Vengeance (The Prince's Games Book 1)

by Rebecca Grey

  Thin blankets fall from my shoulders, pooling in my lap. I sit up, gasping for air. The cold evening air that fills even the captain’s quarters swirls through the room and makes the sweat on my back turn to ice. Still I'm hot. Too fucking hot.

  I can feel how damp I've made the sheets. All of the fabric clings to me absorbing the perspiration that's come off me in large lake sized puddles. Every inch of the quilt above me presses into me.

  As waves rock the boat, the hammocks hanging from the ceiling sway. Soft snores come from Juilliard, his long arm hanging off of the makeshift bed. His fingers curl loosely into his palm. The hammock next to him is empty. The rest of the room... empty.

  The deck prism that the pirates have used to give light to the room has been removed from the windows and only the palest bit of light from the moon is cast on the floorboards. Some of the light carries to the desk and the empty chair there.

  I can't... I can't lay here anymore. My chest is still tight with the remembrance of loss. If I try to fall back asleep, I'm scared that the dream will suck me in once more. The memory of Arron’s death, or what I call the start of it, is more like a nightmare and it visits me more often than I like. It steals sleep away from me. Not that I ever sleep particularly well.

  The brisk air meets my legs as I strip the blankets off of me. Around my hips and down my thighs are sensitive, likely bruised, from sleeping with my blades still on me. Once I lose consciousness, I can't help but curl in on myself, making the hilts and the sheaths press into my skin.

  I push the blonde hairs that have pulled from my ponytail out of my face and stand up on shaky knees. I don't care about the cold as I leave the office behind, making sure to close the door as quietly as I can so I don't disturb Juilliard. Perhaps that's too much of a nicety.

  It’s so weird to me that I can even remember such details of that night. Exactly what the starless sky had looked like and every line in Arron’s weathered face. Even the way I’d felt ready for my first job when I’d tried so hard not to be prideful, because the way Arron had said pride comes before the fall still manages to haunt me. If I let my head get too full, if I drop my guard at all, then I'll likely end up dead, like my parents. They hadn't a clue how to fight back. They only knew how to hide, and in the end they were found. In the end, it was their death.

  Frigid wind tries to take my breath with it as I step onto the deck. A few crew members lounge around in various places, doing whatever tasks keep the ship pushing toward our next destination. A dark figure leans against the farthest railing at the bow of the ship. The edges of the large pink fur coat rise up in the breeze and flutter behind him. Marcello's gaze is upcast.

  I close my eyes, telling myself I shouldn't. Because I shouldn't care. I don't. I don't care. Then why are you even contemplating going over there?

  "Fuck," I whisper under my breath and head for the edge of the ship. Cursing myself for not grabbing my cloak, I wrap my arms around my body. In my hurry to leave the bed and get away from the torment inside my mind, I didn’t even bother to slip into my boots.

  Marcello doesn't move from his position, with his hands clasped, as I stop next to him and peer out at the dark ocean. What does he see out there? What does he see up there? The dark night sky and the black waters practically blend together with no beginning or end as they stretch toward the horizon. Even the stars reflect in the crests of the ocean, sparkling and winking without care.

  "Can't sleep?" Marcello pulls his attention from above and turns to watch me.

  Every single gust of wind, as cold and rough as it is, brings me closer to reality and helps me shake away the claws of my nightmare. I lift a hand and tug my ponytail from my hair. It's messed up anyway. The blonde strands tumble and fall down past my shoulders. It doesn't stay there for long before the winds toss it behind me.

  "Bad dream," I mumble and look down at my hands, shoving the tie to my wrist.

  "I get those too."

  I don't care. I don't care. I don't care. I tell myself until I believe it's true.

  "You don't have a coat." Marcello pulls away from the railing, turning to face me. "Or shoes. Are you crazy? You'll get sick or frostbite or some other minor thing that really, really affects Humans."

  Am I crazy? Maybe. Probably. Certainly, yes.

  "Why do you care? You don't have to pretend like my life means anything. No one else does."

