6. Fractured Memories Of A Eventful Past
6
FRACTURED MEMORIES OF A EVENTFUL PAST
~ G EMINI~
I'm snuggled in warm arms, drifting between consciousness and dreams as I listen to the low inhales and exhales that have calmed me since the nightmare began to fade.
The steady rhythm of breathing beside me feels like an anchor, keeping me from being swept away by the tides of panic that had threatened to overwhelm me moments ago.
Relief washes over me that I didn't wake up screaming, didn't disturb anyone with the fragments of terror that had chased me through sleep.
All I can remember now is a white rabbit with red eyes, its fur gradually staining crimson as it bled out, abandoned and dying before me. The image lingers at the edges of my consciousness, leaving a level of dread running through my veins that's hard to shake off completely.
Just a dream .
I have to remind myself so my nerves will remain at bay.
Just another twisted creation of my subconscious.
But something about this particular nightmare feels different — more significant, more real somehow, as though it's not merely a dream but a memory trying to surface.
A warning my mind is desperately attempting to communicate.
Deciding that lingering in this half-awake state will only prolong my unease, I slowly open my eyes, expecting to find myself sandwiched between Zander and Ren after our intimate morning together.
Their combined warmth and presence would be the perfect remedy for the lingering chill of my nightmare.
Instead, I realize I'm in someone's arms, not in bed at all but sitting in the plush armchair before the fireplace.
The flames dance hypnotically, casting the room in a warm golden glow that contrasts sharply with the darkness of my dreams. The heat radiating from the fire creates a blanket of comfort, while being cradled in strong arms seems to have kept the worst of my panic at bay.
Confusion washes over me as I lean back slightly, trying to see the face of whoever holds me so tenderly.
I need a minute or two, blinking and staring at features that should be instantly familiar but somehow aren't connecting properly in my mind. It's like looking at a photograph that's slightly out of focus — I know I should recognize what I'm seeing, but the details refuse to align into someone I know.
My movement seems to stir him from his own light slumber. His eyes slowly open, the action softening his already handsome face even further before he blinks away his confused daze and meets my gaze directly.
I must look as perplexed as I feel because his expression shifts into a concerned frown. He moves with deliberate gentleness, slowly raising his hand to press against my cheek.
The touch doesn't frighten me — it feels right, familiar, safe —but my lingering silence must worry him.
"Sweet Canary," he whispers, the nickname falling from his lips with tender familiarity.
That single endearment acts like a key turning in a lock. Suddenly, the mental fog clears and I know exactly who he is, recognition flooding through me with such force that I'm left wondering how I could have possibly failed to know him instantly.
What the...that was...weird?
"Ares?" I question, immediately hating how uncertain my voice sounds, how I've managed to make his name into a question when it should be as familiar to me as my own. "Uh...that was odd."
His frown deepens, both hands now cupping my face as he studies me with growing concern.
"Are you feeling alright?" he asks, thumbs gently brushing across my cheekbones as his eyes search mine for answers.
"I'm fine," I assure him, though uncertainty lingers in my tone. "I was perfectly normal earlier...maybe it's the sleep or the drugs or something but I kind of struggled to figure out who you were just now."
"Yes, it may be the drug," Ares continues, but he doesn't seem 100% convinced which makes me smirk before leaning in to whisper against his lips.
"Why? Would you be mad if I forgot about you?"
The way he pouts is actually cute on his attractive face, before he pinches my nose.
"Ow!"
"I rebuke whatever you just put out there in the world."
I gasp and look at him in confusion.
"What? Rebuke what?"
He answers firmly, "You not remembering me. I rebuke it."
I snicker, shaking my head at his absurdity.
"Where in the fuck did you hear that terminology?"
"On the fucking radio as we drove here," he answers with exasperation. "You already know I wasn't in charge of the fucking music because I had to sit in the back."
I laugh, picturing the scene all too clearly.
"Let me guess. Marcus driving and Matteo calmly sitting in the passenger seat?"
Ares groans and shakes his head.
"It was Aries driving."
The name makes me frown as I tilt my head, trying to understand. "Aries? Why did he come? Did you guys ask a favor?"
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 his betrayal 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 way that 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.
I can't help but run my hands along his face, fingers tracing the hint of stress lines that have no business appearing on someone so young. The discovery makes me frown, leaning forward to kiss those spots gently as if my touch might erase the physical evidence of what he's endured.
My gesture draws a smile from him, not the carefully crafted one he presents to cameras, but something softer, more genuine. His hand moves along my back before he pulls me into a tight hug in his lap, his arms creating a sanctuary of warmth that makes my breath catch with unexpected emotion.
