Chapter 6 #2
Conversation picks back up around us, and Mallory and Finnley start bickering about what fresh hell is going to be on the agility portion of the trials.
I pretend not to see Ambrose pull his new flavor of the week down on his lap.
Or the feline grin that she throws my way.
Apparently, all is forgiven on his part.
His deep laughter and her shrill giggles are making me contemplate driving this fork right through my eye. Which means it’s as good of time as any to admit lunch is over.
Just as I’m about to stand up, the energy shifts around the table.
A familiar gravelly voice comes from behind me. “Tell me something, Ambrose,” he drawls. “How do I taste?”
It’s said just loud enough that classmen from other tables stop eating and chatting among themselves to watch what’s about to transpire.
Ambrose’s head whips around, a look of pure malice lining his face. “What the fuck did you just say?” he demands.
“Oh boy,” Mallory whispers. Her head is moving quickly from one man to the other, almost comically.
Slowly, I twist my upper body to look behind me as well. The first thing that hits me is how very correct I was in the images I had conjured in my head. He’s exactly what I expected him to be.
A walking menace to society.
Offering zero apologies for it, as well.
“I said, how. Do. I. Taste,” he repeats, with an emphasis on each individual word.
Dressed in all black, a Damascus dagger sticking out of a tactical sheath that’s draped across his chest, he oozes fuck-off vibes.
He looks the same size, if not larger, than he did in full armor.
How is that even possible? His stern lips are pulled into a threatening sneer, and a challenging look fills his eyes.
Deep brown eyes that never even look in my direction.
I shrug to myself.
Fine by me.
I openly stare at him, though.
Long, thick black hair, with war braids woven throughout, falls down his back, with the top half being partially pulled up. An almost perfectly straight scar runs down one temple to the corner of his mouth, adding an even more ominous edge to his appearance.
Apparently, it was the wrong thing for him to say to Ambrose, though.
He stands, causing me to jump to my feet as well. I choose to ignore the fact that Yaretta just landed on her ass and quickly grab onto his arm.
“It’s not worth it. Just let it go,” I plead.
There’s a time and place, and this is not it.
If he heard me, he doesn’t show it. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.
He’s vibrating with anger, and I’m getting a feeling this isn’t something that just developed today between the two.
This is anger that’s had time to fester.
Ambrose gets right in Makon’s face, grabbing a fistful of his shirt. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Makon?” he snarls.
They’re almost nose to nose, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to pick my jaw up off the floor. I’m stuck between horror and fascination at how quickly things have transpired.
“Are you trying to get a firsthand experience, Ballard?” Makon retorts in that mocking tone that I’ve come to associate with him. “You should have just asked. Although I have to be honest, men aren’t my thing,” he says. “I prefer something a little sweeter.”
It’s like he wants to get punched.
“Fuck you.” Ambrose’s jaw ticks with barely contained fury. “If you have something to say, then say it or piss off,” he replies through clenched teeth. Releasing Makon’s shirt from his grasp, he shoves him away like touching his clothing will taint him.
There’s so much testosterone surrounding us that you could choke on it.
Their little altercation has drawn the attention of a few more Noctryns, who are making their way over to stand behind Makon. If there was anyone in this room who probably didn’t need backup, my guess is it would be him.
I’m going to keep that little opinion to myself, though.
The Veils seem content to watch from a distance. Which is fine. I’m not worried. Ambrose has everything under control.
Smoothing down the front of his shirt, Makon lets out a soft chuckle as if this is all just some big joke.
He’s not fooling me, though. I see the cruel glint in his eye and know this is just who he is. He likes to make people uncomfortable and watch them squirm.
I know his type all too well.
I can hear Finnley behind me crunching down and chewing as he’s watching the events unfold. Seemingly and completely unbothered. Here I am, having trouble even swallowing the saliva in my mouth, and he’s enjoying his carrots.
Makon’s attention falls to the woman still sitting on the floor.
She’s watching the two men with wide, fearful eyes.
A rabbit caught in the crosshairs of two wolves.
The moment his lips lift in a sinister smile, I know shit’s about to go down.
She seems to know as well if her sudden pale complexion is any indication.
