Vengeance (The Prince's Games Book 1)

by Rebecca Grey

  "Thank you." The edge of my lip quirks up into a slight smile. My fingers brush over his and they're relatively rough. The tiniest touch sends a spark of electricity up my arm. My lips part and I look up at him.

  "Have you any family?"

  "My parents were killed when I was five and I was taken in by another Human man. He cared for me until he passed when I was eleven. And I haven't seen another Human until today."

  He lifts his glass, an act I know. I lift mine to his. "To finding more of our kind," he cheers.

  "To finding more of our kind," I echo and bring the glass almost to my lips. "I like that." And I take a sip. The carbonation bubbles and the sweet taste, almost like a candy, helps to wash away the remaining aftertaste of the last thing I'd eaten.

  We both take a few sips and go back to holding our glasses between us. I speak first. "I'm surprised there are any Humans at all in The Oasis. Hybrids have never treated me well and I just assumed they wouldn't allow any of us to enjoy anything." I shrug. "What do you do for a living here?"

  "Mostly manual labor. Annoying tasks Hybrids can't be bothered with doing. I spend most of my time in a factory putting things together and helping the machines run smoothly. Sometimes I take on jobs re-doing some electrical work in older buildings." Davison follows my gaze out to the dance floor. "Would you like to dance?"

  "No," I say too quickly. "Sorry, I wouldn't know what to do. I'm not much of a dancer."

  I love music. Often when I practiced with my own guitar I'd sway around the room and imagine myself surrounded by a crowd of Humans, all cheering me on as I did. That was usually interrupted by someone banging on the wall and telling me to shut the hell up. That's the most dancing I did.

  "I could teach you a few steps."

  "Like that?" I point at the dancers who all seem to have learned the same choreography together. "That looks much too complicated for me to learn in one night."

  "You look smart, I bet you'd pick up on it faster than you realize." Davison sets his glass down, closing the space between us. He holds both his hands up. "May I?"

  "Here?"

  "Yes here." He takes the glass out of my hand, careful to set it with his.

  "Won't we look silly?" The more burning question is, won't I get made fun of?

  "I've found that it's nearly impossible to have a good time if you don't get a little bit silly, at least once." Davison looks down at me. His hand wraps around mine, heating my skin as he tucks one hand against my waist. "All they're doing," he nods toward the dance floor. "is a simple box step and a flick of their skirts for some flair. You don't seem like the loud and lavish type though, so perhaps no skirt flicking here."

  If I toss my skirt away from my body like they're doing, not only would it show off the impression of my knives on my thigh, but it will also flash them the hardly-there underwear that came packed for me. I've survived many things, but I'm not sure I could survive the embarrassment of that.

  "Step back. To the side. Step forward. To the side. And start all over again." He guides me in the movement and I look over his shoulder for any watching eyes. We move slower than the dancers on the floor, and my spine is much stiffer than theirs is, and I'm more than aware of his hand against me as it slides to my lower back and stays there.

  Behind him, a group of men submerge themselves into a group of women who were talking peacefully. They rush in with drinks and wild shouting as they whisk them up and rush them to the dance floor, whether the women want to or not. None of them fight back. Maybe because it’s the rules of the night. Or because they all secretly wanted to be on the dance floor anyway.

  The space they had occupied is slowly absorbed by the crowd around it as they chat to one another. It's not the crowd my gaze falls on, though. It's the same silver eyes that are always following me. Marcello leans against the wall, one side of his mouth lifted with a smirk. He lifts his glass to me in acknowledgment. For the smallest moment, I envision it's his hands on me now. It's him that I lay my head against as he pulls me a fraction closer and the music slows.

  Our glasses clink together on the table as two hands smack against it, rattling them. I gasp and immediately step away from Davison. Juilliard leans off the dance floor, grabbing for my drink. He manages to get it up off the table before I shift and grab the glass by the stem to stop him.

  "Nils, don't be like that. You weren't even drinking it." Juilliard tries to look innocent as he glances between me and Davison, still holding my drink tightly.

