Ruthless Kings of Vengeance (Leighton Royals University #4)

Prologue Racing Against Time

PROLOGUE: RACING AGAINST TIME

~WARREN~

B ranches whip across my face as I tear through the forest, each stinging strike a reminder of how badly I've failed.

The tracking device in my hand pulses with an increasingly rapid signal—Eva's location beacon growing stronger with every stride. But it's the sounds coming through my earpiece that make my blood run cold.

A gunshot.

Then silence.

My heart slams against my ribs as I push myself faster, muscles burning as I navigate the treacherous terrain in near darkness. The moon offers little illumination through the dense canopy, forcing me to rely on instinct and memory of these grounds I've patrolled countless times before.

Times when I should have been closer.

Should have been watching more carefully.

But I'd stepped back, hadn't I?

Let my guard down because she'd dismissed me—seen through the cracks in my carefully maintained facade to the broken man beneath. The man still haunted by another woman with silver hair and fierce determination.

Iris.

The name echoes in my mind like an accusation as Eva's tracking signal grows stronger. I'd failed them both now—let my past mistakes taint my ability to protect the present.

Because that's what Eva had seen, wasn't it?

How I couldn't separate her from the ghost of my former Ruthless Maiden.

"...The scorpion venom should be taking effect now." The Blind One's voice carries through my earpiece with clinical detachment. "Your heart will stop soon enough. Such an elegant solution, don't you think? The poison delivered via bullet, spreading through your system with every desperate beat of your heart..."

"You better pray it does," Eva's voice emerges breathless but defiant, making my chest tighten with both pride and terror.

Even facing death, she maintains that fierce spirit that makes her so dangerously similar to her .

"Because you don't want to deal with what happens if I survive. Don't want to see how manic I become getting what's mine back if you dare touch Matteo."

Scorpion venom.

The words hit like physical blows as I vault over a fallen tree, nearly losing my footing on the frost-covered ground. They've engineered her death to look natural—another mysterious illness in a pattern stretching back generations.

A dog's desperate howls echo through the trees, the sound mixing with Eva's increasingly labored breathing in my earpiece. The animal must have been planted there, knowing she wouldn't ignore a creature in apparent distress.

Another piece in their carefully laid trap.

"Such spirit," The Blind One muses, genuine amusement coloring his tone. "Such delicious fury even in the face of inevitable defeat. But I'm afraid your husband is destined for widowhood. Though I must admit, I find it rather touching that he ordered that ring from Italy. Quite the romantic gesture."

My jaw clenches at the calculated cruelty in his words. Because that's what this is, isn't it? Not just elimination, but psychological warfare. Making her last moments heavy with regret for things she'll never experience.

"Shame you didn't check the mailbox before chasing random dogs into the woods," he continues, twisting the knife deeper. "Could have died with at least that one final piece of happiness."

The tracking signal spikes, indicating I'm less than a hundred yards away now. But Eva's breathing has grown more erratic, each gasp a countdown I'm terrified to reach the end of.

Move faster. Have to move faster.

"I do apologize that it has to end this way," The Blind One says, his voice carrying that particular tone of someone savoring their victory. "Such wasted potential. But perhaps one of your surviving Kings will take up your vengeance once you're gone. Assuming any of them survive what comes next..."

The words fuel my desperate sprint as memories of another silver-haired woman flash through my mind.

Another time I arrived too late, found only a body growing cold on pristine marble floors.

"Do you love me, Aries?" Iris's voice echoes from the past, carrying all the weight of questions I never properly answered.

Of chances I let slip away until it was too late.

But this isn't then.

This isn't Iris.

This is Gemini — Evageline — the woman I swore to protect despite my own damaged heart. The one who saw through my carefully constructed walls and called me out on using her as replacement therapy for my own unresolved grief.

The tracking signal becomes almost deafening as I break through a final line of trees into a small clearing. Moonlight streams through bare branches, illuminating a scene that makes my blood freeze in my veins.

Eva lies motionless on frost-covered ground, silver hair fanned out like a war banner. A massive dog—some kind of wolf mix —paces anxiously around her prone form, alternating between mournful howls and desperate whimpers.

My training kicks in automatically as I sweep the area for immediate threats, cataloging the dead assassin crumpled nearby, the strange screen device on their chest still displaying The Blind One's face. But it's Eva who draws my focus completely — the sight of crimson spreading beneath her making something primal roar to life in my chest.

No. Not again. Not like this.

I drop to my knees beside her, fingers immediately searching for a pulse while my other hand activates the emergency beacon that will bring our medical team running.

