Vengeance (The Prince's Games Book 1)

by Rebecca Grey

  He points a hand to the corner of the room where a small hall descends into darkness. Of course that's the bathroom.

  "Perfect. I'll be right back. Wait for me." It's not a question, it's a demand. He should not be leaving me alone.

  "I make no promises," Juilliard snips back but he plucks his unfinished cigar from his pocket and props himself against the wall to wait. That's good enough for me.

  I make my way through the crowd, slipping into the spaces that appear between people and disappearing before anyone can bump into me. I listen for any footsteps to follow but no one does so I stroll casually into the hall. I slip into the bathroom to relieve myself and slip back out, knowing I'd only taken a few minutes and Juilliard should be near enough. Leaving, I relax in the brilliant relief of the pressure that was in my bladder.

  My whole body crashes to a stop as I'm met with two glowing red eyes. In the dim light, the blonde Vampire cocks her head, sniffing the air. I'm smart enough to be scared. I place a hand on my hip. Maybe I can get by without an issue. Maybe she's come to ask me some silly sort of question. Doubtful, but my mind still tries to find a reason that doesn’t end with her trying to take a bite of me.

  I force myself to breathe through my mouth, trying not to take in her delicate scent. Even then I try not to breathe all that deeply.

  "Human girl. Human girl," she sings, "Such a surprise seeing you here. What a blessing from the Saints. I've heard pure Human blood is like no other. Is it true?"

  "I wouldn't know. I step forward to walk around her and she sticks herself directly into my path.

  "How about a taste?"

  "How about no?" I snap ignoring the way my legs began to quake and add, "I'll scream."

  "Oh, you won't be able to scream, my dear." She gives me a piteous look and reaches for my neck. Her hands are cold as ice as they wrap around my jaw and she brings herself to me, knocking us into the bathroom door. Both sharp fangs extend out over her bottom lip as she lowers herself to my neck. The tips of her teeth scrape over the sensitive skin that Joss has punctured so many times before.

  "I said no," I growl and rip my blade from my belt, thrusting up into her chest. It pierces her heart and she gasps, stumbling away from me. I chase her to the opposite side of the hallway as she falls against the wall, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly. Gray starts to consume her skin, hardening and aging her body with wrinkles and age spots as her years catch back up with her.

  Grabbing the end of my dagger, I push it father into her chest. "You deserve this." I whisper into her ear before I yank the blade free from her body. Dust plumes from her chest with the movement and her face freezes in shock. They never expect Humans to fight back. They don't know enough about us to consider us a threat. Her mistake. I wonder at what point she would have realized that I also have a wooden cross tucked inside my shirt that would have boiled her flesh.

  I lift the blade to my face and blow air across it to rid it of the dust that came from her ancient body. I’d wanted to kill someone today, and it looks like my wish has been granted. Once her body is found, if they are not careful when they move her, she'd likely crumble away to ash in their hands. A fitting death for a Vampire, in my personal opinion.

  When my weapon is back in its place I stand, noticing that the light that carries down the hall from the main room is blocked out by the rough outline of a muscular body. My heart leaps into my throat and my dagger is back in my hand within a second.

  "Nilsa, what did you do?" Marcello whispers, looking behind his back before he rushes to the Vampire’s side.

  "She was going to bite me. I did what I had to do to stay alive." I point the dagger at her as I talk and Marcello bats it away, prompting me to sheath it.

  "Oh, no, no, no." He shakes his head, bringing a hand up to his face. His teeth rake out over his pointer finger that he brings to his mouth and bites down on his knuckle before he speaks again with decisive certainty. "Here is what we are going to do. Move her to the farthest end of the hall away from the bathroom entrance. Then I'll get Hedda and hurry her out to the ship before she finds out that you killed one of her girls."

  "I'd do it again." And I would. I'd do it a thousand times over before I let her get a taste of me. I refuse to be ashamed.

  "This isn't a game, Nilsa." Marcello stands up in a flash. "We aren't in the Games yet. You can't do this and expect to always get away with it."

  "I've gotten away with it so far."

