Vengeance (The Prince's Games Book 1)

by Rebecca Grey

  So as Hedda's voice fades further, I pull the lid up. My brows pinch together, my heart sinking like a stone. Pinks, purples, reds, and otherwise 'girly' colors wait for me under my journal, that I’d hastily thrown inside it after Marcello had read it. None of those colors even happen to belong to any weapons. A small envelope has my name scribbled across it. I can't read it, so it does me little good.

  "Fucking Genovese," I say under my breath. I toss the letter to the side and begin pushing aside fabric to see if perhaps the weapons are underneath. More materials covered in ribbons and lace greet me all the way down to the bottom of the trunk, where many pairs of sparkling shoes sit.

  "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!" I groan and hold up one of the gowns. The single dress alone weighs a thousand pounds with all the jewels that drip off of it. The damn trunk is heavy with gowns, not heavy artillery. I pick a dress and toss it aside, then grab another and throw it too.

  Eventually I find some garments for an outfit not too different from my everyday wear and a new pair of boots. At least there's that... at the very, very least. But now I really do want to cry. Because now it feels like I certainly could die.

  Maybe Davison feels the same way right now? Maybe I can find him at the party. He'll understand my frustrations, I know it.

  My legs shake, feeling weak as the mix of new emotions shake through me. I don't want to feel them. I didn't ask for them. So I turn them off as I sit still wet on the edge of my bed, gripping the dark violet hued gown. I let my body go numb until my mind goes blank and there isn't room for guilt, fear, or even the slightest bit of excitement, I shouldn't be allowed to feel.

  How did this get so overwhelming?

  Over the years, I've grown used to the press of leather against my skin. My clothes should be skin tight to keep from allowing an opponent to grab a hold of anything. In a way, the dress I'd finally slipped into feels somewhat similar. A smooth, pearly-pink, satin clings to my body like static, falling away at my hips to drape over my feet that I'd forced into some sparkling silver heels.

  Hedda laughs, wearing her own dark blue gown dotted in sparkling stones, with a few missing here and there. She is dressed like someone who comes from The Bend. Genovese had dressed me like royalty.

  "You look like a toddler learning how to walk."

  "I feel like a toddler learning how to walk. How are heels this high even useful?" I whine. Maybe I should slip back into my boots. Sure they don't go with the dress, but at least I'll be more comfortable.

  "Come on ladies!" Juilliard yells from our shared living space. Him and Marcello have been ready for nearly thirty minutes, occasionally prompting us to exit our room so we can all leave together.

  Their screaming had started about the time I realized that I didn't know how to do anything with my hair, or my face for that matter. The trunk provides more than dresses I don't want to wear, but also small compacts of makeup and ribbons for tying up my hair. Hedda emerged from the bathroom just in time to see me throw myself on the bed ready to give up and tell everyone I wasn't going.

  I would have stayed like that too if she hadn't yanked me up, still in her towel mind you, and propped me up at the small vanity outside the bathroom door. We didn't talk as she gathered my makeup and brushed it over my red swollen eyes and dabbed color to my lips. She'd left my hair down, ran a brush through it as it dried relatively straight. With skill and practice, she braided a thick gathering of hair near my face, tying it off with a pink ribbon to match the dress. It works well enough to keep my hair from my eyes, I guess.

  On multiple occasions I shrunk away from her touch. I’d lose myself in my head and forget what she was doing only to see a flash of her green skin in my peripheral and think she was trying to strike me. She never said a word about it, only sighed and went back to work.

  "Tonight we will have fun." Hedda doesn't just say it, she commands it, looking straight into my eyes as she grips my arms to steady me. "Here." She pulls a flask out of the cleavage of her chest and offers it to me. "Liquid courage."

  "I don't need courage," I press my lips together, even as I take the drink.

  "Yes, that's why you dissolved into a puddle on your bed and tried to wrinkle such a pretty dress as this."

