Kingston’s head whips to the side. My eyes widen, going back and forth between the two. A fight between two heavyweights. This will end in death. There isn’t another plausible conclusion.
“Did you do this?” Ambrose grinds out through clenched teeth, pointing at my frozen form.
Kingston uses the back of his forearm to wipe the blood from his already split lip. “That was your one free hit, Ballard,” he says in a low tone.
Ambrose steps up to Kingston, his eyes hard. Chest to chest, they stare at each other with pure hatred. “You leave her out of this. We can settle our score whenever you’re ready,” Ambrose snarls.
Kingston’s lips draw tight, pulling into a sneer. “Are you so eager to die, Captain?”
Ambrose laughs, low and mirthless. The Noctryns surrounding us step back, giving the two men a wide berth. They’d never insult their major by interfering. Kingston stares at Ambrose with a gaze so cold it could give frostbite.
Speaking of frostbite, I’m pretty sure I might have it. I try to pull my blanket tighter around me, but my fingers fumble. They’re clumsy and won’t cooperate. I blink my eyes slowly, trying to focus on what’s about to unfold, but my eyes are heavy. I’m struggling to keep them open. I can feel my body sway slightly, and black dots dance along my vision.
“You always want what isn’t yours to have,” Ambrose taunts. “This is no different.”
Kingston flashes his canines. “Rich, coming from you of all people,” he growls.
I blink my eyes rapidly, trying to clear my vision and keep up with the insults being thrown back and forth. Shit’s about to go down. I try to focus, but my knees lock up right as Kingston steps up to Ambrose. I reach out to stop him.
I see Ambrose whip his head toward me, his brows pulled down in concern.
Then I collapse.
Chapter twenty-seven
I open my eyes to the light pouring through my window. I’m in my room. There’s no cold forest or turbulent rivers filled with red tides. A fluffy comforter is pulled up to my chin, and I’m burrowed into a couple of pillows.
A movement in the corner of the room draws my attention. Ambrose is hunched over in a chair next to my dresser, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. Scarred knuckles push back the thick strands always falling into his eyes. He looks as if he has the weight of the world on his broad shoulders.
I take a moment to stare at him, unabashedly.
Stubbles shadows his strong jaw. His mouth is set in a grim straight line, and his long legs are spread out in front of him. Both of his sleeves are rolled to the elbows, revealing forearms traced with thick veins and muscle.
He’s a masterpiece.
“It seems we’ve come full circle, ending up back in my room,” I say softly. I’m extremely parched, so the words come out a little scratchier than usual.
He drops his hands and jumps to his feet. “Nori,” he says, eyes widening. “You’re awake. You scared the shit out of me!” he adds in a rough voice, advancing on me.
I lick my lips. “What happened?”
“You passed out.”
“For how long?”
The bed dips as he sits on the edge. “Almost a full day. You’re lucky you didn’t get hypothermia. It was close,” he rasps, two lines forming between his brows.
“Have you been in that chair the entire time?” I ask.
“Where else would I be?” His eyes are bloodshot, and his hair looks like he’s been pulling at it all night.
I grab his hand and squeeze.
He brings it to his mouth, gently kissing my knuckles.
I sit further up.
“You should rest,” he orders, helping me adjust the pillows at my back.
