Vengeance (The Prince's Games Book 1)

by Rebecca Grey

  Focus. Just focus.

  One stone, then the next. Occasionally, pebbles or dirt tumble from around my body, from the pressure of my weight against each stone. I keep moving. I keep shifting. Flat against the wall, every inhale and exhale is shallow. All I can smell is earth, wet and musky. It sits in my nose so heavily that I fear it's all I'll be able to smell for the rest of my life.

  If I can't get out of the damn hole then that very well could be true. For all of us.

  That thought propels me to move a little faster. I lift my leg. My toes find purchase. I reach higher, fingers brushing against jagged rock. All my weight fluctuates to one side, my balance slipping, my boot suddenly without the stone to hold it. I hardly hear the rock as it bounces off the wall to the depths below me over the sound of my pulse inside my ears.

  My fingers claw into the mud, the rock digging painfully into my palm. I take a steadying breath and look for something else to step onto. Above me there isn't much more to go. Below me there is forever to fall. And this time Marcello won't be able to protect me.

  A silent prayer moves my lips. A prayer for any Saint who listens. Saint Luck, Saint Courage, Saint Strength, Saint whoever-the-fuck can help me up this wall.

  Hybrids shriek somewhere above me. Not the crowd this time. Dust and pebbles rain down on me, a cloud of ash forming in the air. Another team has fallen. A second after that, another chorus of screams breaks out as another team falls too.

  Haze in the air makes my throat dry. I choke on my next breath, trying to climb a little further. Dirt clings to my skin, gritty like sand. I blink it away, my eyes watering as I force them open, despite the way they sting from the debris.

  "Almost there, Nilsa!" Hedda calls from below. Her large palms slapping together as she cheers me on.

  I reach again and the wall... ends. My fingers curl into the ground, creating purchase where there wasn't any before. Rows of Hybrids come into view. A camera hovering a few feet away catches the view of my face as I pull myself out of the hole.

  A gasp travels like a wave over the crowd. The camera zooms a little closer. My once black outfit is coated so heavily in soot and soil it's turning brown. I groan as my ribcage scrapes against the edge. My boots push off of anything and everything. Clumps of mud rain down on my team as I kick the last final foot to freedom.

  Trembles shake out my taunt muscles as I feel the ground below, curling and uncurling my fingers to be sure that it's still there. Around me every other team has fallen... or won? I can't really be sure, but all I know is that all the platforms that have once held us are gone.

  Marcello's rope is prickly with splinters that jab through the material of my pants and reminds me that it's there. That I should be moving. With panting breaths, I unwind the rope from my belt, only to tie one end around my waist with several knots.

  "Here comes the rope!" I shout, my voice strained. Standing, I edge toward the hole and look down. From this height my team looks small. But I know I'll have to hold someone's weight as they follow after me, and they won't feel small then.

  The rope bounces against the wall as it lowers and lowers and lowers some more. I back up from the edge. Digging my heels into the dirt, I hope they don't try to send Hedda up first.

  Weight on the rope tries to tug me forward. The pressure digs the loop around my hips and into my skin. My face scrunches as I close my eyes and cling to the rope. Shards of the splintery material embed in my skin. Movement travels up the rope and into my body, trying to drag me down with every inch my teammates climb.

  Sloane's blonde ponytail appears at the lip in a matter of seconds. Cheers erupt through the arena. She rolls over the ledge jumping up and gathering a length of rope in her hands too. I relax, with her strength to help hold me in place and support the weight of the others as they scurry up.

  Finnegan, then, Hedda, and lastly Marcello with Juilliard wrapped tightly around his shoulders like a little backpack. I'd snort at the sight if my entire sinuses weren't filled with a dusting of soil.

  Juilliard lets out a deep bellow as Marcello pulls them both up with help from Finnegan and Hedda. His leg is tousled as they help prop him up to standing. When I do a quick scan to make sure my whole team is up, I sigh and undo the rope, letting it drop at my feet.

  Marcello steadies Juilliard before jogging to peer down at the next team. Intrigued by his curiosity, I follow closely behind. Just like our own pit of despair, it's dark the farther down the hole goes. But the Vampire, Calik, is starting to make his own way up the wall using two long picks. A rope is already tied around him, dangling down to the group that waits below.

