32. Jane

There are things I can heal, things I can fight, and things I must let go…

The rules of the ward slowly come back to me as I stare out at the battlefield. Not even the strongest, most gifted healer can save everyone; sometimes the only comfort you can give is to hold their hand to the end.

Fuck that.

The guys are gone, but none of them are dead.

It's not the end yet.

I survey the scene, trying to see past the plumes of acrid smoke. Blood pools on the grass around broken bodies, some with gaping wounds, others lying as if asleep. Pleas for mercy ring in my ears, along with the screams of the dying. It seems the front has come to us, and while I've never stood on a battlefield, I'm only too familiar with its aftermath.

But there are glimmers of hope in the carnage. Reinforcements have arrived for both sides, but it's our turn to outnumber the invaders. Most of the fighting is now being waged at the other end of the arena, where a chunk of the stadium wall was taken out by a Vistrian bomb. The rubble is slowing both sides down, and the battle seems to be evenly matched, with only a few of the feral alphas in the enemy lines. Most of them are still fighting the remains of the honor guard, along with the Trapshot players who were on the field. I spy familiar faces amongst the chaos – Coach behind a lightning-fast crossbow, Sergeant Peters wielding a knife as if it's an extension of her arm, and even Carmen Van Ness striding across the field, her pistol picking off Vistrians like they're bottles lined up on a wall .

I search for Manson, finding him close to the dais where the general and other officers are directing their men. He's fighting a Vistrian soldier in hand-to-hand combat, their knives a flashing blur. Between us, crossbow bolts litter the field, many of them broken by the feral alphas' claws. Caught mid-game, the Trap Team were only carrying their regulation weapons, and as I look around, I realize many of them have emptied their bolt clips or are fighting with a single blade.

That's something I can fix.

Hurrying towards the nearest player, I slide one of my replacement knives into his hand. As he grips the hilt, he gives me a nod of thanks, then turns back to the fight. I repeat the action with the other knife on my belt, and hand a crossbow clip to one of the Old Boy players. He looks me over, taking in my runner's uniform, and says, "Keep ‘em coming, cadet."

I nod, but my focus is still on getting to Manson. I'm not sure how I'll convince him to go after Law, but I cling to the tiny bubble of hope in my chest as I duck and weave through the fighting. I only pause when one of the Trap Team guys drops an empty clip at my feet and I glance up into his pale face.

"Parker! Here. Reload." I hold out the replacement crossbow clip and he grabs it on reflex, fitting it to his bow. "Where's your family? Are they okay?"

"I don't know," he mutters, his voice thick with fear. "They were sitting over there, right at the front…"

He gestures towards a section of the stands. It's mercifully free of bodies, but the entire stadium is awash with blood. I try to dredge up my most reassuring smile. "They should be fine. Most of the spectators climbed up to the next level. But I'll keep an eye out and help them if I can."

"Thanks." He blinks at me, his usually confident eyes dull and uncertain. "Can you try to help Ridge? We're not gonna last much longer like this."

He gestures behind him, and I realize Ridge is sitting on the ground, trying to aim with his crossbow while nursing his broken leg.

"Ridge." I drop beside him, quickly checking for other injuries. "I'm going to get you back on your feet, okay?"

There's a bad scrape on his cheek since he wasn't wearing his headgear, but the main issue is his cast. Parker is providing him cover, but he's a sitting duck to the roving ferals or a stray bullet. "I'm a mercy. Do you consent to a healing? "

It's not something I usually ask, but kissing Ridge out of the blue would probably knock him flat. His eyes still bug out of his head, but he nods, and I lean down, pushing just enough power into his mouth to finish healing his leg. It's mostly there, but I add a little extra boost to the surrounding muscle, easing away the kinks from being so long in the cast.

When I'm done, he sits back with a flush on his cheeks. "Whoa! Are you serious? Is it…?"

"All better." I quickly pierce the top of the cast with my knife, careful not to nick him as I cut through the plaster. With his help, I crack the protective shell open, and he gingerly stretches his leg, a huge smile taking over his face. Leaping to his feet, he slaps Parker on the back. "Look at my leg. Jack's a mercy, bro!"

"Great!" Parker shoots me a grateful look, but tension is still rolling off his body as he hands Ridge his weapons. "Now, how about helping me take down that big fucker over there before Manson gets overrun?"

My gaze snaps across the battlefield, my heart almost stopping as a feral alpha claws the crossbow out of Manson's hands. He pulls a knife, getting in a couple of quick hits, but the alpha has at least a foot on him. On the next thrust, he catches Manson's wrist and swings his long arm, raking his claws across Manson's throat. There's at least forty feet between us, but I can see the blood burst from his torn jugular like it's happening right in front of me. Manson smacks his hands over the wound with a garbled cry, and the feral alpha backs off, no doubt assuming his work is done. Manson only has a moment to glance up at his father, standing rigid on the dais, before he drops heavily to his knees.

