Vengeance (The Prince's Games Book 1)

by Rebecca Grey

  "I want her to break into my competitor’s business. I want her to steal a girl."

  She wants me to get shot in the head.

  “We need her. Just do it,” Marcello urges. The smooth sound of his voice is anything but settling when he's trying to talk me into something as dangerous as this. “You’ve seen her shot. You’ve witnessed what sort of capabilities she has to offer our team. And how often do you find someone who owns a gun and has the ammo to use it?”

  I peer at him from the side of my eyes, contemplating the repercussions of following through with my previous threat to cut off both his hands. “Yeah, but you also need me,” I growl. "What's the point?"

  Do Hybrids ever really have a point for anything they do? Everything is at their every whim and desire. It disgusts me. Even now, my mouth is turned down in an exaggerated frown.

  He isn’t wrong about Hedda though. Guns are the superior weapon so having someone who knows how to wield one and has the bullets…well it gives me the opportunity to use them too. And that, that would be a very helpful advantage in the Games.

  “To prove that you can do it,” Hedda laughs like this is the most exciting thing to happen to her in days. Even though she just finished shooting a man right in the head. “And so that Mica craps his pants when he realizes one of his girls is gone... Only to find her here.”

  No one would dare even suggest that in The Bend. Not unless they felt they had truly been done wrong and had every good reason to. It's one of the few unspoken rules. And it'd lead to a head to head battle between businesses and affiliated groups of Hybrids.

  “Won’t that start a war?” I say. It's posed as a question but really, if she's smart enough to read between the lines, it's advice.

  “Human, we are already at war," Hedda steams.

  The tempo of the music still carries to where we are gathered on the second floor, overlooking the dancing girls below. I haven't another thing to add and I clench my jaw tightly closed, knowing full and well I'm about to take this on without earning anything in addition for myself. So, I let the music drift between us. Let it linger with the uncomfortable silence that's fallen on the conversation.

  I turn my gaze away from Hedda's round face and the challenge in her eyes. Blood still splatters the floor where the man had died mere moments before. One of the dancers holds a mop in her hands, scrubbing against the wood as she works to wipe it all away. Even when she finishes and sticks the mop back into the small bucket and begins to cart it off, red has filled every crack in the grain of the wood. It swirls like it is part of the intended pattern.

  No one looks up at us. No one's gaze is as curious as mine. Curious... and cautious. I look for bright red eyes and fangs on the faces of every dancer down there. She has more than one Vampire working here, I'm sure. The dancer who'd let Juilliard gawk at her womanly form is either lost to the crowd, likely swaying against some other paying patron, or she’s lurking in the shadows somewhere.

  An annoying habit, but one the Vampires just can't seem to break. They love to hide in the cloak of night and any bit of shadowy reprieve. I don't entirely blame them. I too like to sulk in the shadows to keep myself as mysterious as possible.

  Juilliard fidgets while he waits, exhaling a long breath as if that'll rush me to answering. Hedda and Marcello exchange a glance while I'm quiet. Once I feel like the silence has been good and drawn out, letting them stew in my annoyance for long enough, I finally speak again.

  "Fine." I look directly into Marcello's conspiring silver gaze. "I'll do it. But I'm not happy."

  "Wonderful!" Marcello claps and Juilliard gives a pathetic sounding "woo," at his side.

  Hedda gives us a healthy grin and rushes forward to take my hand. "Come here, girl," she hisses, trying to snatch me up. I move and she stumbles by, looking from her hand to mine, where they should be connected but are not. "Very good!" She grins again and begins waving me forward.

  None of them pay any mind to the women and patrons tangled in scandalous activity all around us. Hedda leads us through them and past many doors, rooms to be rented for all sorts of activities. Eventually she stops at the end of the long hall and we've lost our view of the first floor, the band, and Juilliard's waiting Vampire. On either side are rooms where moaning, both real and fake can be heard, even through the doors. The faraway music doesn't hide the chorus of these noises in the least.

