A Kiss to Heal (Breed or Bleed #1)

20. Jane

Take care of him?

Fine. I’ll show him what a mercy can do with my power level and a couple of hours to stew.

Except that hurting anyone – even the asshole who seems to have kidnapped me – goes against my nature. Omega Oath aside, all I’ve ever wanted was to be the best healer I can be. So, how do I get Manson to let me go, when he’s clearly already sold on the idea of a free-use mercy?

Ugh.

Could he be any more obnoxious?

I wait as long as I can, staring at Manson’s wall of weaponry until both the thud of boots and the scent of alpha have faded. As I creep out of his room, I discover half a dozen doors on this floor, all fitted with security pads. Most of them are bedrooms, based on the way they smell, and then there are two communal bathrooms that make me hurry past with a shudder. Even if Manson could keep me locked up, my cover would be blown the first time some guy walked in on me mid-shower. Just the thought makes me want to leap out of the nearest window, except they all seem to be reinforced with iron grates.

As I sneak downstairs, I’m pretty sure the whole team is at their mandatory weight training. I still need to get past the cadet on the door, but at least I can check to see if there’s a back way out…

“Hey,” a guy says from his position on the sofa, a game controller in his hands. “I’m Ridge. Manson asked me to keep an eye on you, in case you need anything.”

No doubt he’s paraphrasing Manson’s instructions for my benefit, and I give him a closer look. He’s a cookie-cutter version of the other players, except he has bright, friendly eyes, a hint of honey to his scent, and a heavy plaster cast on his right leg.

“I’m going for a walk,” I say casually, purposely ignoring his broken leg. “You could come, if you like.”

“Tempting,” he grins, and I’m almost convinced he means it until I see the hint of apology in his eyes. “Except the cadet on the door has been told to keep you inside, and no one freaks those guys out more than Manson.”

I grit my teeth, even though I expected as much. “Not even freaks like me?”

Ridge’s grin widens. “You don’t seem so bad. I heard your team gave Logan a bloody nose on the strategy and tactics course. As far as I’m concerned, that gives you free use of the TV remote.” He pats the seat cushion beside him. “What do you want to watch?”

I grimace at the way these guys toss around the term ‘free use’, but I know when I’m beaten. Instead of sitting beside him, I lean against the edge of the kitchen counter. It’s a slab of stone with plywood cabinets, surrounded by basic appliances. “This place is strange,” I muse. “It’s as bare as a hospital ward, except for the swords on the wall and the fancy entertainment unit.”

He chuckles and waves his game controller at me. “You haven’t been in many barracks, have you? You want your soldiers fighting fit, you give them a decent cot, something to keep their minds busy, and a fully stocked kitchen.” My stomach growls on cue and I think forlornly of the vending machine snacks I was so rudely dragged away from. “You’ve got a familiar glint in your eye, Trapper. When was the last time you had a good meal?”

A while, given I’ve been living off the Bleak House food delivery, but I’m not about to tell him that. “I don’t eat a lot.”

“Well, I eat a ton, but I’m also a bottomless pit. Want to toss me some snacks?”

I turn, pulling open the first cabinet. “Wow,” I mutter as I stare at the packed shelves. They have every kind of dried, canned, and boxed food you could imagine, neatly stacked with their labels facing the same way. “You look like you’re getting ready for a siege.”

“We’re always ready.” Ridge sounds proud of the fact. “Someone tries to starve us out, they’ll be waiting a long damn time.”

I nod, but my head is already turning to look down the corridor, searching for a weak spot in their defenses. Just because they’re obsessive about food storage doesn’t mean they have all their bases covered, does it?

“Just so you know,” Ridge says as he swings towards me on a pair of crutches, “every entrance and exit point is reinforced and linked to the alarm system. Just in case you were thinking of opening a window.”

I jerk my head back around, staring blankly at a box of energy bars. When his hand reaches over my head to grab them, I duck out of the way. “No wonder it smells like alpha soup in here.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. But it’s security before comfort, and all that.”

I shut the cabinet and move to the fridge, shooting him a sour look. “Oh, I’ve already worked out that comfort is low on Manson’s priorities.” Except for when it comes to his own post-practice healing. That’s right at the top of his damn list.

