Vengeance (The Prince's Games Book 1)

by Rebecca Grey

  So I turn to his wound. The deep red gouge no longer bleeds profusely, in fact the muscle underneath already looks to be knitting back together quite well. It must be nice to have Immortal blood flowing through your veins, even if only for this one reason.

  I ready the needle, running the wire through the eye. Keeping it between two fingers, pointed edge up, I nudge the skin back together. Marcello holds perfectly still, but his fingers curl into his palms. Flipping the needle in my fingers, I sink the point through one side and out the other.

  With a quick glance, I catch Marcello taking a deep breath in and hold it. He doesn't look down at me or at the wound, only staring straight ahead. His tongue darts out to moisten his lips.

  "Can you feel the tension between us?" he rasps, clearly trying to distract himself from the discomfort.

  "You mean the tension of the sutures as I sew you back up?" I chuckle softly under my breath.

  "No. I mean the sexual tension." His voice is a little stronger now. A tight smile is a shadow on his lips. Juilliard whines next to us and we both ignore him.

  "You’re not my type."

  "What is your type? Vampires? Blondes?"

  I shove the needle into his skin with more force than necessary. Marcello's muscles tense, but he stays quiet. I breathe slowly, trying to keep my pulse from racing. He's just playing with you Nilsa.

  "I like rough creatures, ragged at the edges. Not prim and proper supposed gentlemen from The Oasis."

  "And why is that?" He draws his hands into his lap, folding them against him. My eyes want to follow, for a moment they do, until I shove the needle back out of his flesh and pull the sutures tight. I may be able to effectively close the wound, but these aren’t near as neat as Juilliard's.

  "You're too nice."

  Juilliard scoffs and Marcello's head falls back as he laughs. The noise shakes through his body, humming against my fingertips and traveling up my arm like a trail of goosebumps.

  "Everything about you is sharp edges and flying fists. You're so aggressive." His voice turns to velvet. "So when you're ready, I'm going to touch you softly. I'm going to be gentle with you. Oh, Nilsa, I don't want you to scream when I touch you...I want you to purr."

  My fingers go utterly still. What had felt like a warming fire inside my core moments ago lights to a full-fledged inferno that's burning up every inch of my body. I cross my feet at my ankles, trying to hide the way my thighs clench together and my body becomes eager.

  I don't like soft touches. What is this lovemaking he is describing? It's not for me. I want to feel pain. Marcello, he what? Wants to caress me? Wants to hold me?

  Finishing the small incision, I close the sutures and set the needle down. I walk carefully and calmly to the arrangement of tools, picking up scissors. As I wander back to his cot, I can't meet his eye.

  Juilliard's arms have fallen to either side of him in a dramatic pose that suggests if we continue in this way he'll be likely to fall over dead. Torturing him would be fun if Marcello wasn't also torturing me.

  Marcello Torres and I can never be, I remind myself. Marcello Torres is a lying Elf who only came into your life so that he could use you to get through the Games. This thing between us, this living, breathing, almost tangible thing might wreck me. It's not the same meaningless arrangement I have with Joss.

  No, what's alive and connecting us now, this feels vulnerable. It's scary. I'm scared of it, I realize.

  I want to hate the man. I want to only think of his death and spilling his blood at my feet. But somewhere between his flirty comments, passing touches, and faith in me... I've started to fall. And it's a descent to my demise if I don't shut the feelings down now.

  "Do you have nothing to say?" Marcello's dark curls stretch to one side as he tilts his head.

  "Marcello," I say sternly, cutting the excess wire. "You don't want me for any other reason than to have something to fuck while you're here."

  He hums. "You really think that?"

  "I know that."

  "Do you think that you know me so well?" He watches me as I gather up a clean cloth to clean up the bloody mess on his leg. "Remember when you said you didn't think we should spend time alone together any longer? Remember our time on the rooftop?"

  "Obviously." I brush the cloth in circles over the blood staining his skin. It catches the hairs on his legs and swirls them into new curls.

  "Why did you say that?"

  I force my gaze to meet him. Train my features into neutrality. "Because if we're ever alone again, I'll kill you."