  "What are you doing? Let it go and get your own!" I hiss.

  "It's just a quick drink. I'm busy dancing." He rolls his body in time with the music. It is pretty impressive. "Or should I ask who your new friend is?"

  My eye twitches, but I let go of the glass. The force of which I'd held it makes the cup spring up and liquor slosh over the top onto Juilliard's hand. He doesn't mind though, he brings the drink to his lips, downs it, and sets it back on the table. He extends the hand still covered in liquid to Davison.

  "Hey, I'm Juilliard, one of Nilsa's teammates."

  Davison takes his hand and shakes firmly. "I'm Davison."

  "Be good to her now. We need her." Juilliard shakes his finger before some girl with two horns curling from her temples grabs his arm and yanks him from the conversation. The drink must be getting to his head because Juilliard has never acted as though he’s needed me.

  My eyes go large. Speaking to Davison like that makes my pulse pick up with frustration and a nervous laugh bubbles up. He says it as if he has some sort of claim on me because I'm part of his team. It's both possessive and protective, and I fucking hate it. I can look out for myself. I don't need him or Marcello to do it for me. Davison is clearly Human, which makes him less of a danger to me than any other creature in this room.

  The smallest part of me enjoys it. I try to tell that part to shut up. But she remains smug as can be about having someone, anyone, acting the slightest bit protective over her. That part of me is stupid.

  "Get out of here, Juilliard," I shoo at him, tucking hair behind my ear, and turning back to Davison. "I'm so sorry about that. Now that we're on this stupid team they think they have some sort of say over me and it's absolutely ridiculous. But that's enough about me. Where are your teammates?"

  Dancers cheer, drowning out some of our conversation. Men pick up girls, placing them on their shoulders and carrying them around the dance floor as such. Many of them sneak a glance under their skirts, like adolescents who have never seen a vagina before. Good Saints, if I were one of those girls, I'd have dug the point of my heels into a pressure point on their neck.

  "Actually, that is my team." He points to the rowdy men.

  "Those guys? You're joking."

  "No," he laughs. "Let me introduce you to a few of them. I promise they aren't nearly as bad as they appear."

  "I'm not sure I believe that."

  One of the men, an Elf, holds a bottle of champagne against his hip, shaking it violently before he pops the top and the liquid explodes all over the dance floor. Men in their dress shoes slip against the liquid and women shriek as their dresses get doused. A Vampire falls, taking out a Minotaur and the two girls they held up with them. The Elf leans back and laughs.

  "Have you never been to a party before, Nilsa? Things are about to get much wilder than that." Davison smiles, drawing a line down my jaw and tipping my chin up to him. "Any interest in getting wild with me?"

  I look around the room, heart pounding. My arm rises to tug at the hood of a cloak, to hide my face, that doesn't even exist, so I drop my hand down to my waist. Saying you can be anyone you want is an exciting thought, but in practice it's terrifying. And the truth is... I'm me, not them. Crowds make me nervous, and this dress makes me feel exposed.

  "Get wild with you tonight and try to kill you tomorrow?" I point out. Perhaps that’s the most frustrating thing about this entire night. We're all just supposed to get along and party until they start the games tomorrow and pit us against e
ach other. Getting close to Davison is a bad idea. I'm stupid for not thinking it through.

  "If tonight’s our last night, we might as well have a good one." He shrugs.

  There has to be a reason he’s here. A reason the Saints have just brought us together. The idea makes me curious so I speak, even though I know his answer changes nothing.

  "Tonight's not my last night, and I just can't bring myself to pretend to be anyone's friend when I'm not. I'm already doing that enough with the Hybrids that dragged me here. Why are you in the Games, Davison?"

  His brows furrow and he picks his glass back up stepping away from me as he thinks for a minute. "I didn't have anywhere else to go. Nothing to really live for... so I thought... why not?"

  I've had that same thought. Should I keep living the way I am? Struggling? When I know these games are a once in a lifetime opportunity for a Human to escape a place like The Bend. Or to better it, I think.