Ridge tears into the box behind me, fishing out a bar. He’s clearly having trouble balancing and feeding himself at the same time. I sigh as I turn and peel off the wrapper, earning a huge grin for my efforts. “Thanks, Cutter. And sorry about… well, you don’t really seem the type to enjoy getting tossed over a guy’s shoulder.”

I turn back to the fridge with a scoff. “Does anyone?”

“You’d be surprised.”

I doubt that, although I know omegas have a reputation for getting giddy over big, growly alphas. But after a few weeks stationed on a ward full of soldiers, that fantasy quickly loses its charm.

“Still, if you know it’s wrong, why are you okay with it?” I ask, inspecting the use by date on a couple of bottles. They have a sauce for every occasion, and it’s hard not to compare it to the Bleak House offerings. “Someone should rein Manson in.”

“Good luck,” he snorts, and when I shoot him a withering glance, he throws up a hand, hopping to keep his balance. “Okay, I get it. But even with the barbarian blood running through his veins, Manson’s a good guy. And an even better captain. He hasn’t steered us wrong yet.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard all about the shiny trophies,” I mumble, pulling out a large chunk of ground beef. “How about some meatloaf?”

Ridge hops over and peers into the fridge. “We got the ingredients for that?”

“You’ve got the ingredients for everything . Who usually does the cooking?”

Ridge shrugs. “We take turns making snacks, but we mostly eat in the dining hall.”

“Then why all the food?” I wave a hand at the well-stocked spice rack. “Is this just for show?”

“No, but it’s part of our tuition. Every residence on campus gets a food allowance.”

A familiar anger simmers under my skin as I pull out milk, eggs, and a couple of onions. “Well, Bleak House doesn’t get anything like this.”

Ridge looks a little shamefaced. “Yeah, I guess. Things must be pretty tough over there.” When I nod, he props himself on one of the counter stools, watching me with interest. “Can I do anything to help?”

I study him for a moment. He just admitted he’s never made more than snacks, but it’s not like he can mess up meatloaf all that much. “Sure. You can chop the onions.”

He pulls a face, but doesn’t complain as I slide him a chopping board and knife. He chatters away about his classes for a while, then when the food is in the oven, asks, “Why are you cooking for us? From what the guys told me, you were kind of forced into the runner role.”

“Runner? I thought I was a blade boy.”

Ridge bites his lip. “That’s Manson just playing with you. It’s officially called a runner.” I scowl at him and he quickly waves a hand, “But why the free meal? You could be sulking up in Manson’s room.”

I sniff as I finish wiping down the bench. “Firstly, I don’t sulk. And it’s bad manners to cook for yourself when others are hungry.”

Ridge gives me a knowing look. “You’re a caregiver. You like to help people.”

It’s a little too close to the truth, so I nudge him over to the sofa. “Did you break your leg playing Trapshot?”

“Nah, football. That’s why Manson won’t let me go to a mercy to get it fixed. If you fuck up during Trapshot season and can’t play, you have to mend the long, painful way.”

I blink at him. “He’s a sadist.”

“You don’t know the half of it!” Ridge laughs, then bites his lip again at my narrowed gaze. “But I don’t care. I’m a reserve, so they don’t really need me. Plus, I like football. I’m prepared to take the knocks, just so long as I can play again.”

“Do you like it more than Trapshot?”

His eyes dance away from mine. “I’m a better wide receiver.”

“Then quit the team,” I say as I nudge the coffee table out of his path.

He drops onto the sofa with a grunt. “Just like you’ve been able to? It’s not that easy when you’re a legacy who wants a spot with the Alpha Elite Corps. We all have to play our positions, little Trapper. ”

I frown as I sit back, mulling over the fact that everywhere I turn on this campus, people seem to be backed into corners. Not that the Trapshot guys have it bad, but whenever I catch sight of Ridge’s cast, I feel uncomfortable. Plus, it reminds me that I’m currently in the hands of a sadistic asshole, which makes it hard to get lost in mindless entertainment.

We settle on a reality show I watched with the guys, and four episodes later, we’re sitting with plates of meatloaf on our laps when the rest of the team returns. Ridge is actually good company, but the smile is wiped off my face as his teammates crowd into the living area, baying like wolves. It takes me a moment to realize they’re not about to attack me, but the meatloaf pan warming in the stove.

