Chapter 11 #2
“No, what I do know is that you weren’t.
I also know that you knew you wouldn’t be there before I even entered the final trial.
You lied to me.” I know the hurt shines in my eyes, but regardless of how much I try to hide that vulnerability, I can’t.
He sees it, too, because he’s doing his best now to look anywhere but directly at me.
“I didn’t lie, Nori. I just slightly omitted.”
“It’s the same thing!” I snap, my hands curling into fists at my sides. I can feel the hurt turning to anger. I can feel the need to lash out and hurt him the way he hurt me.
The sounds of boots behind us draw closer.
“You know I would have done anything to be there, to see you not only succeed but achieve one of your biggest dreams, but I have responsibilities,” he delivers in brutal honesty.
“Something you should understand, given that you are the assigned lieutenant of your bracket. It will only become clearer if they allow you to keep that rank upon placement.”
He leans forward like he’s going to reach for my hand, causing me to step back even farther into the alcove. Disappointment washes over his features before he quickly masks it. “You can’t be upset at me for doing what’s required,” he scolds, his jaw clenching the moment he closes his mouth.
The audacity of this man.
“I can and will be. You don’t get to dictate what upsets me!
” I dig my nails into my palms and do my best to keep the violent urges subdued.
“I know that I would have been there for you, and I deserved the same. If disappointing you and being forced to lie are the benefits of having the rank they bestowed on me, then they can keep it.”
I’m downright seething on the outside. But inside, I’m a complete ball of devastation. When did I become an afterthought to him? When did he become so cold and detached? And ambitious? I never thought I’d see the day that reckless Ambrose became ambitious.
“Still winning the hearts of ladies throughout the realm, I see,” a husky voice calls out.
Shaking his head at me as if he’s disappointed, Ambrose reluctantly turns to face the approaching Noctryns. “Fuck off, Griffin, this doesn’t concern you,” he bites out to the one with the shaved head.
“Touchy today, aren’t we?” Griffin responds, his mouth pulled up in a smile. It seems to bring him great pleasure to see Ambrose upset.
“Don’t you have some blood ritual to do or sacrifices to be made?” Ambrose asks in an exasperated tone as if this is the last thing he wants to deal with.
“Why do you want to know? Are you volunteering as tribute?” he counters back in a saccharine voice.
“He’s not typically our type,” the man with beautiful braids and mocha skin quips.
“Valid point, Koa. We need to dirty him up a little first.”
“She looks to be more our type,” Koa says, his russet-colored eyes turning in my direction and raking me from head to toe.
I swallow down anything I was going to say.
I’m so far in the alcove I can’t go back any farther. So much for remaining unseen.
“I’ll burn you where you stand,” Ambrose growls as he reaches out and grabs the front of the man’s armor, yanking him closer. They’re nose to nose, staring at each other like they’d like nothing more than to eviscerate the other.
Koa’s hand rests on his dagger, but he hasn’t made a move to fully unsheathe it.
The veins in Ambrose’s forehead protrude in anger, and his eyes spark with the inferno building beneath his skin.
This is the boy who protected me from everything.
The one I played with as a child, grew up with, and ultimately fell in love with.
The one who would get between me and whatever was set on harming me, regardless of the circumstances.
It used to drive me crazy. I just wanted to be seen as one of the boys.
Currently, I appreciate it, but we are severely outnumbered, and my skill set for survival doesn’t really exist. I won’t be much help, and I’m not too proud to admit that.
I hold my breath, silently praying that he doesn’t unleash his fire ability out of anger again. Fire wielders are notorious for their temper, and it’s a constant internal battle for them to regulate it.
“I would advise against threatening my squad again, Captain,” a deep, menacing voice orders.
It sounds like a threat and a promise rolled into one.
The one in the front that my eyes kept flittering back to steps forward toward the two men. He’s silently stood back, letting the events unfold until now. I’d completely forgotten about him, so wrapped up in the dick measuring contest that was happening in front of me.
At the moment, he commands not only my attention but also the attention of everyone surrounding us.
His helmed head tilts down to look at Ambrose’s hand gripping the top of Koa’s armor. A silent question and threat rolled into the gesture.