  He shakes his head before he starts to pull his arms from his large coat. "You're on my team now, Nilsa. I need you living to complete the damn Games." He sets his coat over my shoulders. The scent of mint comes with it. "And you can't compete if you aren't in top health."

  "Right," I whisper. I stare straight ahead.

  "You didn't like that answer?" He sounds so confused.

  "I expected that answer."

  A large wave crashes against the boat, spraying water up onto us. It freezes on my skin, but I don't move to brush it away like Marcello does. He swipes at his face, then looks at me again. His arm reaches out and he snatches a strand of my hair out of the wind and plucks ice off it.

  "Do you want me to take a deeper interest in you, Nilsa?" His voice lowers to a seductive rasp.

  "No." I keep my answer short and sweet. You don't care. Stop caring. I don't care. I don't care. I shout the thoughts too loudly inside my head until I'm nervous he can hear them.

  "I think you're intriguing. Certainly, you’ve gotten my attention since I came all this way to enlist you for my team."

  "Stop taunting me." My head swivels slowly to his gaze. I stare back at him. He really is the most beautiful man I've ever seen, and that's what makes this so much worse. He's an Elf. He's a bloody pirating Elf. I remind myself.

  "I'm not." His accent makes him sound so innocent.

  I snort.

  "Really, truly, I’m not. You don't believe me?"

  "Why would you have any interest in a Human? Other than my obvious skill set." I fold my arms across my chest. His coat keeps the heat trapped within it.

  "I don't know. Because you're one of the last of your kind. You're a total cynic—”

  "I'm not a cynic," I interrupt. "My life is fucking terrible. I’m a realist."

  He rolls his eyes, still smirking at me. "I don’t know, maybe you remind me of someone. You've managed to survive in the roughest part of our world, in the fucking Bend. I don't know much, but I don't doubt that if you put your mind to something, it takes a lot for you to not complete the task. It's why you looked so damn pissed off when I confronted you outside Geno's Bar. You knew your job was not complete." Marcello tilts toward me, running his firelit gaze over me, over every curve of my body. "You wanted to run me through with your blade. Even now you want to kill me, don't you?"

  Surrounded by his fresh scent, it's true. I want to kill him. The plan is to watch my daggers suck the life out of him till he's nothing but skin, bone, and blood on the floor. My job isn't complete until Marcello Torres comes to an end.

  "If you want me to care about you, Nils. All you have to do is say the word."

  All I have to do is say the word. That's a lie. He's lying. All Hybrids do is lie. But I can't bring myself to say that, even though the accusation sits behind my teeth. I hold myself a little tighter and tear my gaze away from him. His eyes flick up and down my body one last time.

  "I know I should sleep. You should sleep too. Tomorrow will be just as long as today." Marcello sighs, but doesn't move to leave. He lowers himself back to the railing, propping himself up on his forearms.

  "Juilliard doesn't seem to have a problem with sleeping."

  He chuckles. "No, Juilliard can sleep easily no matter the circumstance. I wish I could do that."

  Honestly, so do I. I've gotten used to the little amounts of sleep I run on most days. Still, I yearn for a day where I don't worry about having to make money or if some Hybrid is going to try killing me. All I want is a day of rest, lounging in bed, eating everything I crave but can't afford. The closest I've come to that thou
gh are the days when Joss isn't busy and he gets a thirst for the bedroom.

  Days like that could have me put up in his office or his personal chambers where I'm fucked until I'm raw and feel like a prop. Days like that often leave me sore and bruised for the next days to come.

  "Are you scared?" Marcello asks so plainly.

  His question pulls me out of my thoughts. My eyes search his face for his meaning. "Scared of what?"

  "The Games." He looks up at me. "Death."

  "I'm not scared of anything." Another lie. It's more like I'm scared of everything. "It does me little good to be scared of death when the chance of it lurks around every corner at every hour. Whenever I go... it'll be my time. But I can guarantee you that I'm not going down unless I take everyone with me."

  "You should be scared."

  "Are you?"

  He doesn't answer immediately. A brief quiet falls over us as we listen to the sound of the sea and the few crew members up and moving about. It’s a nice quiet.