  He shows off all of his bright white teeth in a dazzling smile. My breath hitches in my chest at the sight. I set the cloth in my lap, waiting for him to respond. Both of his dimples make an appearance.

  "I'd happily let you kill me if only you'll admit first that you like me. That we have chemistry."

  Then I'm up. Standing and needing to find something to do to get me out of this conversation. Panic bubbles up my throat, burning like acid. I toss the damp cloth down on the cot, gather up Marcello's pants and toss them into his chest.

  He catches them, holding them against him and letting out a loud huff of air. I want him to hurt. More importantly, I want him to not be able to hurt me.

  Every shield I've ever built around myself feels like it's so close to falling when I am around him. My brain is foggy and I act foolishly. Marcello Torres makes me stupid in a way I can't even explain.

  My mentality shifts dangerously, and it's the worst thing about me, I think. When the mood strikes me as it so often does, I'll say whatever I can to hurt them. Whatever I need to push them away before they get too close. It's the worst defense I have, and harsh words are already forming on the back of my lips.

  "Why would I ever want to be with you? I don't want to end up like your last girlfriend while you were too busy living so far up your father's ass you couldn't even save her. Loving you is a death sentence," I say through clenched teeth.

  Marcello's features turn dark. The silver in his eyes burns to a stark white. He doesn't move, every muscle still as a statue. Juilliard, on the other hand, props himself up on his elbows.

  "Nilsa, get out." Juilliard commands. There's something powerful in his voice. Loyalty to his friend? And despite my need for defiance, his tone doesn't leave room for any argument.

  Every move I make is stiff, almost mechanical. I turn for the exit, too ashamed to give either one of them another glance. My heart still beats, but I'm not breathing. Not until I'm well outside of the tent and making my way far from the two of them.

  Instantly I regret saying anything. I should have left the dead in their grave instead of resurrecting them. If Marcello had brought up one of the many times that I failed Arron, I probably would have blacked out and only come to when his blood was splattered against the walls.

  Why? Why did I have to say that?

  Because he was too close. Because Marcello is too close. I want to let down all my walls for him. I want to let him get to know the real me. I find myself wanting to get to know the real him. It's his charm, it has to be.

  Wrapping my arms around my abdomen, I stop beside one of our purple tents. My body crumples, doubling over as I retch loudly again and again. I'm sick with the warring feelings of hating and loving, wanting and refusing, and needing but still denying myself. Burning air stings my throat, but nothing ever comes up.

  "What's wrong with you?" A deep voice interrupts me.

  I whirl around to stand toe to toe with the dark-haired Elf, Jefferson. My attention travels up then down his towering figure. Mud is caked against his clothes. Dirt is streaked across his pointed cheekbones. Seeing him this muddled makes me wonder how his team ended up climbing out of that hole.

  Using my sleeve, I wipe at the spit I'm sure is glistening my lips. "Nothing. I'm fine." I tilt my head. "No hard feelings about today?"

  He laughs. "Actually, that's why I'm here. Where is he? Where is—”

  "Marcello's in the medical tent with Juill
iard. If your qualm is with your kind then by all means, don't let me stand in the way." I edge toward my tent.

  "What does he see in you, little Human? Why does he keep you around?" Jefferson stands at a good six foot eight which makes someone my height, not even a hair over five foot three, already feel somewhat inferior.

  "Maybe he isn't a monster like you are."

  Maybe I'm the monster for acting like Marcello is.

  Jefferson smiles, but only in a polite and trained way, the humor doesn't reach his bright blue eyes. "Doubtful."

  He steps a little closer, washing me over with a new wave of the earthy scent that my nose had gotten used to. His hair still manages to look silky, even with the mud that clumps inside of it. "You have to be talented. I'll give you that if you've survived this long. Or..." He taps a finger to his chin. "Or he's helping keep you alive because he needs you for something else. What does he know that I do not?"

  My heels hit the bottom of our tent, leaving no more room to back up. Jefferson uses that, placing himself so near to me that I can feel the angry heat rippling off of him. His brows pinch for the slightest second, his body tilting into mine. The sharp intake of his breath sets off something nervous inside of me.