  "Well, you wouldn't be able to get away with this one. Not without my help." He inhales deeply. "Why didn’t you call out? I was listening. Juilliard is listening. We're teammates now, Nils, you don't do anything alone anymore. And you won't get the blame for this alone." His jaw sets tightly.

  I don't... I've never worked on a team. I'm not sure I'm aware of what being a true team player even means. Only one person, aside from Arron, has looked out for me and that's myself. Me, myself, and I. And we didn’t go retrieve that girl from Mica’s as a team.

  "You were listening?"

  "Yes," Marcello says, picking up the Vampire and carrying her to the end of the hallway. He sets her down gently, tilts his head, and places her hands in her lap. She looks as though she's praying. Hopefully, she did plenty of that before she met the end of my dagger.

  Something inside me shakes a little. Not in the same nervous way my legs had done when the Vampire had gotten too close. This... this is different. This is...whatever it is, I don't like it. I clamp down on all my emotions, forcing myself to the numb state of being I prefer to live in. If this feeling is hope, then I'd rather not let it take hold of me. I'm bound to be disappointed. I always am.

  "Now go," he snaps, his face twisted in frustration. "Get Juilliard and go to the ship. I'll meet you there with Hedda."

  I turn on my heels with nothing left to say. I don't have anything in me to argue or fight back. Maybe this had been another mistake. Maybe when I'm around Marcello I can't do anything right. Maybe the Elf sucks the luck out of everyone else around him to keep for himself.

  Embarrassment is hot on my neck and I'm glad the cloak covers it. I force myself back into the main lobby of Hedda's brothel and move toward Juilliard where he's already stepping away from the wall. He reaches for my arm as I storm by him.

  "What did you do?" He follows at my heels.

  I slam my palm into the door, letting it swing dramatically open for us to exit. The ship waits for us against the littered dock and I point myself toward it.

  "I did what I had to do to stay alive. I did what I've had to do every day for the past twenty-four years. You fucking Elves wouldn't understand."

  "We'll I'm sure we'd happily give it a try. Why are you so brash all the time, Nilsa? Just chill out for fucks sake."

  "Go to the ship Juilliard. Marcello told us to go to the ship. I'm doing as I'm told, and I wish this could just be the end of it."

  We cross the street and I growl, kicking angrily at the gravel. Rocks fly from the toe of my boots and scatter in front of us, hitting empty liquor bottles loudly. The edges of my vision blur as my frustration rises. Fisting my hands, I force it back down.

  Numb. I want to be numb.

  "Marcello is going to want to talk about it. He'll probably understand it too, if you just explain it to him. I mean, you don't have to tell me, I'd rather remain ignorant." He rushes to catch up to me and keep pace at my side. "Marcello spent plenty of years fighting for his life. He'd know better than anyone else what you're dealing with."

  An Elf fighting for his life? Now that sounds absurd. Even an Elf who could possibly be put in the same situation as me can't relate to the hardship of being Human in this day and age. Whatever picture Juilliard is trying to paint for me, I'm certain it's only for the sake of keeping me around for the Games.

  "You don't have to lie to me."

  "I'm not. Ask him yourself."

  And learn more about these Elves? Try to make a connection with them? No, I’d rather not. I scrub at my face, stopping when
we reach the dock that leads us to our ship. Juilliard huffs and walks by me, heading up the gangway.

  I look back at Hedda's business. The front door opens and Marcello escorts Hedda out of the building with a smile plastered to his face. Even at this distance I swear that his gaze meets mine. Even though I don't want to, even though I tell myself I'll never ask... I wonder why and how Marcello ever had to fight for his life.

  I hate the way the damn boards bounce as I storm up the gangway. I hate the way I feel some lingering sense of shame. SHAME, goddamn it. I hate feelings. I hate emotions. And I hate most of all that someone like Marcello is making me feel at all.

  Juilliard points me to Marcello's office where the door is cracked open for me to enter. The look on his face tells me I should count my lucky stars. For what? For us getting away with Hedda in tow without me getting caught? The boat hasn't left the shore just yet.