  Mavi's and Jefferson's stares snap up to our faces. Jefferson's face quickly becomes a mask of indifference while Mavi’s turns a dark shade of purple. His head might just pop right off his broad shoulders if he isn't careful.

  "How's it going down there?" Marcello taunts. I raise my eyebrows surprised. He glances at me. "What? I just want to fuck with them."

  "Well, I'm not going to tell you to stop."

  "Good. Because I wouldn't if you did."

  Footfalls approach behind us, Finnegan appearing at my other side. His bow and quiver are strung over his back again and he points his hand to the exit of the arena. "The door is open. We've completed our task. We may leave."

  "Finnegan," Marcello doesn't look away from Mavi's stare. "Loose an arrow for me."

  The Vampires red eyes shift. He pulls the bow off his shoulder and tucks into place. "Where to?"

  "What, are we picking them off now?" I'm both excited and full of dread all at once. "Get rid of the whole team."

  Marcello shakes his head. "Shoot their rope."

  I want to argue for more. I want to snatch the bow out of his hands and aim straight for both Elves at the bottom of the pit. Flying through the air the moment the command left the Elf's lips, the arrow whistles. The head snips through the rope like a pair of scissors and it snakes back to the ground below.

  "Marcello!" Jefferson barks.

  With speed a knife flies through the air. I miss the action of his arm throwing, but I don't miss the shine of the blade as it spins. I move. Call it muscle memory, call it reflexes, call it blessings from Saint Luck himself, I reach out as I try to catch the weapon. The hilt and the power of the throw would have landed safely into the palm of my hand, but Marcello's dark skin is a flash before me. The hilt settled in his own hand.

  "I would—” My words catch in my throat. The knife meant for me dangles in his fingers. But the knife, the one that I didn’t even know was thrown, the one meant for him, is buried in his thigh. "I would have caught that," I finish weakly.

  "I was aiming for your dick, asshole!" Jefferson hollers.

  "Next time," Marcello hands me the knife meant for me, then grips the knife in his thigh. "Aim for my heart you fucking idiot!" He yanks the blade from his leg.

  From behind us Juilliard shouts, "No! You should have left it, now you'll be bleeding all over the damn place."

  Marcello frowns. Then holds up the bloody knife for the Elves below to see. "I'm keeping these knives." He looks at me, still talking loud enough for them to hear. "Nilsa, take the rope and offer it to the team on the other side of us."

  "Oh, so now we're suddenly okay with helping the other teams?" Not when I'd wanted to. When I'd actually been compelled to do something nice for the first fucking time in a long time, he'd said no.

  "Just do it." Marcello spins on his heel and begins limping away.

  "I don't like to be told what to do." I catch up to him.

  "I just saved your life." He scoffs, giving me an amused smile, even though blood gushes from his leg with every uneven step.

  "I was about to save my own damn life. You think I need you to do that for me?"

  "Sometimes, yeah, yes I do."

  "You're ridiculous," I say dryly, walking away. Sloane and Juilliard, who leans heavily on her, make their way to the exit. Hedda stands where she was earlier, looking between them and us. Slow
ly, she bends and gathers the rope, handing it to me as I pass.

  "I think this is a nice thing to do, Nilsa. Even if Marcello only means for it to upset the other team." She holds out the bundle of rope.

  "Since when are we supposed to care about the other team's feelings?" A taste of annoyance stains every odd feeling that's hung between Marcello and I today. "Doesn’t he know I’m dangerous? I had it handled. I'm not a damsel in distress that he needs to save. I'm not some lackey here to do his dirty work either.”

  Stomping forward, I chew the inside of my lip to keep myself from the coy smile that wants to entertain the darkness.

  The tip of my toes reach the edge of the pit on the other side of ours. Wide frightened eyes look up. Mud clings to their fingers and their shoes. Deep cutting streaks of claws mark the walls, their struggle to climb out.

  The ache in my arms and down my back reminds me of my own climb as I lift up the dagger that Jefferson had thrown. Below me the mostly female team stills. The one single male, Washington, steps in front of one of them. A camera buzzes next to me.