  There's a large square window that looks out on the rest of the tiny village. Hedda taps her round finger against the glass, her hot breath fogging it up as she talks. "Not this roof but, the next. That is Mica’s business. Pick a girl, any girl, I don't care. Actually, I do. Pick a pretty girl, not one of those snaggletooth ones with the lopsided breasts he favors." She cuts her hand through the air.

  I follow her finger briefly to the rooftop that she mentions. Then I lose myself in my own curiosity as I watch pirate Elves singing and dancing with all their might in the streets. There is joy on their faces, the sort of joy I find myself suddenly jealous of.

  In due time… In due time...I try to remind myself. This isn't all for nothing. It’s for the things that they take for granted that you have yet to receive or experience. You'll win that for yourself.

  I bob my head. "Any girl," I repeat.

  "Any of ‘em." Hedda turns her breath on me and it's layered with spices and rum.

  "You're a good girl for doing this," Marcello says. And he's almost sincere enough not to fake a smile. I have nothing to say to him though, I've gotten myself into this miserable situation and I'm about to get myself out.

  "Give me your cloak." I snap my fingers at Juilliard.

  "No." He grabs his chest and steps away. "This is my cloak."

  "I can give you my coat." Marcello chimes in.

  With a groan, I pinch the bridge of my nose. How can Hybrids be the superior species when they are just so fucking stupid? "The cloak is meant to help me blend in. I smell like a Human. It will draw more attention if a Human is running around all the businesses than if I smell like an Elf."

  "Give her your cloak." Marcello smacks Juilliard's arm, saying it as if it was his idea from the get-go.

  Juilliard plucks at the ties that hold it to him, staring at me with distaste. I take my cloak off and throw it at him as he tosses me his. As soon as the material graces my fingers, I'm already shook by how fine the fabric is. The outside is soft, reminding me of a dark suede or a similar cloth. It's thin enough to keep you cool, but cozy enough you could trap some real body heat in it. My cloak looks threadbare when he tries to tie it to his neck.

  It's heavier and probably less likely to rip if I snag it on something. Without looking down at my fingers, I work to tie it to me. And if clothing can give you powers, this thing has just given me invisibility.

  "I appreciate it." I smile, though it probably looks more like a sneer.

  "See, and she even said something nice. That never happens." Marcello sighs happily.

  That never happens. You'd think with the way he talks that we'd known each other for years. That he truly knew what my life was like and how I acted. He doesn't. And the way he phrases that question sends my hand right to my hidden weapons.

  But instead of drawing their gaze to my habit of the movement, I point my other hand at the window. "Does this open?"

  Hedda nods eagerly. Her chubby Orc fingers grab the small lip and she tugs it up harshly. It squeals from the movement and I actually do flinch. Not a good start to this little trip of mine. Faces turn up from the street as they catch the sound.

  "Salud!" Hedda cheers out the window.

  "Salud!" The men on the street, quite possibly my own crew, raise their glasses to Hedda before turning back to their own meaningless conversations.

  Mumbling under my breath a string of curses most would find unfit for everyday use, I wave Hedda out of my way and lean out the window. Outside there is the slightest peak of roofing that juts off the building, an awning that covers the windows below. A few shingles still cling a
s a reminder of what the building had been at one time but no longer is, as many have fallen away.

  This building and the next are separated by a large tree, the leaves as spotty as the shingles on the rooftops. If I make my way onto the awning, to the large branch that brushes against this building, then I can make my way onto the next rooftop. Honestly, this is the easy part. Anybody with any sense of balance can make the trip from this building to the next. If that is information that Hedda is aware, I can't be sure. And I'm not going to tell her either.

  I curl my fingers around the windowsill, stepping one foot into the window itself and dangling the other just outside. From here I'm able to sit down on its ledge.

  "Please," Marcello steps forward. "just be careful."