"Oh, fuck! Oh, no!"

Parker is already running, his hand squeezing my wrist as he drags me in his wake. I shake him off, leapfrogging a downed soldier and darting around another. The fighting is thickest here, blade and claws flashing all around me, but I use my smaller stature to push ahead of the others. In less than a dozen heartbeats, I'm sliding onto my knees at Manson's side.

His face is gray, his eyes open but growing unfocused as they shift my way. I catch a flare of something – surprise? Regret? – and then I'm tearing off his headgear, my other hand pressing down hard on his wound. His hands are there too, his gloves already soaked in blood. I try not to flinch as it pours over my knuckles. How long does he have? Thirty seconds? Less ?

"I'm going to fix this, Manson. You know the drill."

He can't speak – I'm not sure he can even breathe at this point – but he makes a gurgling sound I take as consent. Cupping his head, I gently press my mouth over his.

The rest of the world fades away, my focus narrowing to the cold lips under mine. I don't have to dig deep this time, my power hovering like a wave suspended at the crest, just waiting to come crashing down. When I unleash it, it flows through me in a torrent, so strong I have to dig my knees into the grass to keep our mouths sealed together. Manson groans as it surges into him, the first sign his damaged vocal cords are knitting back together. I feel a thrill of relief, but in the next moment I taste something acrid in his blood. A shiver dances through the cold sweat on my spine. Just like Steele, Manson has been poisoned, the lethal toxin now racing to his heart.

"Poison," I croak as I tear my mouth away and spit in the dirt beside me. I look up at the alpha feral who attacked him. He's watching from a distance, a strange light in his yellow eyes. "His claws are poison," I tell Parker. "Spread the word to be careful."

"Fucking freaks," Parker mutters, then shoots me an apologetic glance as he sets his crossbow to his shoulder. "Not you, Mercy."

I'd roll my eyes if Manson's neck wound wasn't still bubbling over my hand. The artery is healed, but as I resume the kiss, I focus on patching the delicate skin of his throat back together. There are so many critical organ systems in this region, and even a slight nick to the windpipe can cause death months later. Then there's swelling from fluid trapped in the damaged tissue, along with blood clots pumped to the brain. Pushing down my panic, I keep working, my power darting like a hummingbird as it repairs the damage.

But the poison still taints every breath, and even as I heal his neck wound, I know death is simply wearing a different guise.

"Manson. Levi, look at me!" His head rolls, his eyes fluttering open to reveal a world of hurt in their depths. Can he hear me? Will he understand? "I'm going to have to bite you. It'll hurt, and I don't know… I can't tell if it will be enough."

Images of Steele's healing flicker behind my eyes, but I push them aside.

Whatever it takes .

That's what York said, and doesn't Manson deserve the same consideration? If it wasn't for Law, carried off and unprotected, I wouldn't hesitate. But I clench my fists, caught between this moment and the rescue I'd imagined in my head. Law needs help, but Manson needs me .

"Do it!" Parker yells, his eyes pleading behind his visor. "He trusts you, Mercy."

But I hold Manson's gaze. "Blink if you want this. Dr. Humphries could help you…"

His hand suddenly lifts to my cheek, blood-stained and trembling. "You."

It's barely a whisper, but I nod and grab my knife, slicing through the top strap of his vest. It's sticky with blood, peeling away with a sucking sound to expose his undershirt. I cut that too, pressing a hand to his heart. It gives a slow, labored thud, all the blood rushing to replenish his neck. On the ward, I'd have already walked away, chalking it up as a fight I can't win. But I'm not letting Manson slip through my fingers – not while there's still breath in my body.

"Brace yourself," I whisper, his eyes clinging to my lips as I press them to his chest and bite.

The first taste is so like Steele, I nearly pull away. Blood has a disturbing flavor, no matter the vessel, but the acrid taste of poison makes my tongue curl in protest. I push past my squeamishness, chasing the weak flutter of his pulse. I push my power at it, sledgehammer instead of hummingbird, and the jolt of energy makes his body bow under my mouth.

If I gave Steele's healing everything, this time I give it that and more .

Not just the essence of me, but the pieces I never knew existed, and all the new things I've discovered. I feed him the strongest parts first. All the cruelty and the pleasure, the lessons of the classroom and the sensations of the nest. And when he's taken those, I give him the rest. The secrets and surprises, the threats and the promises. Things I haven't even absorbed yet, like the broken hopes littering the battlefield. And the things I fear the most, like my pack's future, unraveling with every mile that grows between us.

