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 repliesthrough 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.
