Vengeance (The Prince's Games Book 1)

by Rebecca Grey

  The Vampire chuckles. "Yes. I am familiar with the feeling of both bites that are given with little to no malicious intent," he traces a finger over my neck where the evidence of Joss and I's relationship is scarred. "Like these. Given in a sexual manner."

  Marcello's eyes snap up to my face and I stare back. I won't be ashamed. I won't. But something softens in his gaze when Finnegan continues.

  "The marks on her wrist were taken forcefully, without her consent," he concludes.

  "How do you know?" I ask.

  Without a sound Sloane is up from the couch and slithering up to her partner’s side. She looks down at my wrist with a blank expression. Finnegan smiles gently at her.

  "Call it Vampire intuition." His wife finally says. "Who did this to you? We're a team now, so your wounds are ours too."

  I snort at that. Clearly, we are not a team.

  "Nils, what happened?" Marcello whispers.

  "I got in the elevator to return to my room. Ran into your dearest friend Mavi after I booted a rude little Dwarf out of my spot."

  "You can't just kick someone off the elevator so that you can ride it."

  "Marcello," I growl his name, making his shoulders pull back. "They pushed me away first. That spot was mine."

  "Well sometimes it's better if you just stay silent," he urges, wrinkles forming on his tan forehead.

  "You're wrong. If I'm always silent they'll continue to do what is wrong. I have to say something, do something. And I'm tired of letting Hybrids get away with treating me like that."

  "I don't think you should always be quiet." He pauses to watch as Finnegan and Sloane excuse themselves to their room. Hedda still waits silently in the doorway. "Think of it more like biding your time. You can kill them all off tomorrow if you wish. Mavi too, for all I care." Marcello scrubs at his face. "Eat, drink, then get to bed."

  I hold myself in place. "Is that an order?"

  Marcello turns away, speaking only over his shoulder. "Yes."

  I stand still as I watch him retreat into his room where Juilliard is likely sulking. Suddenly, I don't feel like eating or drinking anymore, even if I know it will make me feel better faster. My stomach is heavy like lead and the anticipation of the following day is building up tight in my chest, locked inside me without a key. I drag my attention to Hedda.

  "I'll knock Juilliard a good one tomorrow. He had no right to scream at you like that. He didn't even ask what happened first." She straightens. She's changed out of her formal wear and into a ragged set of pajamas. The strands of her white hair are slicked back, gathered into a loose ponytail behind her.

  Ignoring Marcello's 'order', I shuffle forward. Hedda moves so I can enter our shared room. I turn, giving her my back and staring out into the now empty living area.

  "Can you undo the bindings of my dress?" I ask, softly.

  She nods, fiddling with the fabric behind me. I reach for the knob as she starts to speak again. "I've heard that Humans heal rather slowly. When will the marks be healed?"

  I shrug as the dress loosens and starts to slip down my shoulders. With a gentle nudge, our door swings shut. "I don't know. It'll be scabbed over by tomorrow and the scab will fall off maybe a day or so after that."

  "Will the scab hurt?"

  Hedda's questions are persistent. Not to mention so utterly basic you'd think she'd have the slightest clue as to what the answer will be, but every time I respond she only acts more surprised. She badgers me with her inquiries. What happens when the scab falls off? If I cut your finger off will it grow back? Would your finger scab too? What about if I cut off a limb? Begrudgingly, I answer until I slip under the covers of my bed. My head throbs and my vision feels unfocused. Even as she continues to whisper questions, I pull the covers up over my head and think about what’s to come in the morning.

  All the teams gather in the same room where we'd partied together last night. The atmosphere is much different now, though. Everyone huddles with their team, sending curious and cutting glances at anyone that dares make eye contact. The large balloons, banners, and glistening decor that had once lit up the entire ballroom have all been taken down. The room is now bare.

  Any tables we could sit at while we wait have also been removed, forcing us all to stand as the announcer, dressed today in a vivid orange shirt and matching pair of trousers, speaks quietly to some sort of staff member in the corner. I watch him more than I watch anyone else. Every time he opens his mouth I'm certain it'll be to tell us all to fight to our deaths. Fists only, of course.