  "Why do you smell so delicious?" His polite smile turns dark. And that... that does reach his mischievous eyes. I hold my breath, not stupid enough to make a move quite yet.

  Jefferson's hand wraps around my ponytail, playful at first, a distracting movement while he runs his nose along the tendon in my neck, then he grabs the hair in his fist and yanks. My head cocks off to the side. His chest rises with a slow inhale, brushing against the peaks of my breasts. The shiver that follows makes me feel dirty in a new sort of way. This... whatever this is... I'm fraternizing with the enemy.

  "Are you taking on Vampire habits now? Are you about to sink your teeth into me?" I whisper. "Don't you have better things to be doing?"

  "Judging by the scarring on your neck, I think it's safe to say that you enjoy being bitten. I might not suck your blood, Human, but I still recognize the nature of my beast."

  "It would do you well to let go of me now."

  Jefferson laughs lightly. His fingers loosening in my hair. He steps away, back in the direction of the med tent. "I'm just curious what's got you so hot and bothered. Don't tell you're attracted to a Hybrid. That doesn’t sound like your kind of thing." He crinkles his nose. "Aren't you the girl who flips off the king and despises everything around you?"

  "You don't know anything about me. Don't pretend like you do." My feet stay planted exactly where I am, my body feeling the need to turn and bolt.

  "I don't have to know you when you are always showing all of your cards."

  My eyes follow the trail of his tongue as he runs it over his teeth. "Humans are pathetic. Only good for fucking and throwing away." And how many Humans has he met?

  The tent at my back rustles. Gray hair and green skin poke through as the flaps open. Hedda glares at Jefferson. "Get out of here. Quit trying to intimidate the girl, she'll eat you for breakfast!" Hedda's deep voice sounds more like a bark.

  Jefferson wiggles his brows chuckling, but he takes another step back. His eyes dance between me and the Orc before he spins on his heels and stomps off toward Marcello and Juilliard. What a happy surprise they will be getting.

  As soon as Jefferson is out of my line of sight, the breath that had caught in my throat finally releases. My shoulders fall away from my ears. But the burning need, the fire that Marcello had lit... Jefferson and his cruel ways had only managed to fan. I need to dunk myself right into a bucket of cold water and pronto.

  "Did you get your stitches looked at?" Hedda asks.

  The stitches. Right. The pain, a throbbing never-ending ache has almost left my mind. The hurt has just become a part of me.

  "No, Juilliard commanded that I leave."

  "That doesn't sound like him." She steps out of the tent fully. The garb she wears for the events stripped down to an under shirt and a small pair of shorts that clings to her large thigh muscles. "Juilliard might not be your best friend, but he wouldn't let you walk away while still injured."

  Gingerly, I touch the bandage and the wrapping around my sides. I wince as pain spikes from the smallest touch.

  "Yeah... Well, I said something mean to Marcello."

  "You always say something mean to Marcello. Then he usually says something witty right back." She points out. Her face scrunching with confusion.

  "No. Saints, Hedda don't look at me like that." I wave a hand in front of my face. "No, I said something that actually offended Marcello. I crossed a line this time."

  "Oh," she tries to smooth her features, "Juilliard loves Marcello more than he loves himself. That was a mistake. Very well, come in here and I can take a look."

  "Do you have any medical experience? With Humans?"

  "None at all." She shakes her head, smiling widely from ear to ear. "But I'm happy to learn."

  ***

  The discomfort of my ribs is only part of what keeps me awake tonight. Hedda's rabid snoring is the least of my worries. Firelight from the pit between our three tents glows against the purple fabric casting shadows. Two figures sit around the fire, talking and laughing like old friends. My eyes trace the outline of their figures for the thousandth time.

  These aren't old friends.

  Somehow the Elf girl Lux had made her way to our camp, striking up a conversation when Marcello had returned with the pork to cook over our fire. She'd stayed for dinner while I ate on my cot, listening to their easy conversation.

