Page 130 of The Mourning Throne
But he must’ve landed it.
Blood bloomed bright and thick, soaking through the white tank top Noah wore.
Noah powered through it.
“Every second,” Noah snarled through gritted teeth, slamming Morgan back again. “Every second I imagined what I’d do when Ifinallygot my fucking hands on you.”
Morgan’s arm snapped out—another wild strike. The blade sliced into Noah’s left shoulder.
It didn’t stop him.
Noah hit him again and again—constant, relentless.
Morgan didn’t feel Noah’s fists.
But heknewsomething was going to give.
Soon.
He knew by the sudden lag in his vision, the way the floor tilted sideways, how his knees folded without warning.
His body was burning itself out. Again.
Fracturing under pressure heshould’vebeen able to manage.
Not like this. Not now.
Then Noah grabbed him by the front of the shirt, yanked him forward, and threw him.
Morgan hit something—the coffee table? The end table? Didn’t matter which.
The wood groaned and shattered underneath him, and the air was gone again.
The crackling noise in his chest hadn’t been there before.
Lex’s scream tore through that soft, black haze.
“Noah—stop!”
Morgan heard it. Faint and hollow, like a distant echo. And ithurt—not physically, but somewhere deep. Somewhere close to the edge.
It was the first real dose of fear he’d tasted in a long time.
Morgan pushed up, scrambling, body slow to respond. Muscles sluggish. He ducked another blow by inches.
He tried to swing again—knife-hand twitching—but those nerves had stopped responding. His arm hung there, trembling.
He stumbled.
The floor slanted swimming with late-afternoon shadows and broken wood.
Noah surged forward again—
—and Lex moved. Just a blur. Too fast, too reckless.
Noah’s arm caught him on the upswing and flung him like a rag doll. Lex slammed into the dresser. Wood cracked. The whole wall seemed to tremble with the sound.
Lex crumpled.