“Why don’t you ask the current object sitting so prettily at your feet,” he all but purrs.
Yaretta gulps and looks around before slightly whimpering.
I wouldn’t want to be the one pinned beneath that penetrating glare either.
Having Makon’s full attention does not sound like a good time.
“Better yet, let me,” Makon suggests in a lethal whisper.
He walks around Ambrose and kneels to the level of the whimpering female crumpled on the floor.
He rubs his thumb slowly over her bottom lip, his touch more condescending than gentle.
“Yaretta, darling, why don’t you share with the class what you were doing with those lovely lips last night?
” He tilts his head, waiting for her to respond.
“No? Not in the mood to disclose?” he asks. “Allow me then.”
He pushes off the floor, rising to his full height, slowly circling Ambrose before walking back to his comrades.
“You see, Ambrose,” he says, turning his hard eyes toward us, “those devious lips you were kissing in the hall just moments ago? Those very same lips were fit snugly around me last night.” His smile widens as he lets the words hit their mark. “All of me.”
A soft gasp escapes Yaretta’s lips before she throws her hand over her mouth, trying to cover it.
Makon’s brown eyes are literally glowing with triumph.
“So I’ll ask you one more time, for curiosity’s sake and all. How do I taste, Ballard?” he asks darkly.
I actually feel bad for her.
I no longer desire to be in her shoes.
I feel even worse for Ambrose.
He’s never cared about sharing his toys before, but I doubt he’ll appreciate being taunted with it so publicly, especially in front of an entire dining hall. If he protects one thing viciously, it’s his pride.
I’ve seen him throw haymakers for less.
Judging by the way he’s opening and closing his fists, this is about to go from bad to worse. Very fast. His shoulders are tense, and his jaw is clenched.
The entire dining hall is now watching. I can tell my best friend is fighting for control and losing.
I can’t stand to see him be humiliated like this.
I reach out to gently grab his hand. A shriek escapes my mouth as my palm connects with his, and it immediately feels like molten embers embed into my skin.
Tears well in my eyes from the pain, and the skin is red and charred-looking by the time I pull it away.
I wasn’t here to see him manifest, and I haven’t witnessed it yet, but I’ve heard through mutual friends what his ability is.
Fire.
He looks down at me. His entire demeanor is wound tight, and his eyes are blank. Void. It’s as if no one’s home, but he’s looking right at me.
I step back a little, unease sinking into my stomach.
This is new.
“Nori, get over here,” Makon growls under his breath.
His words are directed at me, but his eyes never leave Ambrose.
I hesitate, because why would I leave the person’s side I’ve known my entire life and trust to go stand by him?
His gaze swings from me to Ambrose and back again, full of irritation and hostility.
“It wasn’t a suggestion but an order. Unless you’d like to see what happens when he loses the internal battle he’s currently fighting. ”
Ambrose stands eerily still now, watching Makon with an empty stare. His fingernails dig into his palms. The veins in his forearms protrude due to the exertion he’s placing on keeping the fire suppressed. His control is slipping, and it’s evident to anyone within standing distance.
“You might want to listen, just this one time,” Finnley suggests in a whisper-shout across the table. “He’s starting to flame.”
Sure enough, there are small flickers of flames in both hands.
He’s losing control.
I slowly walk to Makon’s side, careful not to make any sudden movements. The moment I reach him, he shoves me behind him into another Noctryn’s waiting arms. I grab at them, trying to pry myself out of their restraint, but the soldier’s grip is unbreakable.
What is even happening right now?
I’m furious at Ambrose for letting himself get this worked up. Why would he give this asshole that much power over him? Fire ability is hard to control at best and unpredictable at worst. And that’s to someone who didn’t just manifest within the last year.
I lean forward, trying to see what’s happening, and stop breathing as dark shadows emerge from Makon’s fingertips. They are like a living, breathing entity as they move toward Ambrose, wrapping themselves around both men, completely obscuring them from our view.
It’s beautiful and terrifying.
Desperately, I claw at the rigid arms holding me in place, but it’s no use. I’m stuck. It’s as if the entire dining hall and everyone in it is collectively holding their breath.
What happens if one captain kills another captain?