  "Yeah, otherwise we are going to have to hunt down another teammate and I was hoping we'd have time to stay the night here!" Juilliard laughs. I'm sure he would like to stay the night here…

  "Are there no prostitutes where you come from? Are you that deprived of sex?" I rotate so I can see the look on Juilliard's face as I talk. His smile falls. "I'm sure you and Marcello could have your own circle jerk if you needed it. Don't subject these poor women to whatever mediocre love making you plan to display tonight."

  I don't wait a second more. Don't want to give him the chance to come up with something witty to say. Sometimes their something witty is more cutting toward the Human race than a clever phrase or a joke that could actually make you giggle. I have no interest in staying to hear whatever it is he chooses to come up with.

  The drop is relatively short, but I catch myself softly, squatting as soon as I make the landing. Under the old shingles the top is sticky. Perhaps an old glue? It holds me to the surface well enough that I know it'll help keep my thin boots from slipping on its edge. That's the problem with my thin old boots. Once you've weathered away the tread on them you're bound to slip and slide all over the place. And I need a steady stance if I'm going to kill a man, or in this case, kidnap a girl.

  No one from the street is looking my way. I even take a moment longer to examine every shadow and let my eyes adjust to their darkest depths. It's safe to move on. First, I give a short glance over my shoulder to find Marcello, Juilliard, and Hedda sticking their heads out and watching me.

  "Close. The. Window," I hiss. And I ought to knock some sense into them when I get back, too. If they wanted me to do this for them the least they could do is not ruin it.

  Hedda crinkles her nose and pulls them all back in with her. She closes the window and when it squeaks again I watch to see if anyone else turns this way. No one cares. I guess one cheers is good enough.

  I lift Juilliard's hood to cover my features and the strands of my blonde hair that get picked up in the passing wind. The smokey scent of cigarette tobacco clings to the fabric. The smell gets stuck in my nose with every single breath I take as I stretch for the tree. As the limbs reach for Hedda's business, they grow thinner and less likely to carry my weight. I'm lucky though. A sturdy branch, at least sturdy enough, grows past the awning’s ledge. I test my weight on it. There is some give, but I'm certain that it'll hold.

  I take the step. Each step is a risk, but without risks I'll never see victory. My boots curve with my feet, each knot in the limb is felt through the thin souls. My fingers wrap around smaller branches to steady me. I duck and weave, pulling Juilliard's cloak close out of habit so it doesn't catch. It hardly moves though, the weight of the material keeps it against me like static cling.

  Bark presses into my wrinkled leather pants and the vest over my chest as I hug the trunk of the tree. Laughter breaks the night from the men on the street. I freeze at the sound, slowly turning until they’re in my view again. Another man stumbles out into the street. He bends at the waist, coughing until an unthinkable amount of vomit splatters at his feet. The group that's been outside this whole time watch with another chorus of laughter.

  Hybrids can be amused by the oddest of things. That's just a fact.

  I blow out a long breath that fogs in the evening air. The cold, brittle and painful, is starting to set in as it does in The Bend. That may play a factor in getting our stolen whore back into Hedda's. The cold has a way of making ice cling to every surface, even the ones that you don't think of. I'd slipped one too many times while crawling across rooftops. It's made me cautious. Human bones are brittle.

  The roof of the building between Hedda's and the one I'm meant to enter is in just as rough shape as the last. Some shingles remain, but most have gone. I set my foot carefully on the ledge, looking for the most stable of places to walk. The condition of its rotting wood and the show of exposed boards that should never be seen above a building suggests that I could fall through with the wrong placement of my feet. I stare along the point of it. The wood is exposed but looks sturdy enough, it's worth a shot.

  I tip-toe across its ledge. Silent steps, a shadow in the night. There is no light up here, not where any Hybrid would even bother to go. However, with their perfect eyesight I'm sure most Hybrids, especially these Elves, would be keen to witness the girl walking the length of the roof.

  I stop at the edge, looking out over the building I'm going to enter unseen. Windows line the entire side, many with their curtains drawn. Private rooms, no doubt. Flickering lights creep around the edges of the dark red curtains, making them glow. Movement draws my attention.