  That's part of the issue. I don't want to wear a pretty dress like this. It doesn't feel like me. I don't look like me, I'm someone else pretending to be me. The Ghost would never wear a dress, especially not one that gives me limited range of movement. It does help that a slit runs up the length of the skirt, stopping mid-thigh. At least there's that. I'd been able to double strap my regular belt around the opposite thigh and hide both daggers. I can't breathe without the press of them on my body.

  Forcing my shoulders back, I tilt my head and let the chilled liquid in the flask worm down my throat and into my stomach. Liquid courage, she calls it. We'll see about that.

  "Okay, we really can't wait any long—” The door swings open and Marcello steps into the room. His attention jumps to me, to the flask, to Hedda, and finally back to me. His eyes drift down, lingering as his lips part on the words still caught in his throat.

  I hand Hedda back the flask. "We're ready, you don't have to barge right in." Gone is the nervous, unsure girl from moments ago.

  "Let's go," Marcello collects himself and adjusts his suit jacket. Often men in suits look much too... stuffy and old. Maybe it's just the style of suit that men in The Bend are able to get a hold of, because Marcello's outfit doesn't make him look stuffy and old at all. Navy pressed pants with the slightest hint of a checkered pattern in another shade of blue that shines with a matching jacket over a black dress shirt showing off his broad shoulders and lean waist.

  The only thing that makes him look truly proper is the very last buttons of his black shirt are done up all the way to his neck. The edge of my lip curls just looking at him. I take a step closer and trail a long nail up his buttons. My eyes tick up to his face. He lifts one brow, watching without speaking. Good. Quickly, I undo the top button.

  "You look like you have a stick shoved up your ass with it buttoned all the way up. You're an attractive man, that alone can be intimidating. Let them be intimidated." I say it quietly, inhaling deeply while I slip back into my veil of confidence.

  "And do you find me attractive?" He asks when Hedda slips around us to join Juilliard a few feet behind Marcello.

  I smile. Maybe for one night I can play his games. Maybe, when we go down to this party and we can be anyone we want to be for a few hours, I'll be that girl who flirts and has fun. I grip the lapels of his jacket and tug him a step closer, until our bodies only have an inch of space between us and we share our body heat.

  "Ask me again at the end of The Oasis Games." I let my lips brush against his ear as I speak. When I step away, I swear the hint of a blush touches his cheeks. As quick as I'd pulled him to me, I push him away and force whatever confidence I have into the sway of my walk.

  "Well shit, Nils, there was a whole ass woman underneath all that dirt and leather, huh?" Juilliard straightens from where he leans against the back of the couch in his own black suit and white shirt. Juilliard's left most of his shirt buttons undone, showing off his chest and an impressive number of gray tattoos. He gestures at himself, "Should I undo a few more of my buttons?"

  "If you undo any more buttons you'll be undoing your pants at this point." I cross my arms, the loose material of the draping neckline bunching across my forearms.

  "Well, we aren't done getting ready yet." Marcello softly closes the bedroom door, walking by our small group to some folding cloth on the edge of the table. He pinches a piece and holds it up.

  "Masks?" I ask, squinting at the lacy black thing with two small holes for eyes.

  "It's a masquerade so that way we won't know our opponents’ true faces until the Games begin." He hands one to Hedda and Juilliard but mine he keeps in his hands, looping his arms around me to help me put it on.

  I grab the thin piece of material, helping it over my face. Wh
en I can comfortably see through the slashes of the lace, I weave my fingers into my hair, lifting half of it up and allowing Marcello to tie it to me. I think about putting the mask on myself but the nearness of him makes me steady. He pauses once it's tied. He doesn't touch me, but I can feel how close he comes to doing so.

  "What are these from?" he asks and I know he means the scars that I can't hide in this thin slip of a dress. I turn in time to watch him slip his own mask on. If anything, the mask draws more attention to his already piercing silver gaze.

  "You don't get away with murder without earning a few scars of your own." Most of the scars, at least the deep gnarly looking ones, had come from the night that a Werewolf had surprised both Arron and I. It hadn't killed Arron, he was too stubborn to let that be the death of him. But I think it had shortened his lifespan, it wasn't long after that that he became too fragile to work and his body aches had made it much too hard to take any jobs.