Her skin feels too cold under my touch, her breathing shallow and irregular.

"You don't get to die," I find myself whispering, the words emerging rough with emotions I've spent years trying to bury. "Not before I fix this. Not before I prove I can protect someone properly this time."

The dog whimpers again, pressing close as if sensing my desperation. I ignore it, focusing entirely on monitoring Eva's vital signs while we wait for help to arrive.

Because I won't lose another one. Won't let another silver-haired warrior fall because I was too caught up in my own fuckery of failures to see the danger clearly.

It was stupid of me to stay away. Despite her Kings emphasis that I should leave her be, I watched from a distance knowing I wouldn’t be caught till doing my job.

Tonight was supposed to be no different.

Watch the woman you still care about in someway go through the challenges the world has set out for her. This ruthless, sinister world that cares not about age or experience, but that you’re a threat.

A threat that needs to be exterminated…

“I’m sorry,” I dare whisper as I fight to find the source of the blee, scurrying to tug on fabric material that looks so innocent and useless because it couldn’t even protect her in this unexpected instance. “Why? Why didn’t you stay inside. You and your big damn heart.”

The sound of approaching sirens cuts through the night air, but I barely register it.

My world has narrowed to the woman lying too still before me—to counting each precious heartbeat as proof she's still fighting.

“Please, V…Verena…please.”

I find the wound in seconds, can still seat the glint of the bullet while blood oozes out like flowing water going down a nile.

Fuck…

I can’t allow to think, my body moving while my mind is scurrying about the past and how I hurt her.

"You don't want to be MY Ruthless King," she'd said, voice cracking with hurt I pretended not to notice.

She’s wrong…

I did want it. Wanted it so badly it terrified me, because I assumed no one else would ever surpass Iris. No one would make my heart beat with worry the way she once did.

I just couldn't admit it without betraying Iris's memory.

Without acknowledging that maybe loving someone new didn't mean forgetting who came before.

Now, watching poison work its way through Eva's system, I realize what a fool I've been. How I've wasted precious time trying to protect myself instead of the woman who deserved everything I had to give.

Don't let it be too late …

Some mistakes don't deserve second chances…and I can’t allow this failure to mark her forever.

The dog howls again — a sound of pure anguish that echoes everything I can't allow myself to feel. Not yet.

Not while there's still hope.

I strip off my jacket, pressing it against the wound while fumbling for the compression bandage in my tactical gear. The fabric quickly grows warm and wet beneath my palms as I work to secure the makeshift pressure dressing in place.

But it's her eyes that make me falter—those striking blue-violet orbs staring unseeing at the night sky above.

The unique color I've only ever seen in one other person catches the moonlight in a way that transports me back to another time, another car ride, when those same eyes held more wisdom than any child should possess.

It was the day after one of Domino's worst episodes of torment.Fresh bandages had wrapped her arms where he'd pushed her into rosebushes, the thorns leaving marks that would take weeks to fade.

I'd watched her through the rearview mirror as I drove her home from the doctor's appointment, struck by how calmly she'd discussed her injuries.

No tears, no complaints — just that eerie acceptance that made something in my chest ache.

"If I died," she says suddenly, her voice carrying that particular tone children use when contemplating something far beyond their years, "I wouldn't cry."

The words hit like physical blows, making my hands tighten involuntarily on the steering wheel.

In the mirror, her unique eyes meet mine with an intensity that feels wrong on such a young face.

"Why do you say that?" I manage to keep my voice carefully neutral, though something cold settles in my stomach.

She shakes her head, silver strands dancing with the movement.

"Crying means something is so emotionally significant in your life that you shed tears because it makes you sad." Her small shoulders lift in a shrug that tries too hard to appear casual. "Why would I possibly cry over dying?"

The clinical way she analyzes it makes my chest tight.

"Dying is a sad thing to many people," I say slowly, watching her reaction in the mirror. "It's not something you can come back from."

"I know that." Her voice carries no fear, only a terrible sort of acceptance that makes me want to pull the car over and shake sense into her. "But when you die, you finally obtain peace."

Traffic moves around us as she continues, each word carrying weight far beyond her years.

"No one to tease you. To hurt you. To mock you before the world that just laughs and joins in."

My knuckles go white on the steering wheel as memories surface - other eyes that held this same dangerous understanding.

Other souls who chose eternal peace over endless torment.

"When you're dead," she says softly, almost dreamily, "all opportunities for them to enjoy your suffering come to a halt because you can no longer suffer by their hands." Her gaze drifts to the window, watching the world blur past. "I can see why many kids just disappear some day, because they finally got their peace."