  Buried in the chest, I was able to find myself some fitted pants made from a material I've never worn before. Black breathable fabric, with an easy stretch, forms to my muscular legs, tucked into the top of a new pair of boots. Even the maroon shirt I'd found allows plenty of airflow while still covering all of my skin. I pat the painfully empty belt along my waist, wishing for the comfort of my daggers.

  "You'll get them back," Marcello says softly. "You can't have them for this event, but they'll count them as your one item for the entire Games, and they'll be in our camp when we get there."

  "One item?" I arch a brow.

  "We can each bring one item into the Games. Not for the first event, but for all the ones after."

  "And what did you all bring?" I look to the group, pulling their attention from other corners of the room back to me. With every breath the room smells salty. As nerves and excitement rise, every team sweats in anticipation. Including my own.

  There is a sheen across Marcello's forehead. He folds his arms over his broad chest, making the leather over his body squeak. He blinks slowly before he responds. "Rope."

  "You're going to kill someone with rope?" I snort. "What are you going to do? Set a trap and hope they hang themselves in it? Saints. What about you?" I point to the rest of the group.

  Hedda answers first. "My gun. Obviously."

  "Axe," Sloane grins.

  "Bow and arrow set." Finnegan leans into his wife. Neither of them are in the excessively formal attire I’ve seen them in thus far. No, they've traded the luxurious outfits for brown colored pants and skin tight black tops. Sloane's long blonde hair is pulled back in a smooth tight ponytail that dangles from the top of her head. Together they look just as dangerous as the stories Marcello told. They look at me when they talk, but not really. Their eyes are everywhere, bouncing from face to face and door to door.

  I shift to look at Juilliard who watches the announcer without a word. "What about you? Bring a life preserver in case we need to swim?"

  Juilliard looks to me, but doesn't answer. He mocks Marcello's pose and crosses his arms. Tension cords in his jaw as he stubbornly watches me back.

  "Are you not talking to me now? Is this supposed to be a punishment or something?" I say under my breath. In the back of my mind I'm reminded of the dose of embarrassment last night had given me. I push it down and force myself not to think about it.

  "You spit on me." He scowls.

  "You didn't believe me when I said that I didn't ask to get my blood sucked from my body. And you threatened to punch me!"

  "As if you wouldn't have hit me back." Juilliard rolls his eyes.

  "Stop," Marcello groans, drawing the word out.

  It's too late for his warning though. Other teams have turned at the sound of our bickering and are watching, as if we're about to be their prey. With a wave of his hand, Marcello ignores their lingering stares.

  "We keep Nilsa close." Marcello lowers his voice, making our team step and lean in a little closer. "When that wall lifts and the Games begin, not only are the other teams looking for an easy target, but after your," he narrows his gaze on me, "little spat with the king, I don't doubt that he has found a way to make this particularly hard on you. On all of us. We all go into this together alive. We all come out together alive. Deal?"

  "You don't need to babysit me." My mouth falls open. I'm astonished that he is even suggesting it.

  "Shut up for once, Nilsa." Marcello sighs. "Hy
brids go into this game and never leave the arena. I'm taking a chance on you, Human. So, as I said... We go into this together alive. We all come out together alive. Deal? Or should I run you through with my sword right now and get it out of the way?"

  "Today would be as good of a day to die as any other, I suppose." I drawl, though I’m not able to hide the surprise on my face from him saying something so brash. Marcello usually only speaks to me in innuendos, not like this. “And don’t you mean hang me with your rope?”

  "Just be fucking serious for once," Juilliard interjects, leveling me with his own annoyance.

  "I am being serious." I smile widely. "But I guess I can agree to not die today. I don't really plan on it, even if the king and everyone else has it out for me. Even if some of those people are on my own team.” My smile falls and I purse my lips. Juilliard holds my heavy glare.

  "I'll forget about last night if you will." He drops his hands to his side, his fingers curling into fists.

  "What, I don't get an apology first?" I feign offense.