Ambrose’s anger fueled his fire, but a captain is expected to be able to control their abilities at all times. Will he lose the C insignia he wears so proudly on his shoulder?
I force myself to calm down. Hysteria won’t get me anywhere. Biting down on my lips, I think of a hundred different outcomes. At least one of them has to be positive, right?
The obsidian shadows move around the two men like a lover’s caress, coaxing yet determined. When I don’t think I can stand another second of watching helplessly on the sidelines, Makon’s darkness starts to recede. The shadows act like an extension of him, completely and utterly at his disposal.
The outline of the two men slowly becomes visible again.
Kicking backward, I land a solid boot to my captive’s shin and push forward with all my weight. A harsh grunt leaves him. “Not only was that unwise, but it also hurt. Stop,” the Noctryn hisses in my ear.
Sorry to burst your bubble, pal, but I don’t give one flying shit if it hurt or not.
That was kind of the goal.
I wiggle and throw myself around unsuccessfully.
At this point, the shadows are fully reclaimed by Makon, as if they were never there. Both men square off against one another, the eye contact making me uncomfortable, and I’m not even a part of it.
The hatred in both of their eyes is positively blinding.
I know the two separate regiments aren’t a fan of each other, but something deeper is at play here. Something more than the crude insults and innuendos thrown around today. Something I don’t know about because Ambrose decided to be a sellout and not fill me in.
Some best friend he is.
Ambrose’s laughter comes out gentle but devious.
I’ve never heard him laugh in such a threatening way.
“You’re just like him, aren’t you? Desperate to be noticed.
Determined to make a name for yourself.” His dark hair falls over his brow as he taunts Makon.
“You’ve already failed, though, haven’t you?
You couldn’t even place as a Veil. All you’ll ever be good at is dirty magic,” he says with a smug smile.
Repulsion sweeps across Makon’s face. “I’d slit my own throat before accepting the signia of a Veil.” His gaze turns cold, unforgiving. “One day, Ballard, I’ll stare down at your lifeless body and golden morals both bleeding out on the battlefield.”
He looks like the type who wouldn’t just look down at Ambrose’s lifeless body but would smile upon it. This man is downright terrifying. What I really want to know is how his shadows snuffed out Ambrose’s flames. Are they more powerful than certain manifestations?
Ambrose, being Ambrose, just has to get the last word in, though.
“It makes perfect sense, you know.” He laughs, rubbing the corners of his mouth. “You two are cut from the exact same cloth after all.”
Who is cut from what cloth? Why am I so in the dark here?
The fire may have fully subsided in his hands, but apparently not in his anger toward Makon. Now there’s just residual ash encased around his fingernails. A stark reminder he lost control today, and a Noctryn gained it.
Whether, I like him or not, which I most definitely do not, Makon just saved us from all becoming tinder for the academy. My favorite part of all of this, though, is when my buddy, who’s pretty high up on my shit list at the moment, turns toward me, remembering I’m still here.
Ambrose’s eyes widen in surprise, like he actually did forget I was here.
I tilt my chin and let out a quiet huff, not bothering to hide it.
It takes a second before his eyes fall to the pair of arms holding me hostage, causing his lips to lift in a snarl. “Remove your fucking hands,” he warns the Noctryn holding me.
Makon examines his fingernails, like this is all incredibly boring to him at this point.
“He wouldn’t have to restrain her if you could control yourself, Veil.” He says the last word as if it’s filthy. “If we had left her in your very incapable hands, figuratively and literally, she’d be embers at this point.”
If looks could kill, Makon would be dead on the spot. Fury and hatred pour out of Ambrose, and I’d bet anything he’s dismembering him in his head.
Slowly.
A chill works its way down my spine at the murderous glint in his eye.
Makon says something to the man restraining me, but it’s in a language I don’t recognize. I’m immediately released and rush over to Ambrose. He tucks me under his arm, not even looking at me. It’s okay, though. I’m sure he’s just out of sorts right now and trying to keep me safe.
Makon cuts a glance toward me before his brown eyes narrow on Ambrose. Without another word, he turns on his heel, leaving with his horde of dark comrades following closely behind.
The rest of us are left standing here, wondering what just happened.
Yaretta is nowhere to be seen.