  In their seats, the crowd leans forward. They wait. They watch. What's the Human going to do? Who's she going to kill?

  I turn my head and look into the camera. All of them, I want to say, I'm going to kill all of them. Just not yet.

  Light glints off the sharpened blade. My shoulders protest, but I raise my arms over my head, bringing the weapon down in a flash of all my frustration, all of my tension. I bury it to the hilt.

  Holding up the rope, I flash them a smile. And it feels...genuine. "Need some help?" My eyes search and find the girl who'd waited for Noor, the only one who hasn't shied away. "Since I couldn't help Noor before."

  I lower, kneeling next to the blade. Red dots my hands, sensitive skin that only throbs the more I fiddle with the rough rope. I tie a knot I know won't slip on its own accord and toss the rope down into the hole. As it falls, a tightness in my chest loosens with it.

  I don't stay to see if they use the rope. Nor do I hang around to watch them reach the top. I've done all I can or am willing to do. Every step I take away from the pit, toward Hedda who waits, toward the Elf whose back is turned to me as he limps down the hall to the Safe Haven, the murmurs of the crowd follow.

  Their gazes searing across my skin give me life. I turn toward the thrones. King Caspar and Queen Aradel sit stone faced and stiffer than someone with a metal pole up their ass. Opening both my arms out to my side, I bow low. A mocking curtsey.

  "You haven't killed me yet!" I shout. "How much money have you lost on my life?" Pressing my fingers to my lips, I blow him a kiss that ends in my middle finger pointed toward the crown. I'm the queen now, fuckers. I rule your emotions. I'm taking over all of your thoughts.

  Grubby green fingers tighten against my wrist. Hedda snatches my gestures right out of the air with some mixture of a laugh and a snarl at the same time. I shuffle through the dirt following behind her.

  "Am I putting on a show for you now?" I point my free finger at the king, dragging it out to point a finger at the crowd. They'll really be entertained when I perform the greatest act of my life and kill the king.

  A shadow falls over us as we reach the tunnel out of the arena. But before I lose sight of King Caspar, his lips twitch into a smile.

  #1 TEAM MARCRUX:

  Thomos - Male, Orc

  Lachlan - Male, Elf

  India - Female, Elf

  Rafferty - Male, Dwarf

  Costello - Male, Orc

  Danisha – Female, Dryad

  #2 TEAM RIVERIA:

  Lux - Female, Elf

  Alastar - Male, Darf

  Amory - Female, Orc

  Credence - Male, Elf

  Rumi - Female, Orc

  Bullie – Female Vampire

  #3 TEAM ASHFORD:

  Mavi – Male, Elf

  Davison – Male, Human - DECEASED

  Rake – Male, Saytr

  Calik – Male, Vampire

  Dakota – Male, Werewolf

  Jefferson – Male, Elf

  #4 TEAM WINDSOR:

  Nilsa – Female, Human

  Juilliard – Male, Elf

  Marcello – Male, Elf

  Finnegan - Male, Vampire

  Sloane – Female, Vampire

  Hedda - Female, Orc

  #5 TEAM CUTTINGTON:

  Bekke – Female, Elf

  Isla – Female, Vampire

  Orchid – Female, Vampire

  Winona – Female, Dryad

  Noor – Female, Werewolf - DECEASED

  Washington – Male, Faun

  In the blinding lights of the Safe Haven, I still don't feel safe. The entire warehouse sized room is quiet except for the babble of the running river. Hedda drops my hand the moment we're in.

  We're the first team in, and maybe it's only because we had been the first team to fail the dart toss none of us were ever meant to win. The true challenge, the real event, had been to fall, survive, and escape the black pit of mud. A trial made for my own very particular skill set.

  My feet move even without me thinking where exactly I'm going. I float from tent to tent, feeling lighter than I had before we went into that arena today. I only blink when I'm stopped standing outside the large white medical tent listening to Juilliard’s string of curses.

  "Don't just stand outside the tent, Nilsa." Sloane calls. "I can smell you out there. Come in here and help Marcello while I get Juilliard set."