  "Would you think less of me if I said yes? If I said that I'm risking everything just to prove myself that I can do it. To save what I love the most."

  "I already thought less of you before I even posed the question."

  Marcello beams up at me, holding in a small laugh. "That's one thing I like about you. You never hold anything back."

  "Are Hybrids too nervous to speak the truth in The Oasis?"

  "I wouldn't say they're nervous. I would just say... they're particular... or perhaps speaking so bluntly is against the status quo. If one of my parents’ friends didn't like me, they wouldn't say a word. You, you'll look me straight in the eyes and tell me to go to hell. That I can appreciate. That, I wish The Oasis had more of. And it soon will." He looks down to his feet. "I have to tell myself that we will. We'll make it. We'll win this. If I don’t, I'm afraid, I'll turn and run away." A light chuckle passes over his lips as he shakes his head. "You're awfully easy to talk to."

  "I don't try to be. Actually, I'd prefer to stand here in silence until I tire myself out and can fall back asleep." The wind changes its course and a long bit of hair flies across my face.

  “You know, there is another more pleasurable way to tire out.” His voice turns to near velvet. “And admittedly I’m quite good at all forms of it.”

  I turn to look up at him, astounded with the pure audacity of what he’s saying to me right now. If he is indeed saying what I think he is. I’ll pretend like he isn’t and give him a chance to take it all back.

  Stupidly, my heart does a happy tumble in my chest. Is that all it takes? A few flirty phrases and a pretty face?

  “I doubt you can tire me with sarcasm and excessive confidence.”

  “Oh, I’m not talking about either of those. Though I’m good at both.” He tries to force his smile down, but the coy grin remains. “I’m talking about the service of my lips. Perhaps even my tongue.” My eyes narrow. “I’m suggesting I use my hands.” He holds his hands up for me to see. I tilt away from him, already expecting his next answer. Already feeling heat burn my face and neck with anticipation of what he’ll say next. “And it goes without saying, but my cock might do best to bring you a good night's rest.”

  I give him a dry look. He chuckles then. Muscles curl low in my stomach. Heat blooms in my chest, eating away the cold of the night.

  "Silence it is." Marcello smiles up at me from his languid position against the railing. "Thank you for listening, even if it was only for a few minutes."

  "Y—You’re welcome," I stutter.

  Without his coat, the only thing he has on to protect himself from the intense icy cold are the long black sleeves of his leather shirt and the skin tight leather pants and boots. Hybrids are better conditioned for the elements though, so it's not nearly as bad for him as it is for me.

  I shift in his jacket and pink fur rubs at my cheeks. The smell of the coat, the smell of Marcello, is annoyingly pleasant. So much so that I frown out to the sea and try to focus on it and breathe through my mouth.

  My dream still haunts me. It still sits in the back of my mind. Between my shoulder blades my shirt is still damp and cold. Without thinking, I lift a hand and touch the scar that runs over my lips. Jagged and white after years of fading, but it's still slightly calloused and rough compared to the rest of my skin. Arron's training didn't leave me with just emotional scars, but this marking too. A reminder of my failure. But I don't... I don't want to think about it.

  "Does the cold bother your scar?" Marcello straightens, his hands finding his pockets.

  "N—,” I look from the sea to him. "No."

  "Sometimes it bothers my wrist. The metal gets so damn cold."

  "I thought we were being quiet." But the edges of my lips betray me and lift in the slightest smile.

  His grin grows. "Right." He clasps his lips closed and lets the quiet settle between us once more. So we stand there under the black sky and the twinkling stars. We stand together at the front of the boat where it splits the sea around us until our bodies are numb. Until my mind is numb.

  ***

  The Elvish pirates call out to a passing boat. They holler encouraging jaunts to one another, waving frantically, as if they're seeing some long-lost siblings. The crew presses themselves to the side of the boat just as the crew from the passing ship does for them. Whoops and hollers ring out on the open sea with nothing to bounce off of but endless waters.

