A Kiss to Heal (Breed or Bleed #1)

8. Jane

He locked me in a box like a feral animal…

Out of all the nightmares swirling around in my brain, that’s the one that sticks like a thorn. When I was dragged out of the courtroom with the brigadier’s sentence still thundering in the air, I thought I was destined to die on the front. To be fed into the maw of the insatiable war machine, perhaps falling prey to trenchrot, or taking a poisoned claw to the chest in an ambush…

Would that have satisfied the colonel’s thirst for justice?

But instead, I was stuffed in a metal box and transported to a house on campus. And as much as I want to believe it’s a reprieve, I can’t get York’s haunted stare out of my mind.

He must have dragged himself out of his sickbed to attend the hearing. He was gaunt, pale, his legs barely holding his weight. But even though the brigadier gave him the opportunity to condemn me, he didn’t reveal the true reason he’d ended up in such a haggard state. He let them believe it was poison, and that I’d attacked both him and his aide for reasons unexplained. Which, in the colonel’s case, could have seen me executed on the spot.

But the truth is so much worse. I invaded the body of a senior officer, muting his will and draining him of his power. An act as selfish as it is disturbing, since the Omega’s Oath I took on my first day of training should prevent me from harming anyone.

Guilt sours my next breath, but I swallow it down. I only broke my oath after I was dangerously depleted from saving the colonel’s mate. And while I didn’t expect a thank you, did he really have to throw me to the wolves ?

Unless…

I shudder, twisting my hands in the comforter as a terrible thought swirls through my brain.

Was this my punishment for letting his mate die?

No!

No. I healed Steele, expelling the toxin from his veins and breathing life back into his failing heart. I’m certain of it.

But then I picture the colonel’s hollow eyes, the painful shuffle of a man who’s lost too much…

Oh, hell. Could Steele be dead?

I press a hand to my mouth to hold in a whimper.

I don’t know anything about him, except that he’s a beta, he’s devoted to his mate, and he took a chance on a mercy when a hospital would have been a safer choice.

Did I kill him? Was that rush of power as I healed him just wishful thinking?

I press my fingers into my eyes, but I refuse to accept that. Because if I contributed to Steele’s death, I’d be dead, too. The colonel promised as much. He even showed me the knife he’d plunge into my heart.

I rub my chest, but then another thought makes me freeze.

Could he have sent me here – locked up and hidden away - until he gets his strength back to finish the job himself?

Mother Mercy. And I thought the colonel looked like the walking dead…

Just deal with what’s right in front of you, Jane.

The irony isn’t lost on me. It’s advice I give to the new mercies when they first start on the ward. You can’t fix everything, so pick one thing and focus on that. And healing, when it comes down to it, is just a game of survival. Take care of the most essential things first, then worry about living with the scars.

And highest on my agenda is finding a bathroom. I squirm, almost moaning at the pressure on my bladder. It’s a good sign my bodily functions are waking up, but not when you’re in a strange house with no idea where you are.

But first, I need to see how I got here with my own eyes. Forcing some energy into my limbs, I slide to the end of the bed, peering over the edge.

My stomach churns, my hands growing clammy. Did he really ship me here in that ?

My cage is exactly what they said it was – a sturdy metal box in military green. From this angle it looks way too small to house a person, and the crick in my neck and the ache behind my knees proves it was a tight fit.

I’ve always hated tight spaces. Unfortunately, it’s not something you can fix with a healing kiss. My fear is based on childhood trauma – climbing in a wheat bin when I was five and having the mice-proof lid snap shut. I’d spent twelve hours crouched inside, the summer sun cooking the metal until it left welts on my hands and feet. I’d been half dead when my mom finally pulled me out, and for years, just walking past the grain silo made me scream in terror.

Nausea prickles down my spine as I stare at the box, but I focus on swinging my legs off the bed. I’m shaking, my balance off, and every muscle feels tight and rubbery. But if I don’t move, I’ll pee myself, so I force myself to stagger to the door. It’s only as I turn the knob that I hear the music.

It’s nothing like the tranquil, melodic sounds piped through the private wards. This is primitive, with a hard driving beat that licks over my skin and makes me shiver. We listened to music on the commune, but it was frowned on by our parents, so it was mostly pirated tapes we bought out of the back of a truck at the county fair. The recordings were all riddled with static, the voices twangy, and the guitars too loud.

