“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 survivaldoesn’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 youaddressed 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.