  This was the second ship we'd run into so far. The second time these men and a few women, I'd found out, are making themselves look the part of the fool. All I can do is sigh and shake my head at them. As the sun has risen and the heat index with it, I'd taken to covering myself with Juilliard's cloak again.

  Smoking away like a goddamn chimney, Juilliard watches me from outside the captain's quarters. His boot presses into the wall behind him, his already narrow eyes practically disappear as he glares at me. Without the cloak, he'd chosen to steal a wide brim hat from one of the crew members. It'd pissed him off when I told him he looked like real pirate scum now, and he's been staring at me like this ever since.

  I kind of like that it gets under his skin. Standing a few feet away, I listen to Hedda and Marcello chit-chat about nothing in particular. His almost contemplative turned flirtatious attitude from the night before is gone. Marcello and I haven't said a word yet about last night. About last night... as if us talking in the middle of the night is such a secretive thing, Saints.

  "I'm eager to see who else we pick up for this little adventure of ours." Hedda chews on a dry flakey biscuit. Pieces of the bread dust the top of her shirt.

  I scowl, but finally speak from my position beside the two gossiping hens. "I'm curious what's next for us." I flick my gaze up to Marcello's. "I can tell you right now that I will not be proving myself anymore.

  "Don't suspect our next two teammates will be as hard to convince to come as Hedda was." He pats the Orc’s shoulder. Her large eyes fall on his hand. "These teammates are sort-of a couple."

  "Sort of? Or actually a couple?" I deadpan.

  "They're actually a couple, living on the edge of the coast just before the wall. They're famous for robbing the trains that carry supplies and merchandise into the capital of The Oasis."

  “The Oasis has trains?” I've heard of trains. Seen a few pictures in my lifetime too. But I just thought they were a Human thing that had died away.

  "The Oasis has everything." Marcello breathes. "Decades ago they were banished from The Oasis, forced to spend their time at the edge of The Bend without resources. They've outlived their punishment now, but they have remained. Too stubborn, I suppose."

  "Could they return to The Oasis now? Would they let them pass even? I've never heard of anyone making it back into The Oasis once they've become a part of The Bend." I look off to the edge of land that approaches. Or more so that we approach. There isn't even a dock for us to pull up to, only the sandy beach leading to a hill that rises up into the sky.

  A pirate scurrie
s up to Marcello's side, whispering into his ear. Marcello gives him the slightest nod before he leaves as fast as he came. I try to keep my eyes off of him, attempting to focus on the foreign land that we're about to trek, but Marcello is watching me back, even when he is speaking to the Elf.

  "What are you thinking?" He cocks his head. Hedda slows her chewing to look between us with the lift of a single brow.

  "Who says I'm thinking anything?"

  Awfully pretentious he is. I cross my arms over my chest, knowing my knuckles are white. Fucking Hybrids. They always think they know what's going on in your head. Always. As if they have the power to read your mind.

  I pretend as if I'm thinking nothing, just to spite him. Though I know full well that I'd been thinking about how pretty he will look in his death. When the light dies in those starlit eyes, he'll be a corpse more beautiful than most of the living. The depth of which I find myself attracted to him tightens inside of me, making my throat tight with guilt and shame. Marcello would be a good fuck and that would be the end of it. Like Joss. I'd use his body like they've used Humans for centuries. Still, I loathe how much my eyes linger on the warmth of his skin.

  "I don't doubt that you're always thinking about something. Calculating."

  Water splashes somewhere behind us. I don't let it draw my attention. The ship starts to slow as the anchors lower into the ocean.

  "You seem to care an awful lot about what's happening inside of my head. Why don't you ask Hedda what she's thinking about?"

  "She's thinking about how good her biscuit is." Marcello smirks and glances at Hedda.

  "I am!" The Orc leans back with a laugh. And I'm not shocked her thoughts are so... simple. Not the sharpest weapon in our arsenal. How many brain cells do you really need for a straight shot?

  "And," he holds up a finger, "I don't have to worry about Hedda contemplating killing me. But I'll convince you my life is worth sparing before the end of our time together."

  "That is highly unlikely." I roll my eyes.