"Tighter," I murmur back, because if this is all I get with him – a few stolen moments with half an eye on the door – then I want him to know how much I treasure every single one.

"Mother Mercy," he breathes against my lips, his head ducking to press more kisses along my throat. "Can't I just sneak you out the back and hide you in my apartment? "

I hum at the idea. That's an abduction I could get behind, but as much as I want to run away with Law, I couldn't live with the consequences. "But Manson would probably just stage a siege and starve us out."

Law grimaces. "Worse, he's a legacy, so he can just use his access card and walk in the front door."

His tone is so sour, I have to bite back a smile.

But then someone jiggles the doorknob, and he reaches into his jacket pocket with a sigh. "Keep this on you at all times, Jane." He presses a black plastic card into my hand, watching as I tuck it inside my chest binder. His nostrils flare, and I want to preen as his throat bobs and his eyes go glassy. "Mercy. Okay, that's probably a safe hiding spot until one of the Bleak House boys gets their hands on you."

I giggle at his exaggerated pout. "What is it?"

"A copy of my access card. It won't save you from the jackals' den, unfortunately, but it will get you into and out of most places on campus."

"Thanks, Law."

"I wish I could do more, but my father…" He bites his tongue, his shoulders curving as he shoves his hands into his trouser pockets. "Let's get you out of here safely, and then we can talk about what's next." His eyes sharpen, his chin lifting in that imperious way I'm growing to love. Whoever thought that Jane Mercy would ever find herself under the possessive gaze of a lord of the realm? "I meant it when I said I'll take care of you. One way or another, this isn't the end of us, Jane."

My needy heart leaps and twirls, desperate for that to be true. But there's enough of the bleeder inside of me to know that it's wisest to take each moment as they come.

I pause at the door, giving myself a hesitant sniff. "Do I smell like you, Law? Manson's got the nose of a bloodhound."

His perfect teeth suddenly flash in a killer smile. "Good. I hope it ruins his appetite."