  "Right," I chuckle dryly. "I'm sorry, if you could excuse me. I suddenly just got this overwhelming feeling that I can't stand another minute pretending to be someone who is personable or excited to make connections with all these Hybrids I fully intend on killing."

  I take a step around him and his hand grabs for my wrist. My eyes narrow on the small act.

  "Nilsa, I'm not asking you to be anyone's friend. And we both know how very Human I am."

  I slip my hand out of his grasp. "I'll kill you too if I need to. It was nice to meet another Human, it's such a shame that it's in a circumstance like this."

  I mean every word. Even though I know that girl exists somewhere deep, deep down inside. The girl that lives out on that dance floor, the one who's dancing, drunk, and has a guy on her arm. But this isn't the time or the place to be her. I'm not willing to pretend like tomorrow doesn't exist... Because it so fucking does.

  Death stings in the worst way when it's people you love. But there is joy in death when it's a resolution to the hate that boils inside your heart. So let me hate them. Let me hate every last creature here.

  Davison doesn't understand because he's been blessed with this easy life in The Oasis. He doesn't get the ruin that lives on the other side of the wall, or the way the fancy decor all around me makes me want to scream and rip it all down.

  I fall back into old habits, slipping around moving bodies without a word as they bob to the music, drink, and cheer each other on. Disgusting. It's all fake, all of it. A show for the evening.

  Marcello still leans against the wall where he'd been earlier but now a pretty blonde woman, who could very well be a mix between Orc and Dwarf looks up to him. She's posed against the wall to exaggerate her curves, laughing at everything he says. Marcello isn't that funny.

  My pulse is still racing in my ear, thrumming like the bass of the song as I approach the couple. I point a finger at the girl. "Leave. Now."

  "Excuse me?" She blinks and looks at Marcello for backup. He sips his drink and looks between us without saying a word.

  "I need to speak to him in private," I flash my teeth in a possessive smile and add with a sarcastic emphasis, "please."

  "Can it wait? We are in the middle of our own private conversation?" she suggests. "Would you like to continue this conversation elsewhere without interruption?" She places a hand on Marcello's chest.

  "If you’re smart you'll just leave," Marcello finally responds.

  The woman growls under her breath, but picks up her dark crimson gown to storm away. I let out a long sigh, then insert myself where she was standing. I lift one brow at Marcello.

  "You got a type? Blondes?" I watch the Hybrid Dwarf/Orc girl slither up to another man. It's clear she came here for one thing tonight.

  "Why? You want me to hit on you?" He twirls a strand of my hair and I give it a minute before I swat his hand away, earning a chuckle from him.

  "I never said that." I watch as Juilliard grabs himself a new partner and spins across the floor sticky with liquor. Even his own outfit is spotted with the drink, but he doesn't mind.

  "Why are you here, Nilsa?" Marcello shifts, pressing his back into the wall, so it's just the two of us watching the party happening around us. Both of us are here, but not really a part of it.

  Why am I here? Sometimes I don't have the answers to questions I get asked, and that bothers me. I don't have an answer to why I'd left Davison and come to stand with Marcello.

  His glass tilts to someone in the crowd as he speaks again. I follow his line of sight to where Davison glances at us, another conversation he's started with a burly Orc. "I thought you two were hitting it off. You even let him touch you."

  I had. Because he's Human, and that alone is comforting.

  "I came here to complain that you've forced me to come to this little event and I suddenly realized how fake everyone is acting. They're pretending, you're pretending, for a moment I was pretending that tomorrow won't change everything, that some of these people won't get killed."

  "You're right."

  "I am." Our shoulders brush and a silence falls in our conversation until I'm finally able to talk again. "I'm surprised you agree."

  "I never said that I agree." His mouth ticks up in a smile. "On the contrary, I think that you should get out there with the best of them. Especially you. Experience life, Nilsa. Experience joy outside of The Bend and the crap life you've been handed." His head rolls to the side to watch me.

  "I don't want to get to know any of these people the day before their deaths."

  "You have such a morbid way of thinking."