  Marcello doesn't ask about the pinprick marks that Joss has left all over my skin. It leads me to wonder if Juilliard and him can smell Joss on me like Finnegan and Sloane had.

  "Now your outfit is complete," he concludes.

  If only the mask could cover the jagged scar over my mouth. Or the dress could hide the markings on my back. To Hybrids I'm sure they must look like marks of my own weakness and fragility. To me, they are my strength, evidence of everything that I'd survived.

  "May I?" Marcello offers his arm.

  I sigh dramatically. "If you really must."

  "Oh, I do." He grins, his smile grows even larger as I slip my arm into his.

  Juilliard grunts as Hedda doesn't wait for him to ask and grabs a hold of his arm. The pair follow us out into the hallway and down to the waiting elevator. Marcello pushes a button that glows yellow from his touch. Then we stand in silence together where we can hear the dull murmur of Hybrids in the open lobby below.

  My grip on Marcello is as gentle as I can offer, a light touch of a feather against his sturdy arm. Even cleaned up he still smells so strongly of peppermint and licorice. So damn sweet.

  As my patience for the elevator begins to disappear, I tap my toe against the ground. "Why must you insist we take this elevator when we could make it down a flight of stairs faster?"

  "No need to get ourselves all sweaty before the party even begins. I have a feeling we'll be sweating enough when the dancing starts up." Juilliard drawls in a humorless tone.

  "You dance?" I look over my shoulder.

  "How else do you think he gets any girls?" Marcello chuckles. "It isn't with his charm and good looks."

  "Of course I know how to dance," Juilliard says. "Dancing is the best way to know if the woman is a good lover or not. She has to be firm but loose. Follow your lead but have a mind of her own."

  The elevator doors finally ding and open up for us. My heels click as I enter, and Hedda's do too. For someone with such large feet, I'm surprised she was able to find a pair that fit correctly. Even if her heels are a different shade of blue that doesn’t truly match her dress.

  "So where did you get a dress as fine as this one?" Marcello fills the silence as we pass floor after floor.

  "You know you don't always have to talk," I quip.

  He hums and makes a show of locking his lips shut and throwing away an imaginary key. I smooth my hand over the dress. No one at this party will know that this isn't normal everyday attire for me. No one except Marcello, Juilliard, and Hedda. Plus Finnegan and Sloane, should they somehow eventually show up.

  Our short ride comes to a stop. The doors slide open, revealing a cluster of Hybrids waiting in the hall. They leave only enough space for us to make it through the crowd and to the open ballroom doors. Polished marble flooring sparkles under the thousands of lights hanging from the ceiling. Hybrids are gathered in clusters around the room.

  Everything is... big. Overdone, in my very own opinion. Tables are set around the large open dance floor filled with couples waltzing to sounds of the string quartet band at the head of the room. On each table is a vase nearly as tall as I am sprouting with feathering grasses and budding white flowers.

  Large platters, three times the normal size of a plate, are filled to the brim with a colorful hodgepodge of food. At this point, my stomach should be growling when I see the items displayed for me, but the longer I look the more confused I become. The food doesn't look like any food I recognize. One tray is what I would call a kabob of cupcakes? Another has some type of bread with a smear of something else on top of it with an unidentifiable meat and... is that supposed to be cheese?

  I shake my head and look away. All over the large room are balloons that if I pulled on the strings that keep them anchored down, I wouldn't be surprised if the balloon itself could carry me away. Everything in The Oasis is what we have in The Bend, but so much more. Bigger isn't always better.

  Every guest, as Marcello had suggested, has their faces covered in a mask. Some people’s masks are thick pieces of plastic shaped to look like animals; the beak of a bird or the snout of a pig. Some creatures are more similar to the type of mask that Marcello picked out for us, elegant pieces of fabric that tie into the concept of their outfits.

  I prefer the mask Marcello gave us. If he'd tried to put me into something with a face that reminds me of another Hybrid I'd probably have shattered it under my pointed heel.