"When I her bleeding out like that in my arms as I waited for help," he admits, his voice muffled slightly against my hair, "for a moment I wondered if this was some sort of déjà vu."
His chest rises and falls against mine in a deep inhale before he continues.
"That I'd be plagued with the same fate, but instead of being a woman with a past that yearned to please the world with a fake layer, it would be with a woman who's always boldly stayed true to herself, one that I've fallen hard for."
The raw honesty in his confession steals my breath, making my heart stutter against my ribs in a rhythm that has nothing to do with my healing wounds.
Because this is Ares at his most vulnerable—my beautiful King who hides depths of emotion behind flawless smiles and carefully maintained charm.
He kisses the top of my head, stroking the short strands as if trying to memorize their texture. The gentleness of the gesture makes something in my chest fracture, sending hairline cracks through defenses I didn't realize I was still maintaining.
"I want to accept my brother's request to try one more time," he continues, the admission clearly costing him. "To understand his thought process before crucifying him, because when you lose someone you probably planned to succeed and graduate from Leighton with... to engrave in your mind, body, and soul that your Maiden was going to be with you on that podium as you claimed your final titles... only to be taken away..."
He pauses, and I can feel the subtle shift in his breathing, the way his heart rate accelerates slightly beneath my cheek.
"I realize that would fuck you up. Ruin your thought process and leave you feeling incomplete."
Another kiss presses against my hair, followed by words that carry painful maturity:
"It doesn't make what he did right, but it's something I can understand."
The complexity of his perspective catches me off guard. Because this is growth I wasn't expecting—my younger King showing an emotional intelligence that transcends his years.
The ability to separate understanding from excusing, to recognize the tangled roots of someone's actions without absolving them of responsibility.
I remain silent for a moment, processing his words while absorbing the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear. The fire continues its hypnotic dance in the hearth, wood occasionally shifting with soft pops and cracks that punctuate our shared silence.
His arms around me feel like an anchor, keeping me tethered to this moment when my mind wants to drift to implications and possibilities.
To what Warren's involvement in my rescue might mean for our complicated dynamic, to how my Kings are evolving in response to nearly losing me, to the growing threats gathering like storm clouds on our horizon.
The warmth of Ares' body against mine contrasts sharply with the chill trying to settle in my veins as I consider everything we're facing. Every obstacle still standing between us and the final ascension we've been working toward since I first accepted the position of Ruthless Maiden.
When did everything get so complicated?
I wonder, remembering how simple it all seemed in the beginning. The clear path to vengeance against one who made my miserable for so long, the structured hierarchy of Kings that I would gather around me, and the carefully orchestrated rise to power that would culminate in our final coronation.
Now the path forward feels shrouded in fog—obscured by engineered diseases and long-running conspiracies, by secret experiments and attacks specifically designed to break our unconventional structure.
By enemies we can't fully identify, operating on levels we're only beginning to comprehend.
Ares shifts beneath me, adjusting our position so he can see my face properly. His fingers brush my cheek with surprising tenderness, the touch grounding me in the present moment when my thoughts threaten to spiral toward darker possibilities.
"You're thinking too hard," he observes softly, a ghost of his usual teasing smile touching his lips. "I can practically hear the gears turning in that brilliant mind of yours."
A small smile tugs at my mouth despite everything weighing on us.
"Just trying to put all the pieces together," I admit, leaning into his touch like a cat seeking affection. "There's so much I still don't understand. How all these hostile actions are supposed to lead us to our final rise of ascension without taking us out.”
I sigh and frown further as I admit the nagging idea of having memory gaps. Somethings I don’t care about forgetting but I mean, would be nice to be specific to what I want versus a random monopoly of fate.
“So many gaps I need to fill."
His expression grows more serious, green eyes studying me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
"The poison affected your memory more than we initially realized, didn't it? It's not just fatigue or medication making you struggle to recognize me earlier."
The observation surprises me with its accuracy. Fragments missing that should be accessible, connections that form and dissolve with disconcerting randomness.
"I think so," I confess, the admission difficult even with him. "It's like...trying to read a book where someone's torn out random pages. Most of it's still there, but crucial details sometimes just...aren't."
Concern flickers across his features, his hand moving to cradle the back of my head with protective instinct.
"Marcus should examine you again before we leave," he says, the statement carrying no room for argument despite his gentle tone. "If there's lingering neurological damage from the poison?—"
"Leave?" I interrupt, latching onto the word with sudden intensity. "You mean go back to Leighton? So soon?"
His lips curve into a knowing smile as if he's been expecting this reaction.
"Did you think Zander was planning to keep you hidden away in this oceanside retreat forever? That the others would allow it, even if he tried?"