  Speakers crackle behind me before he can respond. The announcer clears his throat and the crowd grows suddenly silent. I let my gaze linger on Juilliard for only a moment longer before I turn to watch the Elf on stage smile toward us all. A buzzing grows over my skin, every inch of me numb and tingling all at once.

  "Just call a truce, damnit," Marcello whispers harshly. “It’s just one week that we have to make it through. One week.”

  Juilliard juts out his hand. "We go in alive together. We come out alive together."

  I purse my lips but take his hand in mine. We shake once and quickly pull away, listening as the announcer’s voice resounds inside of the large room.

  "Welcome teams! The day has finally come and here we stand at the beginning of The Oasis Games. Somewhere amongst this crowd is the prince." He claps his gloved hands together wildly. Gazes start darting around the room landing on each Elf participating, as if we'd all forgotten that somewhere royalty is playing too.

  The announcer takes a deep breath and continues, "When this wall lifts, the arena will be open. We ask that you step up to the red start line while you get your first short glimpse at the event. With the crowd in attendance I will announce each team before explaining today's task at hand. When the horn is blown the event will begin. Remember, once the event is started there are no rules against foul play, in fact, it is encouraged!" He winks. "The audience loves it. Do we understand?"

  In unison, different versions of 'yes' are murmured across the room. The sounds reminding me of the distant rumble of thunder. An ominous sign that the true storm is finally coming.

  "Once the event has been completed, you'll make your way through a small hallway where we ask that you wave into the camera for the crowd before finally making it to your first Safe Haven for the night. Foul play is... frowned upon in the Safe Haven."

  I look to Marcello. "But it's technically not a rule."

  Marcello smirks. "Exactly."

  I know on the outside that I look calm, but nerves boil inside of my stomach. I slouch into a lazy but confident stance, waiting as the announcer grabs the large metal lever that will make the wall behind him rise. Today's the day, I tell myself, let's show them what we've got.

  The wall rises and the silence that once captured the room disappears as the roar of the crowd in the arena fills every nook and cranny. Even the space inside of my head. The volume of their screams creates a vibration that travels through the polished floors and up the soles of my shoes until I can feel it rattle my bones.

  The polished floors dissolve to dust and there isn't much to be seen at first, not with the start of the narrow hall that leads us out into whatever awaits us today. A pitch-black walk ends in the pinpoint of light and screeching fans. All of whom are surely betting on me losing.

  As a group we shuffle forward, following the other Hybrids to our very first event. The moment my boots hit the dirt a film of dust covers them and my pants. Clouds of dirt fill the air, kicked up from the unit of creatures moving forward, it clots inside my lungs. Taking short breaths, I refuse to cough or choke on the dust, even as it scratches down my throat.

  The cheers grow louder as we enter the room, spiking the moment the first of the competitors enter the light. I leave the long hallway with my teammates beside and behind me, squinting into the fluorescent glow. Half of me wants to find the king and keep him in my sights. Still, I know my biggest worry should be the Games ahead.

  In my peripheral, the crowd is a blur of movement that I refuse to focus on. All of me is trained on the mass of green ahead. Like a hedge made of static and grass, walls rise up in the middle of the floor where we'd once spread out the day before. The nearness of the first wall, with five large openings for entrances, forces us to walk along the back side of the arena, lining up behind the red line painted in the dirt, just as the announcer had asked.

  Even as I'm aware of how the green walls ripple with movement, all I can focus on are the entrances. Five, I count again, all of which are blocked by a chained and snarling beast. The tail of a lion flicks at its backside, four legs that end in large mammoth-sized fists hold its body up where the head of a ram with curling horns snarls with a rabid froth coating its sharp teeth. Not a Hybrid but a creature of myth and legend, too much of a beast to hold class even in The Oasis. They roar, pulling at their chains as they watch us approach. Every snap of their jaws is louder than the spectators around us.

  I come to a stop at the line, standing on my tiptoes for even the slightest glance around our very first trial. Without turning, I talk out of the side of my mouth toward Marcello. Behind us, the gold elevator carries the announcer up to the balcony he'll watch from, giving us only a few moments to take in what we can.