Those extraordinary eyes find mine again in the mirror, carrying knowledge no child should possess.

"That's a celebration. Not something to be sad and regret."

Ice spreads through my veins as I process her words. Because I've heard this before, haven't I?

These carefully constructed justifications for surrender. These rational explanations for escape.

"You wouldn't cry?" I press, needing to understand exactly what's building behind those unique eyes. "Unless what?"

"Unless I actually didn't want to die."

The simplicity of her answer somehow makes it worse.

She turns back to the window, watching buildings pass with an expression far too old for her delicate features.

"Are you saying you have nothing to live for?" The question emerges sharper than intended, carrying all my poorly hidden concern.

Another shrug, this one smaller than the last.

"So far all I see is debts to be paid and paths to take to get power when I'm older." She pauses, lips pulling into a thoughtful pout that reminds me she's still just a child, despite her old soul. "Doesn't mean I'd kill myself obviously. I'm a chicken to do that."

"You're not a chicken," I argue immediately, but she just smirks, that dangerous little curve of lips that seems to promise future devastation.

"I am," she insists, something darker entering her tone. "Because I'd rather go through the suffering of the world than pull the trigger on myself." Her reflected gaze holds mine captive as she adds: "Why would I want to be the culprit of stealing my constant suffering? Doesn't make it very vengeful in my eyes."

A chill runs down my spine at the calculation in her voice.

"Would you want someone to avenge you?" I ask carefully, watching how that spark of something dangerous grows brighter in her expression.

Her quiet laugh carries no humor, the sound too old, too knowing for her small frame.

"Of course. I'd want vengeance because I deserve it." She shifts slightly, wincing as the movement pulls at her bandaged arms. "A victim of agony and torment every day from a boy who has it all and yet it's not enough. My struggling and peril is what makes him happy go lucky."

That dangerous spark turns to fire as she declares.

"That calls for a vengeance arc."

"Revenge arc," I correct automatically, but she shakes her head with surprising vehemence, silver hair catching late afternoon sun like captured starlight.

"Vengeance."

The word hangs between us like prophecy as I navigate familiar streets, the weight of it settling in my bones. A young mind who didn’t know what her destiny had in store for her…

A path that would eventually bring kings to their knees.

The memory shatters as Eva's body convulses beneath my hands, bringing me crashing back to our desperate present with me conducting CPR on autopilot.

Her earlier words echo in my mind as I start back up the chest compressions, trying to force her heart to keep beating despite the poison flooding her system.

I wouldn't cry.

Unless I actually didn't want to die.

When glimpse at her lifeless facial expression proves whether the life she’s lived since then had changed her perspective.

On weather she’d found something so significant that she’d wish to live for.

Yearn for vengeance if death got to her first…

The tears tracking down her pale cheeks now tell me everything her younger self had tried to explain.

She doesn't want this death — doesn't want to leave before seeing her carefully orchestrated plans come to fruition.

Before witnessing exactly what kind of vengeance her Kings would rain down on those who dared touch what's theirs.

"Come back, V," I grunt between compressions, watching how those tears catch moonlight like liquid diamonds. The dog continues its mournful pacing, each whimper matching the desperate rhythm I'm trying to maintain. "You don't get to die like this. Not before your vengeance is complete."

That's what she'd been trying to tell me all those years ago, wasn't it?

The difference between simple revenge and true vengeance. Revenge is quick, reactionary—a response to immediate hurt . But vengeance? Vengeance is calculated.

Patient.

Willing to suffer longer to ensure the final retribution is absolute.

Those last pooling tears from those opened eyes that dare aimlessly upward slip.

"Please," I find myself whispering, the word emerging as both prayer and command. "You have to live. There’s so much I never said…so much we didn’t do…I…I didn’t get to apologize. Didn’t try to prove my loyalty the right way…please Verena. Please.”

To hear myself beg is an instance I haven’t put myself in eons, and yet, here I am on repeat, begging for this Ruthless Queen to take a breath again.

My arms burn with relentless effort, each compression sending shockwaves of exhaustion through overworked muscles.

Black spots dance at the edges of my vision, lungs screaming for oxygen I've forgotten to take in. The world narrows to the mechanical motion of keeping her heart beating — up, down, up, down — while frost seeps through my knees from the frozen ground.

The dog's mournful howls blend with the pounding of blood in my ears, creating a symphony of desperation that matches the rhythm of my hands against Eva's chest.

Sweat drips into my eyes despite the bitter cold, but I dare not pause to wipe it away. Each second counts, each compression might be the one that keeps death from claiming permanent victory. My vision blurs — from tears or exhaustion, I can't tell anymore.