“Calm the hell down!” Ridge shouts, laughing at their antics. “Cutter made enough for everyone!”

Manson stomps over and glares down at me. I can’t see any injuries, but he’s simmering with barely suppressed anger. “Why aren’t you in my room?”

I tip my head back, feeling more than one interested gaze on my face. “Because I ran out of things to do once I polished all your swords.”

A sudden silence is broken by a chorus of chortles, and I flush, looking at Ridge for help. “Ah, too much information, little Trapper,” he jokes, shooting Manson a tense smile. “And you should probably head back up, okay?”

I blink at him, betrayal written all over my face. “But we were going to watch the next episode.”

Ridge slides along the sofa as fast as his broken leg will allow, but Manson sticks his boot in his way and snatches his plate out of his hand. “That food’s mine. And I told you to watch him, not fucking bond like a lost puppy dog.”

“Hey!” I’m not sure who is the dog in this scenario, but it still infuriates me. “We were just eating dinner!”

“Next time, wait until I tell you to eat.”

He lunges towards me like he plans to scoop me off the sofa, but I shove my plate between us like a shield. “You put me over your shoulder again, and you’ll be wearing this meatloaf.”

His eyes narrow dangerously, but he just clicks his fingers, and I take it as a win. Climbing to my feet with as much dignity as I can muster, I place my half-eaten meal on the counter and head towards the stairs. But Manson only waits until we’re behind his bedroom door before he grabs my shoulder, spinning me towards him. “I didn’t bring you here to cook meals and gossip over reality shows.” His eyes narrow further, glinting suspiciously at me. “Are you deliberately trying to blow your cover?”

I curl my lip at him, all my anger now finding a happy target. “I could’ve healed Ridge’s leg in less than a minute, but I didn’t. Why? Because you won’t let him take the easy way out.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I can’t just…” I wave a hand at the wall, frustration souring my scent. “I’m not a soldier, I’m a healer. And if there’s someone around me who I can’t help, then I need another outlet. Tonight, it was meatloaf.”

I think that’s a pretty reasonable explanation, but Manson’s face darkens, and he crowds me back against the door. “You put your mouth on any of my teammates, and I’ll knock out their teeth.”

I stare up at him in disbelief. “You’re crazy.”

“And you’re soft.” His knuckles graze my cheeks before he looks away in disgust. “And if you don’t toughen the fuck up, you’re gonna get yourself killed.”

I can hear a throat clearing through the wood at my back, and then Parker says, “Manson, Cutter’s clothes are here.”

“Good.” He pushes off the door, reaching around me to open it. I try to step aside, but he grabs my arm, pulling me out into the hall. “Give me the bag and dump the rest of the stuff on my bed,” he tells Parker. “We’re using the bathroom.”

Logan saunters towards us, bare-chested and eyebrow cocked. “Didn’t you just have a shower at the gym?”

Manson’s lip curls, but Parker just laughs, shaking a mocking finger at the red-haired alpha. “You’re starting to sound like a bit of a stalker, Logan.”

“I’m just saying…”

“Don’t say,” Manson growls, pulling me into the bathroom and slamming the door shut. It’s as basic as the rest of the building, and I stare at the communal shower in dismay. It has four heads all running off the same water supply, and the thought of sharing one with Manson makes my stomach drop to my toes. “I’m not using that.”

He opens the bag and pulls out a caddy of bath products, pushing it into my hands. “Unless you want every alpha in this house sniffing you out, you’ll use them.”

I run an eye over the masculine products and grimace. “Jungle Fresh? Seriously?”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t seem to mind it when you were licking me better earlier.”

I almost drop the caddy. “I wasn’t licking you!”

He just smirks at my horrified face and parks himself on the edge of the counter. “There’s a descenter, too. Make sure you use it on your scalp. You’ve got a lot of sweat glands there.”

I flush in embarrassment, then get angry at myself for reacting. What do I care if Manson thinks I smell? He smells - like alpha iron and vinegar, although there’s also a whiff of body wash that reminds me of zesty cedarwood.