But this is seductive, and I find myself drawn to the edge of the landing. A steep, rickety staircase leads down into a sitting area, and I can see the edges of mismatched couches pushed back against the wall. Shadows flicker across the floor like twitchy ghosts, all angular and distorted, until a couple spins into view, kissing and groping. I stare, entranced, as the guy licks his way up her throat and bites her earlobe. She shrieks, smacking his arm, but then her head falls back with a moan. And when he pushes his tongue into her mouth, she winds her arms around his neck, her breath coming in hungry little pants.

They swing back out of view, and I find my feet taking me down the stairs, my neck straining to see where they’ve gone. Each step creaks alarmingly under me, but it’s drowned out by the music, and when I reach the bottom, no one turns to look my way. It gives me a moment to take it all in, although I’m not sure where to look first.

It’s obviously a party. If the music, dancing, and groping didn’t give it away, the scent of weed and liquor in the air would confirm it. There’s a large space in front of me, marked out by the edges of a faded gray rug. The music is coming from a sound system in the corner, the revolving globe on top throwing bursts of light across the room. It paints every face in flashes of color, and I quickly find the couple I was watching. They’re now sprawled full-length on a couch, legs and arms tangled together. Her top is around her waist and his belt buckle trails on the floor, but a guy walking past tosses a blanket over them. They freeze for a moment, but then the blanket starts moving, somehow even more suggestive than when they were out in plain view.

I avert my eyes, looking for a familiar face. Hard to do in a crowd of strangers, but I eventually catch a flash of blond hair. Is it Drew? He’s at the far back of the room, framed by an archway into a kitchen, the counter between the two rooms strewn with cups and bottles and a bright blue bowl of punch. I’m searching for a glimpse of his perfect profile but he’s been swallowed by a group of guys in varsity jackets. I recognize the red and black of Sentinel Academy’s Trap Team and my stomach tightens. They have their own doctors on staff, so they don’t come through the ward, but everyone on campus knows them by reputation.

I turn on my heel, only to step into the path of a female alpha. She has long, pin-straight blonde hair and is taller than me by at least four inches. It puts me on the same level as her curled pink lip, a sliver of alpha canine gleaming in the gap. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

I open my mouth to reply when an arm is slung around my shoulder, pressing down in subtle warning. “You’re not supposed to be down here.”

“Why not?” The female alpha folds her arms, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Who is he, Law?”

Who is he ? I could ask the same thing, since I’m staring up into the most perfect face I’ve ever seen. His features are all sweeping curves and sharp angles, his eyes a mossy green between a swoop of platinum hair. He’s standing so close, I don’t miss the laughter that crinkles their edges and I realize they’re not playing a prank on me. In military overalls - and with my ugly, shaved head - I probably look like a scrawny recruit.

“You got a new bunkmate, Law?” One of the huge Trap Team alphas strolls over, looking down his nose at me. He’s got hard, square features beneath his crew cut, all sharp jawline and bored brown eyes. They barely flicker over me before settling on the alpha female with obvious interest. “Looking good, Van Ness. That kink in your hair suits you. ”

I freeze at the name, white spots flickering across my vision as it echoes in my skull. Wasn’t that the name of the spooky civilian in the business suit at my trial? The one who stared at me like he wanted to peel the skin from my bones…

I think I even catch a metallic whiff coming off the girl’s skin as she runs a hand over her perfect hair, flicking her fingers dismissively at the Trap Team guy. “Maybe you should work on the kink in your trigger control, Manson.”

Manson. Another name I recognize, although I can’t think why. The guy in question flashes his alpha teeth at the blonde, who pivots towards him, chin up like she’s just accepted some challenge. The guy next to me – Law - increases the downward pressure of his arm, urging me away, but we haven’t taken more than a couple of steps towards the staircase when a drunk guy lurches in front of us. He’s dressed like Law in tailored pants and a form-fitting jacket and smells like iron and money.

“Is this Cutter?” The newcomer blinks at me with hazy eyes. “Fucking hell! Are we finally meeting the legend in the flesh?”

“Don’t be stupid,” a voice says behind me, and I look up into Drew’s annoyed face. “This is Cutter’s cousin . But same rules apply. He’s under our protection, so you should keep your distance.” He nods at Law. “Back upstairs, yeah?”