  "Do you have your weapons on you?" Marcello leans into me and whispers. The way his nearness heats my skin makes me wish I could move closer to him.

  "Obviously." I turn my face just a fraction, knowing if I move any more that his lips will brush my skin.

  "Great." He stands. "Don't use them. Don't cause any sort of commotion."

  I scoff loudly. "As long as nobody touches me, I won't touch them."

  "If there's a night to be touching anybody, tonight is definitely the night. Just make sure it's a pleasurable experience." Marcello lifts a hand, stroking down the side of my cheek with his thumb before he tosses the bottom of his suit jacket behind him and tucks his hands into his pants pockets, walking away. With the absence of his touch, I realize how much I’d actually leaned into him.

  I crinkle my nose and blink heavily. Juilliard and him immediately strike up a conversation as they walk away. I watch their backs, wishing Marcello had asked me for a dance. Not that I would accept, but the offer would have been nice. Hedda long since disappeared into the crowd. What am I to do with myself now?

  The room smells like expensive perfume but the scent of the hors d’oeuvres set out on the arrangement of tables still cuts through it all. Even if the food doesn't look appetizing it smells absolutely amazing. I clasp my hands in front of me and walk calmly to one of the tables. A few other masked players pick at food as they talk to one another, I find a gap at a table with no one else about and fill it.

  Absently, I watch the people move across the dance floor as I reach down to pick up some of what I think is a small stack of various vegetables with a spread on top. It's served cold which somehow makes me more nervous about what I'm about to put in my mouth.

  The way the dresses fan out around the twirling bodies of Hybrids on the floor draws my attention once more. It's hypnotic in the circling patterns they create. I take a bite without thinking. There is a hint of that fresh vegetable taste I'm familiar with, but then my tastebuds are assaulted with an overwhelming amount of salt. Automatically, I drop the appetizer back onto the tray it came from and reach for a stack of napkins.

  I've swallowed many things I probably shouldn't, but there is no way this is going down the hatch. The napkin, I quickly realize, isn't disposable. Still, I spit out the small bite into the fabric, ball it up in my hand and toss it under the table where the tablecloth drapes all the way to the floor.

  "I could have told you that the appetizers are utterly disgusting."

  I spin around holding a hand to my mouth, the overpowering taste still lingering in the very worst way. My cheeks heat as I meet the brown eyed gaze of a ma
n. He isn't surprised to see me now, even if he can't see my ears.

  "Davison." I grin and drop my hand. "You look dashing." What's happening? I've never used the word dashing a day in my whole Saints damned life. It's true, though. He's dressed in his own Burgundy suit with a white undershirt and a skinny black tie.

  "Not hardly." He adjusts the solid red mask over his eyes. "You, on the other hand... I spotted you from across the room. You look like a goddess."

  Maybe he means it. Maybe he's saying it to flatter me. Either way, I'll take the compliment coming from him.

  "Thank you. I'm not used to wearing anything as nice as this. In The Bend I'd be lucky to even own a complete outfit without holes. You know what I mean?" I'm rambling, I can tell. "Now I'm here and everything is like, big and dramatic. Overly so. No one here is humble while everyone there is starving. I might starve here if all their food is anything like that bite I just tried."

  Davison lifts a brow, which I can't see from behind his mask, but a few wrinkles appear on his forehead, so I can imagine the motion. "Is that where you've been this whole time? In The Bend?"

  "Have you...have you been here, in The Oasis?"

  He nods once. "I wouldn't say my family is considered wealthy in The Oasis, but we've done well enough."

  "Your family?" I interrupt. "You have a family?"

  "Not anymore. They got sick a few years ago and I was the only one who survived it."

  "That's awful." And I should have realized that, he'd said before he had thought he was the last of the Humans. I'm even more embarrassed now and can't settle for any one place for my hands. With a small sigh I look out at the dance floor and clasp my hands in front of me.

  "Yes, it was. But I'm healed from it now." Davison plucks a couple tall skinny glasses off a tray from a man walking by him. He stretches an arm out to offer me one. "Here, these are plenty good."