4. York

She looks so innocent with her pointed chin and frizzy hair, her dirty toes curling on the stone floor. In her plain tunic, she'd be impossible to pick from the service omegas I grew up with – unseen and unheard - even if those huge gray eyes swim with more emotion than I've witnessed mid-battle.

Remember her last words to you, York. That feeling of being taken apart, cell by cell. All while her pretty lips sucked on yours, and her sweet perfume filled your nose and danced through your blood.

I grit my teeth, barely able to stay on my feet as I leave the courtroom. But I keep my trembling to a minimum through sheer grit, only leaning on my platoon sergeant when the alternative is falling on my face. "Your footlocker is on its way to the holding cells, Crow?"

He grimaces, still far from pleased with this plan. "There are easier ways, sir. Why don't you leave it with me? I can have her dead and buried in the hour, and no one will ever know."

I ignore him, since I don't have the breath to continue this argument. Crow has made his feelings known, and I've given him his orders. "You've put her on the troop list?"

"Yes, sir," he sighs, his finger hovering over his rifle trigger. Insubordination aside, he should be grabbing chow, not getting ready to head out with the next deployment. But I can't trust this task to just anyone.

"And the ambush is set? She'll disappear before you reach the front?"

"Gone like smoke," he says, then scratches at his chin. "These students, though. You sure this is the best avenue, sir?"

"I'll make sure they know what's at stake." And they'll pay with their lives if they try to cross me. "Just get it delivered as quickly as possible."

"Yes sir. It'll be there as soon as you deliver your orders."

A minute longer, and I'll likely be face down on the floor. But my platoon sergeant just gives me a salute and sticks a wad of chewing tobacco in his cheek, turning to head towards the holding cells.

I slowly and painfully shuffle back through the bowels of the military base, furious at my depleted muscles. I've been seesawing sharply between rage and disbelief ever since I woke on the ward. I feel like a ghost of myself, but the shock really hit home when I looked in a mirror. If they'd told me I'd been wasting away in an enemy dungeon for six months, it wouldn't have surprised me. Instead, I was told I'd been attacked by a healer and infected with some kind of toxin.

From a poisoned kiss.

The irony makes me laugh, but it's a bitter sound. Oh yes, the little healer infected me, but not in the way they think.

I jerk as Van Ness, the army's head scientist, slithers out of a corridor and falls into step beside me. "You really should have let me handle the healer, Colonel. I could have squeezed a lot more out of her than a few weeks on the front."

"Even one life saved is payment enough," I tell him, forcing my legs to match his stride.

But I'm clearly too weak to outrun him, and I can see the smirk hovering around his mouth. I'm certain he's full of glee to see an officer of my rank and reputation brought so low. "Well, then you should come into my office for tests. I have more sophisticated equipment than you'll find on the ward. Best I check you over to make sure she didn't do any lasting damage."

I grunt, because the way he's looking at me – like a vulture circling a fresh corpse – makes me want to smash his head into the wall. "I'll come by if I find the time."

It's clearly all I'm going to give him, but he still puts a hand on my arm, his long, thin fingers digging in. "I'm very curious about the nature of the poison she used, Colonel. And if I can no longer get it from the source…"

Then I'm the lab rat in his sights. But over my dead, rotting corpse is he getting his hands on me, especially in my depleted state.

I shake him off with a look that has put better men on their knees. " I'll stop by if I find the time, Doctor. That's all I'm prepared to give you."

I leave him in the hallway, cutting through the physical training block to get to the utility area. There are technically three ways to get into the compound: through the Tube, the metal walkway connecting the administrative buildings; via the troop depot, utilized by incoming and outgoing squads and their support services; and then there's the Ass End, used by students on training drills. There are other lesser-known access points, of course, some even reserved for senior officers, but they don't serve my needs right now.

The Ass End is controlled by a code that's changed daily. I punch it in and wait for the heavy metal door to swing open. Crisp dawn air gushes in, mingled with the scent of young, brooding alphas. There are two of them, identical in looks but opposite in temperament. From what I've read, both are high on cunning and desperately low on funds, which is what makes them perfect for this assignment.

"Colonel," the chattier of the two says, stepping forward until he's framed by the door. Tall and lean, with youthful muscles and a dimpled grin, Drew Locke has fucked his way through half the campus, but still manages to look like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. And somehow, he manages to wear the college uniform as if it was made for him, even though the worn patches and frayed cuffs tell me it's clearly a hand-me-down. "You're looking chipper this morning, sir."