“Hold up!” The drunk guy lurches sideways, blocking our path. “This is a house party! That means everyone in the house has to be here, including mystery cousins.”

“Yeah, well, Jack doesn’t live here,” Drew says sharply. “He’s just visiting.”

“All the more reason to get to know him now,” the drunk replies, waving at the other alphas. “Come on. We’re gonna play a party game!”

He grabs a bottle of beer off a passing guy and drains it before burping into his sleeve. He fixes watery blue eyes on me, his elegant nose scrunching up as he looks me over. “You smell like peach schnapps. What are you? One of those country betas? You can sit next to me, Jack. I wanna hear your life story.” He throws his head back and whistles like he’s calling a pack of dogs to heel. “Come on, you assholes! Time for a party game!”

Heads go up across the room, some of the guests ambling over to form a messy circle on the worn rug. The drunk has a tight hold on my arm, pulling me towards an empty spot. I’m still too weak to really resist him, but Drew slides past us close enough to whisper, “Travis is going to break you into teeny, tiny pieces.”

I think he’s talking to me until I catch the flash of annoyance in Law’s eyes. His arm is still a warm weight across my shoulder, and his silver hair brushes my cheek as he mutters in my other ear, “It’s okay. I’ll get you out of this. Just play along for now, okay?”

Not that I have much choice with the drunk pulling me down between them, Drew glowering at him from across the circle. I look around quickly, counting twelve other alphas, including Van Ness and the Trap Team guy. They’re not sitting together – in fact, she has her shoulder turned so she can’t see him – but he’s staring at her profile, while she keeps glancing over at the basement steps. I wrap my arms around myself, wishing I had stayed upstairs. I still need to go to the bathroom, although the urge has taken on a dull ache now, and I barely hear the drunk guy explaining the rules.

But I look up at a pained groan and realize I’ve missed the first turn. One of the bigger alphas is giving a smaller alpha a cocky grin as he rubs his arm and glares drunken murder his way. “What happened?” I whisper to Law.

“It’s called Pain or Passion. If it’s your spin, you get to choose between punching or kissing whoever it lands on.”

I grimace. Everyone here is twice my size, girls included, and the guys outnumber us four to one. “Do guys kiss guys very often?”

Law’s green eyes crinkle in amusement. “Sometimes. Depends on how cute the guy is, I guess.”

There’s enough warmth in his gaze to make the dull ache in my belly tighten, but I look away as the Trap Team guy snatches the bottle out of the middle of the circle. “Seniority. I go next.”

“Shouldn’t it be beauty before brawn?” the Van Ness girl drawls, elbowing him out of the way and grabbing the bottle. He doesn’t fight her, and she sets it on the floor, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she starts the spin. It flies in an impossibly fast circle, the colored lights dancing off the glass. I remember a game like this from the commune. We played it on Harvest Night, when our parents were drunk on moonshine and brandy bread. But my eyes still widen when the bottle stops spinning and points in my direction.

“Jack and Van Ness!” the drunk guy crows, slapping my back hard enough to rattle my ribs. “Starting out in the major leagues, little Cutter.”

I lift startled eyes to the blonde alpha, but her fist is already flying, the impact taking me between the breasts. I’m knocked backwards so hard, I’d have landed flat on my back if Law didn’t throw an arm around me. “Hey! Too fucking hard, Carmen!” he hisses.

“Learn to pull your punches, Van Ness,” Drew snaps. “Travis has a soft spot for this one,” he adds as Law settles me back in the circle, their gazes full of remorse as I rub my chest.

The blonde casts a quick glance towards the basement stairs, then slaps my back. “Sorry, squid. Guess I have more brawn than I thought.”

“I’m okay,” I wheeze, mainly because I’m trying to catch my breath. The pain I absorbed almost instantly, my self-healing kicking in on reflex. But there’s only so much you can do when the air has literally been punched from your lungs. “But I think I’ve had enough of this game now.”

“Not until you take your turn!” The drunk guy who started the game thrusts the bottle into my hands. “You can’t leave until you’ve paid the pain forward.”

“Or the passion.” Law leans in to whisper, “Which I can do upstairs, if you want to bail. I’m more than happy to kiss that bruise better.”