  "Can you see anything beyond the creature? What is that creature?" I ask. Other teams murmur similar things.

  "The wall rises too high, the creature too wide to see anything beyond, other than the start and end of a hall behind it. I think it's some version of a Criosphinx. We should be thankful these do not have wings and cannot pick us off from above." His voice is rough, a clear pallor falling over his normally tanned skin.

  Speakers from every corner of the room crackle again as the announcer presses his microphone into his lips. "Welcome to the first day of The Oasis Games! After just four events, we will find out if our next king is worthy of the crown and his face will finally be revealed to all!"

  "Randrend! Randrend! Randrend!" The royal surname. The crowd chants it, and every Elf on the arena floor puffs their chest, Marcello and Juilliard included. Few know who the prince is, still, every Elf here will pretend as if the name prince belongs to them, to encourage the crowd to back them during the game.

  "I'd like to welcome the teams in order as they stand before you. Starting from my right." The announcer motions down to the floor below him. I glance to my left, we're the fourth team over.

  "Team Marcrux!" His voice booms over the speakers.

  The first team stands tall, waving frantically to the crowd. I take time to examine them, familiar with a few of their faces from watching the crowd before. Four males, two Orcs, an Elf, and a Dwarf. My eyes narrow, it’s the same fucking Dwarf that I'd kicked off the elevator yesterday! I huff out a harsh breath. I could punt that little bastard right into the mouth of the Criosphinx, happily. Two females, a Dryad looking woman whose skin is tinted a soft hue of blue with white smoke for hair, and another Elf woman.

  He continues announcing each competitor by name, first name only, as to keep the identity of the prince a secret. "Thomos, male, Orcs" The green skinned man with short patchy gray hair steps forward, bowing at the waist. His muscles are so large, when he moves he threatens to burst through the material of his shirt.

  "Lachlan, male, Elf." Thomos steps back allowing for Lachlan, a tall slender man with large oval glasses secured to his face to drop into his own bow. Long strands of his brown hair fall over his shoulders but stay out of his face from
where it secured half up behind him.

  "India, female, Elf." With eyes as dark as night and skin to match, the female steps up. Red is smeared up over her cheeks like war paint. Long braids are secured behind her in a ponytail that sways as she lowers to a curtsey. I survey the muscular build of her arms, certain that she knows how to weld a weapon well.

  "Rafferty, male, Dwarf." That fucking little gremlin, I seethe. The small man steps forward, his red beard and long hair neatly combed. His large round nose is the main focus of his face underneath the metal cap he wears on his head. Other Dwarfs wear similar attire, some cultural thing I've yet to care enough about to learn, I'm sure.

  "Costello, male, Orc." Rafferty is hidden all together as his teammate steps in front of him. Costello is a boulder of a man, rounded out with a thick layer of fat over whatever muscle he holds. He's a few shades darker than Thomos and has auburn hair that only sprouts from one tuft in the center of his mostly bald head.

  "Lastly, on team Marcrux, Danisha, female, Dryad." Danisha is a slender wisp of a woman. Her figure alone is hazy like smoke. She twinkles like a mirage, a small haze of steam rising off of her creamy moon colored skin. White hair flows behind her in a phantom wind, her eyes large and black like a vacuum that sucked up every bit of light.

  Chains rattle in front of us. The Criosphinx at our entrance huffing out a cloud of air as he strains toward us. His bindings groan, but keep a hold of him. But for how long?

  "Team Riveria." Team two is announced, they wave with the same enthusiasm team one had offered. I'm not sure I can give half as much when our name is called.

  All I can do is focus on the Criosphinx as I think about all the different ways I want to end it. I think about running my blade through the bottom side of its jaw, or slicing it across the curve of its long throat. My fingers dance at my side and suddenly I'm blinking, remembering that neither I or anybody else here has anything but fists and brute strength to get them through.

  The Criosphinx snaps its jaw again and again, barring its sharp teeth like a rabid dog. I stare back, the announcer's voice is only a distant buzzing in my ears.