Grabbing the very plain-looking soap bar from the caddy, I put the rest on the bench and mutter, “At least Travis got me a fluffy pink towel.” He doesn’t respond, so I start unzipping my jacket. “Can’t you brush your teeth or something?”

“I thought healers would be comfortable in their own skin,” he replies, leaning past me to turn on the shower.

I step back to avoid both him and the spray. “I am. It doesn’t mean I want you looking at it, though.”

“Then we can shower back-to-back.” Whipping off his t-shirt, he steps out of his sweats and underwear, then walks under the water. “This make you feel better?”

Is he kidding? In the plain white room, he’s a slab of golden-brown muscle, all of which is flexing and rippling as he scoops up the jungle wash and starts rubbing it over his body. I try not to look, but my gaze is snared by black writing scrawled across his ribs. A quote? A demon summoning spell? I try to read it, but he suddenly covers it with a handful of bubbles. “Who’s the creeper now, Omega?” My head snaps back up, and he gives me a lazy smile. “Look all you want, but touching is off limits unless I need your mercy skills.”

I grind my teeth, waiting until he’s looked away before stripping off the rest of my clothes and getting under the spray. He turns around, like he promised, and I quickly scrub myself down with the soap. It’s actually quite nice to wash away the chlorine, and the water pressure is definitely an improvement over the tiny bathroom at Bleak House. Although, I’d take a cold shower every day if it meant I could transport myself back there right now.

“So, are you and the freaks planning to form a pack?”

My head whips in Manson’s direction, but he’s staring down at his feet. “What? ”

His broad back lifts in a shrug. “I’ve seen the way they look at you. Plus, you smell a little like all of them. I just assumed that a bunch of alphas all with the same omega must be thinking about forming a pack.”

I wait for him to chuckle, to pass off what he’s said as a joke. But when he keeps scrubbing his chest in those lazy circles, I frown and start rinsing off. “Packs don’t exist outside silly romances. And I’m not a breeder, anyway. I mean, the guys are just my friends.”

“Yeah, you think they’d say that if I asked?” He doesn’t wait for me to reply, tossing the body wash back in the caddy. “But packs are real, Mercy. That used to be the way all alphas and omegas got together.”

I step out of the spray and grab a towel out of his bag. It’s not pink, but it’s still pretty fluffy, although I’m too annoyed to enjoy it as I dry myself off. “That’s not true.”

“What do you think life was like before the war?” He turns off the shower and grabs the other towel from his bag. “A couple of generations ago, before the council and military got so powerful, packs were the traditional social structure. But then they picked a fight with the Vistrians and needed us to all pull together for the greater good. Alphas weren’t gonna go off to war and leave their omegas behind, so the powers-that-be fractured the pack system. People were dumped on communes and city projects and told to live together like one big happy family until they were either conscripted or sent off to work on estates.”

He's casually looping his towel around his waist, but I’m frozen still, staring at him with my mouth hanging open. “Who told you that?”

“I’m a legacy, and the son of a general,” he replies with typical Manson arrogance. “It’s pretty much an open secret among my kind.”

His kind.

I’m so stunned, all I can mutter is, “But…”

“It’s not something you should go around talking about. Just be aware that those freaks at Bleak House are legacies, too. On some level, they might be interested in you because they’re looking for a pack omega.”

He grabs his gear, nudging me out of the way so he can look through the door. The coast must be clear because he herds me back to his room, nodding towards the pile of clothes on the dresser. “There should be something to sleep in, or you can grab one of my shirts.”

He doesn’t miss how I recoil from the idea, his jaw tight as he drops his towel and steps into a pair of boxers. I’m staring at the comforter, which has a forest pattern in different shades of green. It’s no doubt military-issue, and right now I’m eyeing it like an enemy bunker. But Manson just jerks it back and slides into the bed, rolling over so I can only see his back.

I hesitate, but he doesn’t move, so I pull on a long black t-shirt and cotton panties I find in the pile. It’s hard not to imagine Travis’ face if he could see me right now, and my heart clenches to think of him alone in his basement bed. But Manson just reaches up and clicks out the light, muttering, “Stand there all night if you want, but tomorrow you’re on duty, same as the rest of us.”

Because I’m his free-use mercy.

Not that he has to spell it out to get me to give in and climb into bed.