  "And you forget to think at all." Maybe I could learn from him. It would probably help the way my chest always aches when I start to overthink a situation, which is far too often.

  "I bet if you went out on that dance floor right now with me, you'd forget about everything happening tomorrow. You could be someone like them, even if it's only for an hour." He offers me his glass with hardly a sip left in it. "Would you like something more to drink?"

  I stare down at the drink. I could... just this once. Nah, even drunk I don't think I could actually let loose. Not like Davison's team of men, or the girls who let themselves get swept away. I almost let Davison sweep me away, until I remembered who and what I am.

  One of the guys breaks away from the dance floor. His Elven ears poke out of his silver blonde hair that hangs to a blunt cut at his shoulders, making his already pale skin even more washed out. Behind a plastic mask painted a deep hue of purple, his stormy sea-green eyes cut to Marcello and I. His smile quickly dissolves as he straightens the collar of his soaked white shirt. In all the madness he'd already lost his jacket and the champagne had made his shirt sheer, showing off muscle after stacked muscle.

  "Trust me," Marcello continues, "it helps. The more you drink, the less worried you become about turning into someone you're not. You can pretend all night if you just drink enough." The last bit of liquid slips from the glass and over his lips as he drinks it down.

  "That feels hypocritical." I glance at Marcello but he blatantly ignores the Elf who's still storming our direction.

  "We're all hypocrites in one way or another." There’s a sorrow in his voice, one so deep and genuinely true, I'm curious what he could have done to make himself feel as if he falls into this category as well. That alone sets me on edge.

  Even if I worked up the nerve and set aside my pride to ask, the other Elf stops directly in front of us. He plants his feet and crosses his arms, his pretty face is made ugly with the wicked sneer that cuts across his features.

  "What the hell are you doing here Marcello?"

  Marcello takes his sweet time bringing his eyes up the man before us. There's a clear shift in the energy between us. I'm used to Marcello being relaxed, carefree, and annoyingly joyful. All of that's gone in an instant.

  "I'm playing in the Games," he says in a dead tone.

  The man tilts toward Marcello, lowering his voice to a rough growl. "The fuck you are. I thought we'd discussed this. You were going to sit t
his out."

  "No, Mavi, you discussed it. I have every right to be here, just as you do," Marcello snaps his fingers and steps into the Elf, Mavi's, personal space.

  “I knew when I saw Juilliard that you had to be around here somewhere. I can’t believe this. I'll have a word with someone about this. I won't let you get away with it!" Mavi turns, his face flushed red, and knocks his shoulder into Marcello, sending him barreling into me. I plant my feet and grab Marcello's arms as he curses.

  "It won't do you a lick of good!" he yells after him.

  Marcello takes a step forward, making as though he's about to chase after Mavi. The Elf is indeed rude as hell, didn't even acknowledge my presence except for the undeserved scowl he gave me on the way from the dance floor, but tonight there is no fighting, unless we want to be disqualified.

  "Marcello, don't," I say facing him toward me. His head remains cocked as he tries to watch over his shoulder. "Look at me." I grab his chin and force him to look down at me.

  His chest rises and falls with a huff of breath as he closes his eyes. I keep my hand on his face, certain he'll turn away the moment I let go. Everything in my body locks up when he brings a hand to mine and presses my palm into his cheek. The rough stubble of the shadow of a beard that's grown in throughout the day bites into my hand.

  "Maybe a drink would be nice after all. I take it you know him." I say, pulling my hand away.

  "Yeah, yes. Unfortunately, I do."

  "He didn't want you to join the Games. Why?"

  "We're practically family. He wants the glory, I want a change." Marcello moves to a small table against the wall and sets the glass down. It's harder to tell that he's worked up because physically, he's just as perfect as he was moments ago. He starts pacing and the dimples of his smirk are long gone at this point.

  I snort. "What could you possibly want to change in The Oasis?" He grew up there and he can't even see how good he has it? Sure, I want to change some things... mainly find a way to knock down that wall that separates us. But him? I find it hard to believe that someone who lives in a place as grand and giving as The Oasis could find fault with it.