  Not far behind Marcello, the rest of the crew begrudgingly drags their feet and holds onto the liquor that they purchased. Frowns and scowls litter the entire lot of them. But had they truly expected to stay so long? Had Marcello intended to stay longer?

  I brush past Juilliard, huffing a mild snarl under my breath. My boots stomp against the deck, resounding in the night and I'm sure it isn't missed by the entire swarm of Elves making their way to us. But I don't care. I couldn't give the slightest fuck what these worms think of my little fit.

  I want to break something. I want to cut something. Or shout. Maybe I'll scream out in rage.

  At my apartment the other mercenaries there have gotten used to me screaming inside of my room on particularly rough days. Sometimes I'd pound my fists into the bed or kick at the walls too. I know it makes me look and sound like a toddler, and I hate that too. I hate myself for these fits of anger that eat me up with no way out except with the slashing of my fists.

  My hand wraps around the edge of the office door and I throw myself inside, slamming it shut behind me. I feel the handle for a lock, hoping I can keep Marcello and Juilliard out for a single minute longer. Plus, the fact that they would hate being locked out of this stupid room gives me the slightest ounce of joy. No lock.

  Pressing my back into the door, I take a deep breath in. Juilliard's cloak pulls against my neck. The four walls of the room feel as though they are tilting in. They're too close. They're suffocating. I tug at the strings, stepping forward so that the material flutters to the floor behind me. I leave it there, pacing the room. Green light from the small gem inside the window filters the low glow of the moon side, making everything shine like emeralds.

  I want to break something. Saints, I need to break something. I tease my fingertips at the top of my daggers. Both hilts are warm from pressing against my skin all day. Slipping them from their sheathes, I stalk forward toward the bed. Air hisses between my grinding teeth as I raise my arms over my head and bring both weapons down into the pillow.

  The blades pierce the slender pillow, stabbing all the way through it and into the mattress. I rip both my arms up, wheeling them up and down frantically into the cotton as if I'm stabbing at that Vampire’s heart all over again. Strike after strike, I force all my weight down on the daggers and bring them back up until the stuffing inside starts to leave it in tiny fluff balls that litter the old quilts on top of the bed.

  I stop when I feel the sting of angry tears welling in my eyes. I hate crying more than I hate being angry. Even more so that being angry in the end always makes me cry. So I stand and push the blades back into their sheathes.

  "If you can do that to a pillow, I'd hate to see what you'd choose to do to me."

  Stepping away from the voice, I spin around to find Marcello, no more than a shadow standing inside the door. He takes his time closing it. When he does, I can't help but be reminded of the fact that it's just he and I inside these four walls.

  "Do you always get this angry?" he asks, rubbing a hand across his chin. I expect that he would be furious with me. I'd almost ruined our trip, and now I'd just destroyed his pillow. But there isn't anger in his glowing silver eyes when he looks at me now... it's something different, something... worse. Pity.

  "Yes," I say, because I haven't any excuse or smart witty thing to add to the conversation. And it's the truth. Anger is the number one most frequent feeling that I feel. The one that I have little to no control over. "Are you going to yell at me now?"

  "Why would I yell at you?" He shakes his head watching me, searching for something in my face. Then, as if he suddenly grew bored, he travels to the desk and grabs the small wastebasket next to it. I hold myself with perfect posture as he walks over to me and starts stuffing what remains of the pillow into the garbage.

  "I," I lower my voice to a whisper, "I killed that Vampire. I just destroyed the pillow."

  "And the mattress, it would seem." He clicks his tongue, clearing away the last of the shredded cotton.

  "So you are not mad?" My mouth goes dry.

  "Nilsa, I might be leading this little team of ours, but I'm not your parent. You're what, in your twenties? You're a woman in Human years." How does he know anything about Humans at all? "If you say that you had no other choice but to ram your knife into the heart of that Vampire, then I'm choosing to believe you.” Even if he sounds a little exasperated with himself for that very choice. “Even if I think it would have been smarter to holler for Juilliard or me. However, you did have a choice whether or not to cut up my pillow, so I'd be keen to hear an apology about that."

  I press my lips together. Marcello sets the wastebin down next to the bed and watches me with his arms balanced on his lean hips.