Oh, the things I could do to that smirking mouth. "Am I known for my light-hearted mood, Locke?"

"No, you're not," the other twin says, his brow furrowed over the ridge of his glasses. Avery Locke is the brains of the pair, with an off-the-charts IQ and the social niceties of a rock. "Which is what's so disturbing about this, Colonel York. Why us? If this is an attempt to coerce our father, you should know we're protected under the rule of surrender. It states enemy combatants are hors de combat and entitled to the full protections of the Maxym Code."

"He knows , Aves," the other twin – Drew – says with a roll of the eye. "He probably wrote the damn code."

"It was established three hundred years ago," I reply with the darkest glower I can manage. "So, no, I didn't write the fucking code. But I did have something to do with your father's capture and arrest." They both stiffen, and I quite enjoy their matching scowls. "Which means I know more about you two than anyone else on campus. You have no secrets from me, boys. "

That gets them exchanging an uneasy glance between their matching hazel eyes. I let them stew for a moment before Drew stuffs his hands in his pockets, his dimples nowhere in sight. "Okay, so where's the bag, and how long do we have to stash it for?"

"A week. Maybe two. And it's being delivered to your residence as we speak."

Drew huffs. "Then why exactly did you drag us out of bed at ass o'clock in the morning?"

I step up close enough to breathe my superior alpha authority square in their faces. "Let me be very clear, boys. The object you are holding for me is not to be discussed with anyone. You will follow the routine as per the emailed orders, and I will have eyes on you to make sure they're met in every way." They squirm under my dominance, the quiet one biting his lip while the chatty one fists his hands. "As to why you? That should be obvious. You're the sons of a traitor and spy. Hiding things from your fellow housemates should be second nature to you."

They don't like that, shuffling their feet and squaring their jaws. "We'll do it," Drew says with what he no doubt thinks is a hard look in my direction. "But only if you hold up your end of the bargain."

"As I said, follow the orders to the letter, and we'll both get what we want."

They nod, backing away, the quieter twin tugging on his brother's fraying sleeve. There's a moment where he meets my eyes and the flash of anger I see there makes me pause. This is meant to be the docile twin, the one who barely registers the world around him. So why is he looking at me like he's got murder on his mind?

"You have a pretty cushy life here," I remind them. "One word from me and your privileges will disappear. Two words, and you'll never see your father in this life again."

Their lips curl in matching sneers, but they don't reply as they turn and march back towards the college. I watch them until they disappear around the administration block, then sag against the doorframe. For a moment I'm tempted to follow, to determine with my own eyes if they're up to the task. But I have to assume that the sons of the biggest traitor in the Civin States' history have learned from bitter experience what happens when they break a deal.

Besides, I can feel my mate stirring down the bond, and that gives my feet new life. Locking the door behind me, I hurry towards the hospital, ignoring the startled salutes from soldiers lingering outside the administration building. I suppose I should be relieved they recognize me, given the way my uniform hangs off my shrunken frame. Although, they may just be responding to the stars on my shoulder. It isn't every day a colonel scurries across campus like he's trying to outrun the plague.

As I enter the hospital, which is a sprawling cinder block building that smells of both antiseptic and omegas, the ward nurse twitches with obvious relief. I left against her wishes to check in with my men and attend the mercy's hearing, and she's probably been expecting a death report ever since I staggered off her ward. I give her a clipped nod as she leads me to Ben's room, and then I'm passed off to the doctor waiting just inside the door. Dr. Humphries is the Head of Emergency Medicine and as pompous as they come, but since my mate is now under his care, I bite back the sneer on my lips.

"Good to see you back in one piece, Colonel," he says in his snippy tone, "but you really must heed my orders now and get some rest."

I'm tempted to tell him that the only people whose orders I obey wear a very different uniform, but I settle for a scowl, stepping around him to look at Ben. He's sitting up with the covers tangled around his waist, his soft brown eyes blown wide with the drugs in his system. His skin is so pale it looks waxy, his movements slow as he turns at the squeak of my boots on the stone floor. A happy glow floods his cheeks, and my heart gives a relieved thump. But as he takes me in, his soft look turns to one of horror. " Marcus, what happened to you?"