I blink at him, waiting for that flash of amusement in his eyes that tells me he’s just playing around. But as his gaze drops to my lips, I feel the heat like a match flare, and I barely react as someone grabs the bottle out of my hands. I catch a flash of spinning glass and then the Trap Team guy curses. “Is this thing rigged, or what?” I glance up to find him looking at me in disgust. “If I hit you, I’ll kill you, and I don’t do dudes. I’m having another spin.”

Because once again the bottle is pointing my way.

“I’ll take his turn,” Law says, lights from the revolving globe streaking across his face, making his eyes glow under his hooded lids. “Come on, Jack. Let’s show them there’s more to this game than pointless violence.”

I blink, my gaze laser-focused on his lips. They’re ridiculously pretty, a dark pink like the heart of a rose, with a dent in the top and a puffy cushion on the bottom. Is this mouth really going to give me my first real kiss?

Because mercies don’t give recreational kisses. And in my case, for good reason.

“No!” I almost slap Law’s face as I push him aside. “I c-can’t.”

There’s a shocked silence that dissolves into giggles and gasps, everyone hanging on my next stuttered word. “I don’t… k-kiss in public. ”

Law looks as startled as the rest of them, and I grab his hand while he’s still off balance, pulling him to his feet. My only thought is to retreat to Drew’s room, but Van Ness calls out before I can even take a step. “The rule is no partying upstairs! Use the basement!”

Law stiffens, and I squeeze his hand, admitting my bravado has run its course. My mind stutters as badly as my mouth, caught in the memory of my last kiss – which definitely did more harm than good. I suddenly feel like my lips really are coated in poison. How quickly would the eager circle of faces turn feral if they saw what I can do with a simple kiss?

“Kitchen,” Law murmurs and pulls me towards the archway. I can feel eyes sliding over us, whispers and chuckles bouncing off our backs. Law ignores them, steering me past sticky benchtops and overflowing trash cans to a door. He yanks it open, and the scent of stale bread and roach pellets wafts out to greet us. I peer past him, my claustrophobia rushing back. But it’s just an old wooden pantry, most of the shelves empty and covered in dust. It’s dark and quiet, and when he steps inside, I only hesitate for a second before following him.

“Should have had the party at my place,” he sighs, turning to face me. “I’m Lawrence Michaelson, in case you didn’t work it out. Law, to my friends, which includes the guys you’re currently bunking with.”

“Hi. I’m Jane,” I whisper back, even though I know the music outside is too loud for them to hear anything. “Sorry I kind of slapped you. You took me by surprise.”

His luscious lips turn up in a smirk. “It was more of a pat than a slap. And you don’t have to kiss me, by the way. We can just mess up our clothes a bit and head back out.” I bite my lip and his green eyes narrow. “Unless you want me to kiss you…”

The offer hangs between us while I gulp down a mouthful of stale air laced with his alpha scent. There’s no doubt in my mind Lawrence Michaelson would make a perfect first kiss. His lips alone would live in my memory for eternity. But I can’t stop thinking of the colonel’s wasted body, the black pits of his eyes as they lashed me for my crimes. I have no idea if I’m back to full strength, or if I even have control over my healing abilities. What if I broke more than just my Omega Oath when I took for myself? I could snap, my powers taking over, and I might end up draining him dry…

But Law misreads my silence, his hand lifting to stroke my cheek. “How about I start right here, and we see how it goes?”

I feel my skin burn under his sweeping thumb, but he’s already ducking his head, those storybook lips skimming across my cheekbone. Tingles spring up in their wake and Law makes a deep sound in the back of his throat. I turn towards him in alarm, already stepping back, but his arm slides around my shoulders, his lips pressing against the corner of my mouth. Before I can take a breath, they settle over mine, soft, firm, and burning hot.

It takes me a moment to realize the heat is coming from me . That everywhere he touches is causing hot little sparks to dance over my skin. Maybe he can feel it too, because he groans again, swiping his tongue across the seam of my lips. I can’t tell if he’s tasting me or asking for more, and I dart my tongue out, touching his. It’s like tasting warm velvet, only with some kind of minty undertone. He groans again as I press closer, his arm tightening behind me as he pushes his way inside, licking into my eager mouth.

A shudder rolls through me, right down to my bare toes. Without thinking, I wrap a hand around his waist, clinging to the back of his shirt as he deepens the kiss. His tongue is dancing with mine, sucking more of those little sparks to life. But it’s the way he’s splayed his fingers over the back of my head – not even caring my skull is shaved down to the root - that makes me melt.