"ARIES, dammit!"

The raw fury in that voice barely registers before strong arms lock around my waist, yanking me backward with enough force to send us both sprawling.

I curse, twisting and fighting against the iron grip, but my depleted muscles betray me. Through swimming vision, I watch Ren drop beside Eva; a syringe appearing in his hand like magic.

My breath catches as he drives the needle into her thigh with precise force, depressing the plunger with agonizing slowness. Every cell in my body screams to intervene, to take back control of this desperate attempt at salvation.

Before I can break free, Zander takes Ren's place in a fluid motion that speaks of terrible familiarity with crisis.

His hands find the proper position on Eva's chest, and he begins compressions. Each downward thrust carries enough force to make her body jerk, his raw strength barely contained as he fights to restart her heart.

"C'mon Moonflower," Ren urges, his usual playful tone replaced by a tone sharp with fear. His hands hover near her face, ready to deliver rescue breaths between Zander's sets.

"Breathe, Eva!" Zander's command cuts through the night air like a blade. "You're not fucking dying!" The crack of ribs beneath his desperate efforts makes me flinch, but he doesn't hesitate. The sound will haunt my nightmares, but broken bones can heal.

Death offers no second chances.

I surge against the restraining arms again, needing to help, to contribute, to do something besides watch helplessly as others fight to save her. The movement earns me a brutal shove that sends me sprawling onto frost-covered ground.

"Stop being a foolish motherfucker and sit!"

Theo's voice hits like a physical blow, making my blood run cold. I twist to face him, finding his expression twisted with a fury I haven't seen since that night years ago. His chest heaves with exertion, eyes wild with something between rage and terror.

"She's not Iris," he spits, the name striking deeper than any bullet. "She's not your chance at redemption!"

The words ignite something primal in my chest, sending me lunging at him with a roar of pure anguish.

"I KNOW SHE'S NOT IRIS!"

My scream echoes through bare branches, startling nearby birds into frantic flight.

Theo meets my attack head-on, both of us crashing to the ground in a tangle of desperate limbs and raw emotion. His hands find my throat as mine lock around his wrists, neither of us quite committed to real damage but unable to stop the violence born of shared trauma.

"Then act like it!" he snarls, face inches from mine. Moonlight catches the tears in his eyes, betraying how deeply this moment cuts. "Stop trying to die with her! Stop punishing yourself for past failures by refusing to accept help!"

Behind us, Zander continues his relentless rhythm while Ren counts out compressions in a voice grown hoarse with strain. The dog's howls have turned to desperate whimpers, the sound mixing with my ragged breathing as Theo's words hit home.

My grip on his wrists loosens as strength drains from trembling muscles. The manic energy that kept me going finally surrendered to bone-deep exhaustion, leaving me hollow and shaking beneath his weight.

"I can't fail Verena. I…can’t…" I whisper, the words emerging broken and raw. "Can't watch her die while I prove useless."

Theo's hands shift from my throat to grip my shoulders, giving me a sharp shake that makes my teeth rattle.

"Then let us help, you stubborn bastard! Let us save her together instead of martyring yourself trying to do it alone!"

A weak cry cuts through our confrontation — the barest whisper of sound, but enough to freeze us both mid-motion.

We turn as one to find Eva's body arching beneath Zander's hands, a desperate gasp for air breaking the night's bitter silence.

"That's it, Sweet Dynamite,” Zander encourages, easing back slightly as her chest begins to rise and fall on its own. "Fight it. Show that poison exactly who it's trying to fuck with."

Ren's hands tremble as he checks her pulse, a shaky laugh of pure relief escaping him.

"Getting stronger," he reports, tears tracking freely down his cheeks. "Whatever was in that syringe is working."

"Experimental antidote," Theo explains breathlessly, obviously overworked by our tousel before his weight finally lifted from my chest. "Marcus has been developing counters for various engineered toxins. Apparently he had reason to believe scorpion venom might be used and told me to bring it. Figured out of three of us, Ren would probably get here the fastest."

“You know I can…fucking run,” Zander breaths, trembling with exhaustion.

“Yeah…but you’re fucking psychotic and don’t think so best I took the reigns in this one, friend,” Ren breaths.

We’re all watching her fighting for breath, the thread rhythm both relieving but also confirming we’re not out of the woods yet.

Literally, we need to get out of here while she’s still breathing.

Still fighting.

The dog inched closer, nose pressing against her cheek with heartbreaking gentleness. Its earlier howls of mourning have transformed to soft whines of concern, massive body trembling with shared relief.