Ambrose stares at the Noctryn, his nostrils flaring. After an incredibly long moment, he drops his grip on the armor and shoves Koa away.
Koa darts forward to retaliate, but the leader of the group extends his arm out, abruptly stopping him. Actually, I have no idea if he is the leader, but the way those around him respond to him makes it seem plausible.
“Back so soon, Kingston? I didn’t even have a chance to properly miss you,” Ambrose says snidely, his lip pulling up in distaste.
A tsking sound comes from Griffin. He holds up his index finger, moving it back and forth in a mocking form of scolding. “Pretty sure you forgot a teeny tiny tidbit there when you addressed him,” he says with a smug grin. I’d love to smack it right off his face. “It’s Major Adair to you,” he warns.
Major… So he’s a third-year.
Their solid black armor offers zero clues to their ranks. The Noctryns believe that offering up that information so clearly in battle is a disadvantage. The enemy targets those in charge first, creating chaos on the battlefield.
Of course, the Veils disagree.
Ambrose continues speaking like Griffin didn’t just interrupt. “Already done murdering and maiming innocents,” he asks the leader, his voice tight with what sounds a lot like hatred. “You really didn’t waste any time this round, did you?”
“Already playing the avenging hero? I heard that worked out really well for you with the last one,” Kingston responds from behind his helmet.
His stance is relaxed but prepared. Two huge swords are strapped to his back, and various weapons are tucked and sheathed throughout his darkened armor.
Most blend in so well that you have to really look closely to see them.
I’m definitely looking.
To take your eyes off this man seems risky.
Ambrose wears his standard-issued uniform, considering he didn’t just come back from doing something shady.
Dark brown slacks topped with an ivory shirt under an even darker brown hooded cloak.
If he has weapons on him, they’re discreetly hidden.
Knowing Ambrose, he definitely has weapons somewhere on his body.
“Your brother is welcome to her. I was already done,” Ambrose says with an arrogant smile. “But at least he had the guts to speak face-to-face and not hide behind a helmet.”
Brother?
It takes me a second, but I put two and two together. Makon and Kingston are brothers.
Well, that certainly explains the hostility.
Immediately, I’m relieved that Ambrose and Yaretta weren’t anything serious.
However, after the relief hits, so does the revulsion at his words.
He was already done with her. Exactly how many times has he done this sort of thing if he can speak so callously about it?
About her. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m not her number one fan, but she’s still a human being.
And I’m not the only one who didn’t take kindly to his words.
The Noctryns shift among themselves, some grabbing the hilt of their daggers or swords, others dropping their helmets and stepping toward Ambrose.
I have no doubt it’s not because they are offended on Yaretta’s behalf.
They’re moving forward out of respect for their leader.
Apparently, the closest person in the world to me has a death wish.
Could he take on a few of them by himself? Absolutely.
All eight of them? We’re both dead.
I can feel the tension in the air.
It feels tangible enough that you could reach out and grab it.
The larger-than-life major reaches for his helmet. His large, gloved hands grip the sides and pull it off.
My eyes widen as they roam over his features.
I was not ready. I don’t think there’s a way to even be prepared.
His face is nothing less than masculine perfection.
The kind of perfection that demands your complete and whole attention.
A sharp jawline, strong nose, and full lips. His face is perfectly symmetrical. Black hair that’s short on the sides and a little longer on top, and slightly messed up from his helmet.
Soldiers have different kinds of weapons in their arsenal that they wear throughout their life to protect themselves—some being obvious and others catching you by surprise. Kingston’s caught me by surprise. He is covered in weapons, but his face is the main one.
Where Ambrose is warmth, safety, and everything beautiful in a man, Kingston is cold, diabolical, and unapproachable. Both stunning but in completely different ways.
He sucks all the oxygen out of the room, and I wouldn’t be surprised if darkness started seeping from his pores. Gorgeous but in a “look don’t touch” kind of way.
Beautiful.
Dangerous.
Very pissed off.
He steps closer to Ambrose, who doesn’t back down. It’s like watching two alpha wolves circle each other, looking for weaknesses. Where to strike to cause the most damage.
“I hide behind nothing, Ballard. Something you know better than most,” he says, his eyes cutting to me as I’ve stepped unknowingly closer to Ambrose during the altercation.