  One window without curtains to block the view reveals the Hybrids inside. A tangle of man on woman as he presses her against the glass. Her breasts smash against the window, the side of her face too. Fog grows on the window around her warm figure. The man's hands, tan from many days at sea, crawl over her porcelain skin and intertwine in her hair. His own dark curls hide his features as he buries his face in her neck.

  I blink, looking away. Heat travels over my skin. I've seen sex before. I've experienced sex before, much more ragged and brutal than the display of lovemaking happening on the top level of Hedda's competitor business. Still, I can’t stop my mind from suggesting that the man in the window... that the man looks like Marcello. And that suddenly makes the moment feel a lot more private.

  It's impossible. Not even an Elf could move so fast as to take a woman to bed, two buildings down, in the few minutes it took me to climb over here. Why would I care anyway? I curse myself.

  I continue looking the rest of the windows over until I catch one that meets the exact needs of what I'm looking for. The pane isn't closed all the way. Whether the window is broken or purposefully propped open, it doesn't matter. There isn't a light in the room, so it gives me hope that it's empty. But in places like this... I can't be certain. Another risk I'll have to take.

  Pushing off the rooftop, I leap across the small space between the two buildings. Breath leaves me in a grunt as I land too close to the edge. I throw my body weight forward and hit the roof with my shins to keep from toppling backwards. Smooth. Saints, I hope that Marcello isn't watching anymore.

  I dare a glance back. Relief floods my body when I see the window in Hedda's building thankfully empty. My lips move silently with a prayer to both the Saint of Strength and the Saint of Courage, I’ll need both if they feel so inclined to provide me their blessings.

  Now, this time on purpose, I scoot to the edge of the roof and dangle my feet from its ledge. Each window has its own windowsill, approximately an inch wide. That's enough. An inch is all that I need. The shingles press into my abdomen, stealing away some of my breath. I dig my fingers into the building, feeling splinters gather under my nails.

  It hurts. But the hurt means I'm alive.

  I drop, holding myself only by the slightest grip on the roof. My toes find the nearest windowsill, my knees pressing against the glass. A moan carries through the thin panels and I realize this room isn't empty.

  Pressing myself flat, I pinch my fingers into the top of the window frame and prepare to lower myself again. Another cry of pleasure shakes the glass. It travels through the panels and into me. I can feel the
noise rattle my bones and set flame to a want deep in the pit of my stomach.

  There's something to being the one that's unseen. It feels wrong to eavesdrop, but it also feels oh so right.

  Focus, Nilsa. Fucking focus. There’s Hybrids in there, remember that.

  So I drop one more time, holding myself tightly to the opened window. It's something that the window is toward the top of the building. I couldn't imagine trying to continue to scale all the way down. However, there are plenty of imperfections in the siding for me to find hold on to.

  When another moan carries on the wind, the moan of someone being thoroughly pleased, I purse my lips and start to slide the window up. This window doesn't squeal in its tracks as Hedda's had. It's silent, well-greased. I arch a brow and listen intently.

  Though the building itself is full of sounds, music, sex, and drunken babble, none of that comes from this room. I strain to hear anything, even the softest whisper of breathing. Nothing.

  The rubber of my boot scrapes against the wooden pane and I stick my foot in, committing to my plan. One foot, then the next, scoot in on my ass, slip my upper body under the glass, and I’m in. I stand listening, feeling the great expanse of the room as my senses reach out to identify everything around me.

  It's too dark to make much out other than dark blobs of furniture. The room's bigger than I expected. Smells nicer too, I think. I sniff the air. Something here smells... Sterile. Clean.

  Light glows underneath the door and I walk to it. I focus on rolling the weight of my body from the heel of my foot to my toes. Voices start on the other side and I still.

  "It's a good night for business! Nearly all our rooms are booked for the night," A man says.

  "Yeah. Good thing, Mica, good thing. Want me to make the rounds and make sure everyone's all paid up for the girls they're borrowing?"