“Should I even ask about the dog?” Ren asks. I know he’s trying to make conversation so we’re not sinking into dreadful thoughts, but we need to take action.

“No,” I grunt. “But she’ll rip us all a new one if we don’t bring it along.”

Zander leans down, kissing her lightly on the lips, trying not to get in the way of her breathing. It’s as if he needs the touch and reassurance that she’s okay.

That she’s alive.

"You and that selfless heart of yours,” he growls as he presses his forehead next to hers, as he’s on his knees in front of her head. “Fuck…I’m gonna kill that mother fucker.”

That’s something we can all agree on.

“Let me guard her again,” I say loud and clear, needing to get the words out while I’m conscious.

Ren and Zander are still breathing heavily, but they’re exchanging a look before Zander mutters, “It’s her final call.” He pauses to ensure those words are set in stone and not taken out of context. “For now…we need it ‘cause she’s obviously been marked, but this didn’t take her out. He can try again.”

“Not a chance,” I grunt, trying to get on my hands and knees, but my arms give out. It’s thanks to whom I can only assume is Theo that I’m not face plating the dirt.

“I thought you were gonna give up on her,” he argues, and though he’s obviously trying not to sound mad — maybe even betrayed — he fails miserably at it.

"I fucked up, yes,” I admit that boldly. “It was wrong of me to compare her. To get lost in in the past and let it mingle with my duty and the desire that was growing for her, but I still fucking love her. Still care dearly. I can’t…if she wants me to stay away forever, I’ll take those words and abide to them, but I need to at least be given the privilege to guard her properly. Even if she hates me, just until this shit is done and we’re all secured.”

Neither Ren nor Zander look like they’ll put up an argument, but I can tell from how Theo drops me that he’s not about that.

At all.

“So you’ll abandon me? Abandon what is blooming within our triage.” He’s obviously speaking in riddles, and I get it. I really do. But for once, I’m going to be that selfish bastard.

For once…I’m going to actually fight for the woman I want.

"Yes,” I say loud and clear, using every bit of strength to get on all fours, before I slowly get up, even with the world spinning. I turn to look him dead in the eye, seeing his rage initially but deep under those stunning eyes, I dare see a glimmer of pride.

“I owe Verena a chance to know the man who loves her. Not a projection of a past she knows nothing of. It may mean I have to start over, but so be it. I’ll start from scratch if it means I have a shot at trying to prove to her she’s not Iris and that I do care for her…even if it’s in my own unique way. If that means…you can’t be in the picture because of what we have…it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to take.”

I have to pause, ignoring how my heartaches.

“Even if it means needing to let you go so I can dedicate to her 110%.”

No one says anything as we share an intense look. I can see his rage, how it burns and yearns to strike me. To burn me to ash. Yet, I’m positive he won’t lash out here.

I’ll have to deal with those consequences.

Theo rises, purposely using his hands to brush away the excess dirt before he looks at Zander and Ren.

“Get her to the car.”

He turns away not a second later.

“Do whatever the fuck you want. You think you can erase what made you, go and try,” he seethes. “See if I fucking care.

He’s stomping away before any of us can stop him, but I hear Zander mutter, “I’ll pick her. You’re probably gonna have to drive.”

“Probably. Let’s move.”

I look to confirm they’re moving Verena; Zander gathers Eva's limp form with infinite care, cradling her against his chest as he rises. Her head lolls against his shoulder, short silver hair spilling like liquid moonlight over his arms.

The sight makes my chest constrict with emotions I can't begin to untangle with everything else that’s tousling into a bundling mess of chaos.

"Warren." Ren's hand finds my shoulder, squeezing gently. I didn’t even catch his movement. “You can make it to the car?”

“Yeah…” I say that, but I’m not too sure."

“I’ll stick close,” he assures me instead. “But we should move.”

I nod, agreeing with the implications and the obvious rush as we play with time and fate. By the time we get closer to the car, I end up taking Ren’s help, needing it as exhaustion plagues my body and mind.

That adrenaline spike suddenly plummeted.

"You think she’s gonna give you a second shot?” Ren questions as he helps me as we reach the concrete and see a van in sight. I’m thankful to see Kian and Arlo already on deck, aiding in getting V inside and hooked up to machinery and IVs.

“If I’m worth a second shot, maybe,” I confess, unable to fight the heaviness in my eyes any longer. “I’ll prove it…to her…to anyone I need to.”

Maybe this time, I won’t be alone on this journey which will give me the courageous push to be a man and practice what I preach. Toward the next phase of a battle, I finally understand I can't fight alone.

Even if accepting help feels like another kind of surrender.