The question carries amusement, but beneath it lies the acknowledgment of the power struggles occurring within our circle during my recovery.
The careful dance of dominance and submission, protection and possession that defines our complicated dynamic.
"How long have I been here?" I ask, realizing suddenly that I have no clear sense of time passed since the attack in the woods.
That probably should of been the first thing I had asked. To me, I feel like I just woke up from the mayhem, but has it been less than 24 hours since I got shot and left for dead thanks to the Blinded One?
Days?
Weeks?
The uncertainty is disorienting, adding to the fragmented nature of my recent memories.
"Twelve days," Ares answers, his precision oddly comforting in the face of my confusion. "The first four were...uncertain." Something pained flickers across his expression before he continues. "The poison was designed to be untraceable, to mimic natural causes. Marcus had to essentially invent an antidote from scratch while your heart kept trying to stop. It was crazy and frantically, everything was a blur of just praying that you’d make it through. I’m not even spiritually or anything, but the few close calls had me asking the universe to leave you out of Heaven for us.”
I snicker at that one before I toss the other option.
“So you’re asking the universe to send me to hell.”
He ponders on it for a solid ten seconds before he gives the most confused frown that has me giggling.
“This version of stupidity is cute on you,” I tease with a wink, making him crown as he uses his free hand to pinch his nose.
“You know I’m not stupid,” he whines, but he knows I’m playing with him. “Lack of sleep made me preference that wrong, but the universe knows my heart.”
“Sure, sure,” I brush off, but I do agree with him.
Either way, the clinical description doesn't quite mask the emotional toll evident in the shadows lurking behind his eyes. In the way his voice catches slightly on certain words, revealing depths of fear he's trying to conceal behind factual recounting.
I’m doing my best to try and lighten the mood, knowing I’m the sole contributor to this unbalance and stress, but
"And Zander brought me here as soon as I was stable," I conclude, pieces clicking into place with increasing clarity.
Ares nods, something wry touching his expression.
"Without consulting anyone else, I might add. You were simply gone—spirited away to this private sanctuary while the rest of us were left dealing with the aftermath at Leighton."
There's no real accusation in his tone, just a statement of fact colored by lingering frustration. I can imagine how they all reacted — Matteo with cold fury, Marcus with clinical concern, Ren with unpredictable volatility. Each processing the dual shock of my near-death and subsequent disappearance in ways unique to their personalities.
"He could be thinking he’s protecting me," I say softly, understanding Zander's actions with perfect clarity despite my fragmented memories. "Making sure whoever targeted me couldn't finish the job while I was vulnerable. Besides, you know he can get…overprotective."
Just a smidge in a cynical way.
"We all wanted to protect you," Ares counters, a hint of something sharper entering his tone. "That didn't mean Zander had the right to make unilateral decisions about your care without consulting the rest of us."
True.
He’s not wrong i the slightest.
The territorial edge in his voice shouldn't please me as much as it does. Shouldn't send warmth cascading through my veins like liquid fire, awakening something primal and possessive in response.
But the truth is undeniable — I love how fiercely they all claim me, how their devotion transcends conventional boundaries and morality. How each of my Kings would sacrifice anything to keep me safe, would burn the world to ash rather than risk losing me again.
What have we become to each other?
I wonder while studying Ares' perfect features in the firelight.
What beautiful, terrible thing have we created in this obsession we share?
The questions have no simple answers, no clear moral conclusions. Only the certainty that whatever we've built together —this complex web of possession and protection, devotion and destruction — it's too late to untangle now.
Too late to do anything but embrace the beautiful madness we've created together.
The glorious chaos that defines our unconventional family of broken souls who found completion in each other's jagged edges.
"When do we leave?" I ask finally, decision crystallizing with perfect clarity as I meet his gaze.
His answering smile carries equal parts satisfaction and promise, recognition that I've chosen action over continued recovery. Battle over retreat.
"Whenever you're ready, Sweet Canary," he says softly, fingers threading through my shortened hair with reverent care.
I tilt my head back, enough so we can share a look because I know the moment we leave this moment of serenity, there’s no going back. No more calm o moments of recovery.
Only chaos and vengeance…
He smiles in encouragement, as if reading my mind, and I know whatever I decide, he’s going to follow through.
That’s reassuring enough to make me want to move forward and finally tackle what’s ahead.
Even if its frightening and the risks are higher than they’ve ever been, I know from this moment onward, we’ll either rise as a unit…or fall.
Regardless, we’ll be together.
"Your Kings are simply waiting for their Queen's command."
I smile at his words, nodding slowly before I lean in to kiss him firmly on the lips.
Secretly vowing that this won’t be our last.