  "Do you want to talk about it?" he asks.

  "No."

  "Very well then. Should you change your mind, I'll be around." His eyes trail back to the bed and he sighs before he heads for the door. "A word to the wise, it's smart to talk about the things that bother you. If you keep bottling them up like this, they'll keep exploding out of you." He points to the bed. "You can have that mattress tonight, since you ruined it. I doubt Juilliard will want it, and I sure as hell don't.”

  My hands fist at my side. It takes all of me to give him the slightest nod. With every heartbeat I can still feel the unchecked fury pulsing inside of me. I've seen too much in my short life. I've felt enough heartbreak to last not only my lifetime but probably Marcello and Juilliard's too. Hell, some of my wounds feel so deep that I can probably include Hedda’s as well. Now, I'm just pitying myself. And that never takes me anywhere except to the bottom of a liquor bottle.

  Marcello closes the door softly; I almost don't even hear it latch. He leaves me alone and the moment he's gone I flatten against the wall, sliding down it rather dramatically. Even I’m self-aware enough to know that I'm acting a fool. I prop my knees up and wrap my arms around them, resting my head against my forearms.

  Why hadn't Marcello yelled at me? Why hadn't Marcello yanked me up by the collar of my shirt and pressed his nose against mine as spit flies into my face while he shrieks? Why hadn't he tried to fight me? Had I done wrong in a job for Joss, he'd have done one or more of those things. Or maybe he'd choose to raise my rent for staying in the coven?

  But Marcello... he'd cleaned up my mess, spoken to me softly, then when I'd said no he accepted the answer and left. Maybe he knows that he tested me enough over Hedda's little challenge for one night.

  My head hits against the wall behind me as I stare up at the ceiling. I press my palms against the floor and force myself to stand up, force myself to climb into the bed. Coils of springs poke through the fabric where my daggers have punctured its surface. The metal scratches and prods against my skin. Without the pillow, I fold my arms under my head and slip under the covers. I try to concentrate on how they feel against my skin, just to focus on anything that isn't the white-hot fury that makes my stomach turn.

  I close my eyes, breathe through the feeling, and think about Marcello's silver eyes glowing in the dark.

  ***

  "Atta girl,
" Arron whispers as I walk around the side of the building. Even though the leaves have fallen from the trees and litter the green grass, my steps don't crunch them underfoot. Pride blooms inside of my chest and I grin up at him.

  A group of Dwarfs are nestled inside of the shed behind the home we'd been called to for a job today, or at least that's what we've been told. My lungs constrict. Something’s wrong...

  I look around. Arron walks behind me, moving with the stealth I'm working so hard to learn. I might not be crunching the leaves under my feet, but my steps aren’t nearly as silent as his. I curse myself for it. Because that's how they'll know we’re here. It's because of me.

  Trees rise up into the sky, their limbs cutting across the large full moon. There isn't a single cloud in the sky. Between the trees at the back of the small yard, a blue shed waits. One finger rises to Arron’s lips as we reach the shed and he touches the latch.

  No. Don't. Don't do it! My thoughts shout warnings that I can't act on. My limbs are heavy, glued to my sides. My feet unmovable, as if they've suddenly been filled with sand and tied to cement bricks. Bile rises in my throat, stinging like acid and burning in my nose. I can taste ash on my tongue. Don't do it, Arron, I beg him soundlessly. Don't let him do it!

  All I can do is stare at him. All I can allow myself is this millisecond to cherish the memory of his face, so vivid, so utterly real. His face is a long oval that appears as if at some point in his life his skull has been flattened to be so long. Under bushy gray eyebrows wide almond eyes hold a mischievous joy that never disappears no matter how hard our days are. Wrinkles cut into his skin around his eyes and in crescent moon shapes around his mouth. His white hair is slicked away from his forehead, secured in a ponytail at his nape.

  I'm watching him too closely, thinking too much about the way my body feels numb, and how proud Arron looks at me right now to hear the wet, wild snarl that erupts as he opens the door. Claws slash through his flesh. Tendon and muscle tears away from bone. Blood. So much blood.