  My body jolts at her words, my mind far away, lost in thoughts of murder and salvation. The edges of the tent's entrance are stained with bloody handprints and dirt. My fingers do it no favors with the collection of mud under my fingernails. I pull the flap away and step inside.

  Marcello lays across a cot with a large towel pressed against his leg. Crimson soaks through the material. I'm moving, silently, quickly, knowing Marcello's half hooded eyes stay on my skin. Shouldn't he be watching his friend writhing in pain? Maybe that's too much for him. Maybe I'm just the distraction.

  I'd rather be the distraction. Holding his attention for a moment, knowing that I won't be his focus for too long quiets the half of me that still hates him.

  Juilliard holds two long planks of wood against his leg. Sloane had moved quickly, the broken skin already pulled tightly back together with stitches. I'll have to revisit mine after today's fall. The Vampire wraps the wood tightly to his leg.

  The mattress of the cot dips as I sit on its edge. Marcello narrows his attention on the supplies in my hand.

  "You're going to put stitches in me?"

  "I've stitched myself up a time or two. Plus, I know the discomfort you're about to feel and the thought that I'll get to be the cause of it is too enticing to pass up," I say it softly.

  "Are you going to undress me too?" His forehead wrinkles, amusement settling in his features.

  "Stop," Juilliard groans, doubling forward to glare at us. "I'm in enough pain, I don't need to listen to the two of you flirt while you pretend like you hate each other."

  "I don't hate Nilsa." Marcello smiles at his friend.

  "She hates you," Juilliard says, falling back onto his back. Sloane snorts at his side, finishing up the wrapping. "We're in the middle of the deadliest event in The Oasis and neither of you are taking this seriously."

  Marcello blinks. "I am too."

  My spine stiffens. Maybe I'm a little offended too. "Are you kidding me? I took this seriously when I climbed six fucking stories worth of mud and rock to save your ass today."

  "You're just playing with the king to offend him," Juilliard sighs. Sloane pats his shoulder gently and turns to leave. His long skinny fingers wrap around her wrist. "Please don't leave me alone with these two."

  "Juilliard," I scold. Nothing's even happening, I'm going to stitch up Marcello's leg. Even as I think about it, I can feel something thick in the air between Marcello and I. It's just the tension of the Games though, right? Is this forbidden attraction that obvious? I'm just a game to h
im, I try to remind myself.

  "Sorry," Sloane whispers, slipping out of his hold and floating with Immortal grace right out of the tent.

  Juilliard half moans, half whines as he collapses back on the cot and stares up at the white ceiling. He folds his arms across his chest with a pout. "I'm stuck here for a while so my bone can set and heal." He whispers and I'm not entirely sure he's actually talking to us, because it sounds much more like he's busy feeling sorry for himself.

  "Alright. Take off your pants." I pluck the towel from Marcello's lap, enjoying Juilliard's loud sigh that follows.

  The muscles in Marcello's shirt bulge as he presses his palms into the cot and slips off the side. A curl, dusted with dirt, falls across his forehead. His hips lean into the bed as he reaches for his buckle. Gold plated fastenings highlight the leanness of his waist, pulling my eyes down. Greedily, I watch.

  I glance up, returning his gaze and sly tilted smile. Heat flames across my face, caught in the act of ogling. Even the embarrassment sparks a fire inside of me.

  The open belt buckle jingles as he pushes his pants down his legs and steps out of them. I want to hold his stare, let him know that I'm not tempted by him when I know I am. Still I betray myself as my gaze falls down below the band of his undershorts. In his next life Marcello could be a Saint with his heartbreaking good looks. The Saint of Temptations. Because he's more of a temptation to me than the money by the door.

  Below the dark leather pants are white loose boxer shorts. And an outline. An impressive outline.

  Marcello clears his throat and edges back onto the cot. My attention flicks down to my hands, to the needle and wire I'll use to close up the wound. Damn, the wound, I hadn't even looked at it since I was so busy cock-gazing. Something's wrong with me. Something was wrong with me the moment I met him and that something became far worse today when I'd fallen and landed in his arms. I'd felt something. I can't remember the last time I really truly felt something I could grab a hold of. Something that seems concrete.

  Feelings can be deceptive though. Because whatever is between us... it can't and won't last.