His question is almost a wail, and the machines he's hooked up to start to beep as he struggles to rise from the bed. I leap forward and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, feeling a million times better just by being this close to him. "I'm fine, Ben. Just the wound I took in the field playing up." Humphries clears his throat, like he wants to offer a different diagnosis, but the glare I shoot in his direction silences him. "How are you feeling? Do you need anything? Water? More meds?"

"I'm okay," he croaks, his hand creeping into mine. "But I can feel something in your bite. Did she--?"

I squeeze his hand, cutting him off before he can finish the question. The doctor has taken a step closer to the bed, no doubt to listen in, but I straighten to my full height, my gaze like flint. "He'll require sedation for the trip to my estate. I've had reports the roads have been washed out, and I don't want him weakened further in any way."

Ben looks like he wants to argue, but Humphries nods his assent. "I think that's a good idea, Colonel."

"Then perhaps you can go and make the arrangements."

His chest puffs up at my domineering tone, but it would take a sterner constitution to resist me. He might be a big deal in the hospital, but my dominance has been honed on the kind of battlefields that would leave him a trembling mess.

As soon as Humphries is gone, Ben reclaims my full attention. "I don't understand," he whispers, his throat bobbing anxiously. "We're going home? What about the war?"

I give in to the temptation clawing at me and lean down to brush my lips over his. He tastes like pain and confusion, and my heart beats like a war drum in my chest. Every instinct is telling me to sweep him up and leave. To take him from this place where death haunts the halls, and every pair of eyes looks at us like we're under a microscope. "Ben, baby, listen to me. We've been given medical leave, and it's important we get away to recover."

"But… the mercy." He peers up at me with fear in his eyes. "What happened to her?"

I steel my spine, but this is for his own good. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, but she poisoned us. She had some kind of grudge against the military, and we both would have died if they didn't break down the door and arrest her."

His confusion thickens, the breath punched out of him. "What? That can't be right. She saved me…"

"She didn't. It was the antibiotics. She nearly killed you."

I hate to do this, hate stoking his fear and uncertainty, but he glares up at me, as stubborn as ever. "Why are you lying to me, Marcus? I was an inch from death. You think I could miss that? And then she filled me with… Fuck, I don't know. Light? Life? It was her , and it was the most beautiful thing I've ever felt."

Jealousy bites me with petty teeth, and I have to keep the sting of it from my scent. "Don't, sweetheart. It's just the antibiotics in your system, confusing you." I rarely call him pet names while we're in uniform, but Benjamin Steele is sweet all the way through. And I'm desperate. I need to distract him. Or convince him to stop talking about this until we're safely behind the high walls of my family estate.

But his eyes flash with anger as he shakes his head at me. "No! I'm telling you, there's a connection there. She did more than save me, Marcus."

I freeze, the luminous quality in his gaze now making me nauseous. " What do you mean?"

He crosses his arms, only wincing a little at the wound on his chest. "Let's ask her. Where is she?"

He peers around like he expects her to sashay into the room, and I harden my heart, forcing my face to stone. "She's been sent to the front as punishment. It was that or the firing squad."

"No!" He grabs my shoulder, his face as pale as the sheet. "Please, Alpha. You have to go and protect her."

"She nearly killed you, Ben. Which is an offense not only to the army, but to our mate bond." His fingers unfurl from my arm, drifting up to rub the wound over his heart, but I snatch them up, squeezing them tight. "I'll take you to our estate to recuperate, and the pain will fade in no time."

He blinks up at me, but instead of arguing, he puts all of his emotion into our bond. Ben is a beta, so his dominance is a low-level simmer that lives inside me like a warm caress. I have to actively seek it out to read his emotions, which he once told me is a relief, since his face is an open book. A little mystery is a necessary part of a healthy relationship, or something along those lines. But now he channels so much feeling through our bond it's like taking a punch to the chest, and I reel back, knocking a metal cart against the wall.

His face instantly crumples, and he lurches off the bed despite the drip inserted in his arm. The room swings around me, and I reach for him, but my knees are folding under me, black starbursts filling my vision. I grasp his fingers, but I'm a dead weight, and I only have a moment to mutter, "The footlocker… Make sure it's safe."

"What?" he cries, fear thick in his throat. "What do you mean, Marcus?"

But the room winks out, Steele's distraught face the last thing I see.