I’ve seen people kiss romantically, of course. Back on the commune, we liked to spy on the courting couples, dreaming of the day when lips and hands would skim over our skin and make us writhe against a tree trunk or hike our skirts over a hay bale. By the time I was old enough to find someone to kiss, I was already presenting as an omega, my mouth destined to be a tool for healing, not pleasure.

But this is pleasure beyond my dreams. I’m drowning in his mouth, melting against his body, coming apart under his hands. I want him to cradle me in his arms while also shoving me against the dusty shelves. I want deeper kisses, harder hands, and more of his throaty groans. Reckless fire burns through my veins, and I don’t care if it consumes me. I just want more .

I assume Law has kissed enough girls to know how he’s affecting me. But when he finally pulls away, he’s blinking rapidly, his chest heaving as he stares down at me. “Mercy, Jane. Do you always kiss like that?”

Along with hearing the word ‘mercy’ fall from his lips, the question is enough to wipe the smile off my face. Because he can’t know this is my first kiss. That up until this moment, my lips have only felt as sensitive as my elbows, and my tongue’s only purpose was to lick away the pain of dying soldiers.

“No.” I wrap my arms across my middle, staring past him at a dusty shelf. “I don’t make a habit of it.”

His long, cool fingers grip the edge of my chin. “Hey, I didn’t mean that like it sounded. It was a perfect kiss. And I hope it won’t be my last.”

I turn my head rather than reply. Because what can I say? Kissing me is a dangerous habit to have. Especially since those little sparks he coaxed to life are now burning deep inside me, making me feel hot and achy.

A knock suddenly raps out, making me jump back. “You finished in there?” With a dull thud, the door pops open, and Drew’s blond head appears in the gap. His brows shoot up before his eyes narrow, his lips twisting tight. “Fuck, Law. You got a death wish?”

The angry bark doesn’t affect me nearly as much as his accusation, and I square my shoulders. “I didn’t hurt him,” I say stiffly, as all that lovely heat under my skin turns to ice. “I wouldn’t do that.”

Law makes a choking sound behind me, while Drew gives me a startled look. But slowly his lips tilt up and he gently knocks his head against the edge of the door. “Yeah, I know that, Jane. But you need to come out now.”

I nod, but as I step past him, Drew puts an arm up, barring Law’s path. “Get yourself together, asshole. You could take someone’s eye out with that thing.”

I don’t know what he’s talking about, but Law just gives him a grim look. “If I don’t go out there with her, they’re going to think we didn’t do it. That bottle’s going to keep landing on her, and do you really want one of the other guys stepping in?”

Drew grumbles, but they fall into step on either side of me. I keep my gaze down until we’re past the kitchen door and then, once we’re back in the main room, flick a glance at the circle. I’m relieved to find there’s no sign of Van Ness, but Manson, the Trap Team guy, is sitting stiffly on the floor. His jaw is clenched, and when he looks up, his eyes rake over us before settling on Law.

“You look like you had fun,” he grunts. “Maybe I was hasty passing up my turn.” With a dark glance towards the basement stairs, he rises to his feet and strolls over to us. He should be too big to do it smoothly, but he’s wearing those colors for a reason. Every member of the Alpha Elite Corps comes through the Trap Team, and there’s no student on campus who can compete with them for physical strength. They’re lions on leashes, at least until they graduate, and they’re sent off to fight the Vistrian hordes.

“Forget it, Manson,” Drew says abruptly, stepping in his path. They’re eye-to-eye in height, but the other guy is almost double his bulk. “You had your shot, and now it’s my turn to play.”

My chest clenches at that, but Law stoops to snatch the bottle off the floor and passes it to Drew. “Last go, then we dance. And which one of you lazy cretins is on drink duty?”

A beta peels off from the wall and scurries to the kitchen, while Drew takes his spot back on the floor. He gives me a quick nod as I settle on my heels, then spins the bottle. I don’t know how he does it – maybe he’s just played this game so often he can predict where it will land – but he gives me a quick smile when it ends up pointing my way.

But Manson is on his feet before anyone can move, stalking over and pressing a heavy hand on my shaved skull. “You don’t need to get up, pretty boy. Just make sure you leave me looking as happy as you left the last guy.”