Page 22 of Ruthless Kings of Vengeance
"Someone had to monitor your vitals," he says, though we both know that's not the whole truth. Not even close to explaining why he's likely spent hours simply observing me, committing every breath to memory as if afraid I might slip away again if he dared blink too long. “I’m not no medical expertise like Marcus but I know the basics and had Arlo on speed dial if anything. I wouldn’t tell Kian because he’d rat me out.”
“Loyalty to Arlo is absolute, huh?”
“The fucker gets shit done and doesn’t ask stupid questions. Well…if he does, he knows I’ll just dismiss the shit anyways.” I can imagine him shrugging after the commentary.
I turn in his arms, needing to see his face properly as we have this conversation. The bullet wound in my side protests the movement, sending a fresh wave of pain radiating through my abdomen. I can't quite suppress the wince that crosses my features, though I try to mask it quickly.
Not quickly enough.
"You're still healing," he says sharply, his hands immediately moving to support me more fully. The worry in his eyes belies the casualness of his tone, revealing exactly how deeply my injury has affected him. "Should be resting instead of standing out here in the ocean breeze."
"I've had enough rest," I counter, meeting his gaze steadily. I wonder if he can see the yearning in my eyes. We always seemto land in these situations where we can’t help but be in need of “relief” from the traitorous storm survival ignites.
I try to distract myself…
"Been having strange dreams. Strange memories." My fingers drift to my side unconsciously, tracing the outline of bandages beneath the thin white dress. "About white rooms and black rabbits and choices that don't feel like choices at all."
Something flickers in his expression — recognition, perhaps, or concern.
"Marcus mentioned you might experience unusual dreams while recovering. Side effects of the antidote they synthesized for the scorpion venom."
But there's something in his tone that suggests more. That hints at the knowledge he's withholding, observations he's made during those hours watching me sleep. I study his face, searching for clues in the minute shifts of his expression.
“And?” I know he’s keeping something from me.
He pouts his lips as if he stubbornly doesn’t want to say, but he can tell I won’t let him off the hook —or give him what we both obviously want —until he answers my suspicions.
“Restless and talking in your sleep isn’t unusual for you, but I’m assuming the antidote's lingering effects and you obviously almost perishing could contribute to it. Could ask Marcus to check the tape.”
"You've been recording me sleeping?" I realize suddenly, watching how his eyes widen fractionally before his mask of control slides back into place. I’m not necessarily surprised. I’m pretty sure that’s considered “normal” for Zander, but I do like to listen to his reasoning regardless.
It’s oddly fascinating.
His smile is sharp as a blade as he inclines his head slightly.
"Your King is nothing if not thorough, Sweet Dynamite." His hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing over my bottom lipwith deliberate slowness. "Everything about you is significant. Everything merits careful analysis."
"And what have you discovered from your analysis?" I ask, my voice emerging huskier than intended as his touch sends electric currents cascading through my body. Even injured, recovering from death's grasp, my response to him remains immediate and absolute.
His eyes darken as he leans closer, breath fanning across my lips.
"That you were fighting even in unconsciousness. That whatever tried to claim you in those woods met resistance every step of the way." Pride colors his words, making something warm unfurl in my chest. "That my Queen refused to surrender even when poison filled her veins and death came calling."
Now that he says that, tidbits of my dream make me wonder…
"I made a promise," I whisper, the words emerging unbidden as fragments of memory surface.The forest floor beneath me, blood seeping into frozen earth, the dog's desperate howls echoing through bare branches.
The absolute certainty that this couldn't be the end— not when so much remained unfinished. Not when my Kings still needed their Queen.
"What promise?" Zander asks, his attention sharpening as he studies my expression.
I close my eyes briefly, trying to capture the fleeting impressions that dance at the edges of awareness. "To survive. To return. To burn everything that dared try to take me from what's mine." My eyes open to find him watching me with frightening intensity. "To enact upon vengeance, no matter the consequences."
Something dangerous and beautiful flashes in his expression — recognition, satisfaction, a perfect mirror of the fury stillsimmering in my own blood. His hand slides into my hair, fingers tangling in the shortened silver strands as he pulls me closer.
"And will you keep that promise, Sweet Dynamite?" he breathes against my lips, the question carrying echoes of everything we've become to each other. Every dark impulse, every vengeful thought, every moment of beautiful destruction we've encouraged in one another.
I smile, the expression containing nothing of mercy or forgiveness. Nothing but the pure, crystalline certainty of coming retribution.
