Page 35 of Ruthless Kings of Vengeance
Ares doesn't answer at first.
He's just staring at me, which makes me wonder what he's thinking about. Before I can control myself, I'm kissing him ever so tenderly, the kiss short but firm enough to snap him out of whatever mental dive he just went on.
"Talk to me, my Ruthless King."
When our eyes meet, I can see the hints of his insecurity, but it's taken over so much quicker, which makes me realize that my King who carried more sympathy and innocence in this world was being tainted day by day.
He confesses.
"Warren was the one who made it to you first. That he'd been watching from afar, or I guess he always has been watching even though you told him to fuck off and out of your life. Guess it's hard when you've been bodyguard for so long..."
He trails off before he quietly mutters.
"He made you cry, and I can't forgive him for that. It's stupid or maybe selfish when I'm sure I've made you shed tears for my actions when we first met, but I guess because I hold him on a different regard... a different level, and saw the hurt of hisbetrayal in your eyes, it's made me want to penalize him for it, but that's not fair... but he doesn't really want to forgive him yet."
He sighs and looks into my eyes.
"But he worked on trying to save you for ten minutes. Constantly compressing and breathing life into you until Zander and Ren showed up with the antidote. If he hadn't been there trying, I don't think you would have made it, and I have to owe it to him for that...because I don't think any of us can afford to lose you anymore, Sweet Canary. We're entrapped by your song and without it, I think we'll all lose our fucking minds."
"Ares," I whisper, his name falling from my lips with a tenderness that surprises even me. The weight of his confession—that they all might lose their minds without me—settles in my chest like a physical thing, both terrifying and exhilarating in its implications.
His eyes darken as he meets my gaze, something resolute settling in his expression. The transformation is almost tangible—the shift from momentary vulnerability back to the determined King he's becoming.
"This needs to end," he says, his voice carrying a conviction that wasn't there moments ago. "This up and down madness." His fingers tighten fractionally against my skin, not enough to hurt but enough to convey the intensity of his emotions. "If this is the real truth of what Leighton University is about, then we have to finish what we started and break this cycle once and for all because we won't risk losing our Maiden."
The fireplace crackles beside us, casting his face in alternating shadows and golden light. The contrast seems fitting somehow — illuminating the duality of his nature, the way beauty and danger coexist in perfect harmony within him.
"Won't dare allow the world to steal our Ruthless Queen because they want to test us in all ways possible." His jaw tightens, a muscle pulsing beneath the skin in a waythat emphasizes the sculpted perfection of his features. "The diseases... the manipulation of medical warfare. It's unfair."
A frown creases his brow as a thought seems to trouble him. The expression is so at odds with his usual carefully maintained aesthetic perfection that I find myself transfixed, watching the play of emotions he typically keeps hidden from the world.
"Scarlett," he says quietly, the name falling between us like a stone into still water.
The mention catches me off guard, though something about it tugs at my subconscious — a memory trying to surface through the drug - induced haze still clouding parts of my mind.
"What about Scarlett?" I ask, watching his expression carefully for clues about why the name carries such weight.
He exhales slowly, fingers absently tracing patterns on my arm as he gathers his thoughts.
"What happened at the model shoot when I was leaving." The words emerge measured, and deliberate, as if he's selecting each one with careful consideration. "Our conversation, where I realized she'd been injured."
Images flash in my mind—disjointed and incomplete, but carrying emotional resonance I can't quite place. Scarlett with her trademark red hair and sharp tongue, always dancing on the edges of our world, never quite friend or foe but something more complex.
"I'd called Kian and Arlo for assistance," Ares continues, his expression growing more troubled. "Even if she's not necessarily a part of our services, and well..."
He trails off, the unfinished sentence hanging heavy with implications that make my stomach tighten with apprehension.
"What's the verdict?" I ask quietly, already dreading the answer based on his expression.
Ares sighs, his usual perfect posture slumping slightly under the weight of whatever he's carrying.
"I don't know, because then everything happened with the Blinded One, and I haven't been able to check back to see if she made it or not."
The admission strikes me with unexpected force. Because this is Ares—my meticulous King who tracks every detail, who maintains careful records of everything in his orbit.
For him to not know Scarlett's fate speaks volumes about how severely my near-death experience has disrupted our carefully ordered world.
He closes his eyes for a moment, the action revealing exhaustion that he's been carefully masking. Dark circles lurk beneath his lower lashes, only visible now that I'm looking closely enough to see past his model-perfect facade.