This time, power is all that matters. Air, blood, and a functioning heart mean nothing if they're gone. And Manson, I discover, is even more alone. His only real connection is to Parker, who drifts through his consciousness like a beacon.

Parker… and me.

Because I'm there, too.

More of a bonfire than a beacon. I scorch across his awareness, and I chase it, fanning the flame with my power. His heart kicks under my mouth, and I realize power doesn't just hate a vacuum, it's always searching for more.

This time, I don't just fling an arm to the side. I lurch up, my hand seizing the general's ankle.

He curses, tries to kick me away, but he's right at the edge of the dais and his momentum sends him tumbling. He lands beside me in his son's blood, his face a mask of shock and fury. I tighten my grip, my fingers biting into the bone.

And then I take .

Not a trickle, but a gush. As violent as the arterial spray from his son's throat.

"Fuck!" he gurgles, mouth slack and eyes bulging. "What the hell are you doing?"

An echo from another healing, but this time Death doesn't so much waiver as change course. I push the general into his arms, squeezing out the last of his fading strength. Am I sacrificing him to Death? All I can think is better him than his son .

But then a knife slides against my neck, the blade tugging at my own tender throat. I let go of Manson, but keep my grip on his father. From the look of the soldiers crowding around me, his proximity might be the only thing keeping me alive.

"Ease up, Mercy." I tilt my head back and stare up at Colonel York. His face is almost as gray as the general's, but his grip on his knife is unwavering. He presses it against my throat, a warning flashing through his eyes. "This can only end one way."

"In the hospital?"

I don't really expect his offer to still stand, and I'm not surprised by his grim scowl. "Not now. That time has passed."

So, no more idyllic country estate for me .

"Get up, Mercy." York's head jerks in Manson's direction, and Crow swoops in, the sergeant glaring at us both. "You too, cadet."

I let go of the general and shuffle to my feet. All around us, the sounds of battle have faded. The last of the Vistrian invaders have been marched away, and while death still lingers over the fallen, the first wave of doctors and nurses is on the field. The soldiers shuffle back to give us room, but Manson rears up onto his knees, reaching for the knife on his hip. "Hurt her, and I'll drop you."

Manson looks at his deadly best, and it's hard not to smile, especially with his father at his feet like a deflated balloon. He barely fills his Trapshot uniform, and the only vibrant thing about him is the hate gleaming in his eyes. I bend down towards him, letting him see the blood on my teeth. "Now you're as rotten on the outside as the inside."

York mutters a curse, but my smile falls away as Carmen and her father appear at our side. She gives me an incredulous look, but Van Ness gives me an oily smile. "I'll take charge of her, general."

"That's not necessary." York glares at the other man. "I have this under control."

"Like you did by sending her to the front?" Van Ness asks silkily, then turns to the general, surveying his depleted form as his soldiers help him to his feet. "This all could have been avoided, General, if she was put under my charge in the first place. You don't engage with a monster until you know exactly how to muzzle it."

"Fine," the general rasps, his lip curling as he looks my way. "But she doesn't see the light of day again. Get her out of my sight and keep her there."

I'm jostled, turned by rough hands, and then Carmen grins like a fiend as she snaps cuffs on my wrists. York is still arguing with the general, but as Manson tries to follow us, his father barks out an order and he's surrounded.

His eyes seek out mine – fury, frustration, and fear burning in their depths – but then I'm spun away by the arm, Van Ness cooing in my ear. "Oh, the things we're going to get up to together, Mercy. Like the poor general, you won't recognize yourself when I'm done with you."

Carmen giggles, close enough to make my skin crawl. I can't stop her father from dragging me off to his lab, but I can wipe that damn smirk off her face. So I lunge for her, angling my mouth towards hers.

One breath, and I'll melt her vile bones down to soup.

"Uh, uh!" Van Ness laughs, almost gleeful as he jerks me out of his daughter's reach. "Let's save the kisses until we're in the lab, shall we?"

I bare my teeth at him, showing him exactly what he'll get if he comes near my mouth.

But then he stumbles back, a gap opening between us as warm lips slide over mine.

I suck down a puff of breath that's cookie sweet, caught between a laugh and a gasp.

Because a different kind of power is washing through me now, and the world suddenly retreats, shimmering at the edges.

When a pair of mismatched eyes come into focus, Luke is grinning down at me. "Time to run , sweet lips. "

TO BE CONTINUED in Book Two, A KISS TO HURT

Thank you for reading my book and apologies for leaving you dangling!

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And don't forget to check out this amazing character art of Jane and Manson…