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 itimmediately 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.