  The bitter pang of jealousy seizes my body. Saints, I don't want to be jealous. I don't want to care. Still, I keep thinking that if I was out there having this conversation with Marcello it'd be much more entertaining than this frilly filler conversation.

  Lux's petite frame leans into Marcello, merging their shadows into one as the space between them is squashed away. I close my eyes, trying not to think about what the sudden silence and nearness of their shadows mean. I press my eyes so tightly that I’m seeing stars behind my eyelids. And even then, it's not good enough, so I cover my eyes with both hands.

  A few minutes pass, quiet minutes where I hope that he is wishing her a good night and she leaves for her own bed, but the silence doesn't last long. Marcello moans. Not in pain, but in pleasure. I can feel it in the air the way the moan shakes from his body, resonating inside of his chest.

  My hands slap the sheets. My fingers curl into the thin blanket as I push myself up to sitting. A new ache forms, digging its claws right inside of my heart. I want to throw up. I want to scream and tell them to stop. I can't do either of those things, though. I can't bring myself to do anything other than watch the shadows cast on the fabric of my tent.

  Lux is bent over into Marcello's lap. Her shoulders and head are bobbing in a telling way. Marcello's large frame is relaxed, his hand holds his torso up similarly to how I sit now.

  My imagination immediately runs away with no regards for my heart. I watch closely, studying the way Lux moves. The picture of what I'd expect his cock to look like flashes inside of my thoughts. With his size, I imagine what his dick would feel like in my hands, in my mouth, between my legs.

  Marcello moans again and the sound threatens to tear me to shreds. My cot creaks as I flop back down onto the mattress. Warm under the covers, I snake my arms down to the pooling heat between my legs that's been building for hours upon hours. The tips of my fingers tease at my underwear as I debate on my sanity when I'm about to touch myself to the sound of Marcello getting sucked off.

  "Ah, yes," he whispers. "Fuck. That's good."

  I snatch my hand away. The bed groans again as I roll to my side and curl into myself. This is torture. This is what Hell is fucking like.

  Even without looking I can hear the wet slurp of Lux's mouth wrapping around the velvet steel of his cock. My stomach tightens. Frustration spreads in my veins as the beating of my heart syncs with the sound of
her lips on him.

  Who the fuck does Marcello think he is? Where does he get off telling me that we have sexual tension and then bringing a girl into our camp to do this? Every rising question stings like a cut through my chest.

  Why do you care, Nilsa? Why?

  Because you like him, asshole. Because you let him convince you that he cares for you with all that smooth fucking talking. You let the way he looks, as if the Saints had made him specifically for you, sway you into fantasizing about being in his arms. He doesn't care about your Human heart. He doesn't care. He doesn't care! Maybe if I keep repeating it I’ll finally truly believe it. It hasn’t worked so far.

  Why do I care? Why should I!?

  The walls of the tent edge closer. The mattress of my cot somehow shrinks underneath me. I'm too big. This space is too small. Each sound the couple emits travels into the tent and bounces between the hanging fabric.

  Every bliss-filled noise Marcello makes is nothing to the sound he makes when he cums. A groan turns into a moan, his breath catching in his throat. I dare a glance at his shadowy form. His head tilts back, his muscles clenched.

  Lux's shadow sits up. My eyes still watch as Marcello runs his finger against her cheek. He leans in, whispering something my Human ears don't catch. Whatever it is... it has Lux slinking away and me sagging into my mattress in relief.

  But not total relief. No, Marcello's had his, but fucking Saints I want mine. His dark form moves across the campsite. I lay for a minute longer, soaking in the silence.

  The cold travels from the concrete floor through my socks and sends a shiver traveling over my skin. It still does nothing to quell my needs. Every thought is muddled with images made completely of my own imagination. Skin on skin and teeth against lips.

  Firelight flickers against my skin the moment I'm outside of the tent. A clammy heat covers me in a thin layer of sweat. I don't know where I'm going. I'm not exactly sure what I'm doing, but I can't be here trapped in this tent for a moment longer.

  "What are you doing up?" Marcello asks. The buttons of his undershirt are open, revealing the hair that curls on his pecs. His pants are thankfully buckled, the legs tucked messily into the tops of his boots.