by Rebecca Grey
A blush works up my neck to the tip of my ears. I toe the dirt, trying to think of any reason as to why I'm up and about. "Can't sleep," I blurt. "What are you doing out here?"
Marcello clears his throat. He points a thumb behind him into the tent. "Juilliard's, um, busy."
I blink. There are similar noses carrying from Juilliard's tent too. Noises I hadn't really heard until now. What is this? What is our campsite turning into?
"Oh." I take a step away.
"Did you get your stitches looked at?"
"Hedda helped me fix them back up. She's got a pretty steady hand."
He lowers his gaze to his lap where he fiddles with his fingers. Curls fall forward into his face. I want to touch them, run my fingers through them to see if they're as silky as they look.
"That's good," he says, more to himself than to me.
Half of me expects that he'll ask me to apologize for taking it too far earlier. Maybe I should... I won't. But I should.
"Did I..." he continues, "Did I wake you?"
I purse my lips together. "No. Just woke up and thought I’d stretch my legs."
"Did you have another nightmare?"
"No." I shake my head and take another step away from him. Away from this conversation, away from the smell of sex on the air that sparks like electricity off of me.
"That's good too."
I'm out of answers. Out of the will to dance around what I know just happened out here. Out of time before I lose all sense and climb into his lap and ask him to touch me just the way he described earlier.
"Okay, Marcello," I rasp, barely able to give a nod before I turn and walk away.
Fires are still lit at four of the team's campsites. The fluorescent warehouse lights that are usually lit above have been dimmed so that everything remains dark. I don't stop walking until I reach the trickling river. I don't stop moving. I can't stop moving for a second or I might just shatter. This shouldn't hurt like this. I shouldn't feel physically sick.
I peel back my socks and kick them away. My thumbs hook into the band of my pants, tugging down the fabric until I'm just standing in a pair of the lacy underwear that was packed for me.
"Fancy meeting you here. Didn't realize we were letting the Human just wander the camp so freely. Shouldn't someone be keeping you on a leash?" A familiar voice calls.
I freeze, holding my pants in my hand. The soft brush of a breeze trails between my legs, leaving me feeling more naked than I actually am. Honestly, I'd planned to be more naked than this. Until now.
"Had to get away from your teammates? Still full of that tension, judging by the scent you just can't stop putting off." Jefferson strolls out of the nearest shadow. How long had he been standing there?
"What are you doing here?" I glance down at the running waters I'd intended on getting in, regardless of Juilliard's warnings to keep the stitches dry. Sighing, I hold the pants in front of me.
"Hiding."
The closer he moves the better of a view I have of him. All the dirt and debris from the challenge today has been washed away. Like everyone else, he's stripped himself of all the layers we wear to compete, the layers to keep us protected. His chest is bare, the long strands of black hair falling over his shoulders and down his back. Jefferson tucks his hair behind one ear and slips his hands into the pockets of his loose brown trousers. Even his feet are bare.
"What could you possibly be hiding from?" I stoop lower, meaning to slip my legs back into my pants and resign myself to feeling awkward somewhere else.
Jefferson leans forward. "Well don't get dressed on my account. I actually much prefer you this way." A smile both wicked and cruel lifts wide across his face. “Aren’t you going to ask me if I’m the prince? I already know you’ve questioned Mavi.”
“Would you tell me if I did?”
“The Elves are all spellbound in one way or another. We couldn't tell you who the prince is even if we wanted to. Anyway, to answer your first question, it looks like quite a few of the teams have let their women loose to all the Elven males in this camp. Some scheme to find the prince, I guess. But you're not out here to seduce me, are you?"
I straighten. "That was not my intention. No."
"Maybe you should."
The air turns hot in an instant.
I arch an eyebrow, unable to hold in the grin that tempts me. "Seduce you?"
His hair falls forward into his face as he tips his head in agreement and hums. "You're already halfway to naked."
My eyes drift off from his muscular form back to the way I'd come. No one in my camp is going to meet my needs tonight. I pull my gaze back up to his face. I whisper, but there is no mistaking that he catches every single word. "I don't think I need to seduce you. You're already interested. Desperate, even."
I let go of my pants, letting them pool at my feet. The tents nearest us curved away from the river, allowing privacy for those who wished to bathe. It gives us the illusion that we're alone.
If it had been any other moment of any other day, I wouldn’t have allowed Jefferson a moment of my time. He’s too cruel to be worth even a conversation. But isn’t cruel what I’m looking for now?
"Interesting, coming from a woman whose panties are already soaked." Jefferson closes the space between us, reminding me of his anger earlier. He curls his fingers underneath the hem of my shirt, pulling it up slowly. A new white bandage covers my ribs and he avoids it with a gentleness I couldn't fathom him even having.
"Humans are only good for two things," he repeats, "Sacrifice, and fucking." He drops the shirt on top of my pants. The button of his pants comes undone with a simple tug of his fingers. I stare unfeeling as his hand dips into his undershorts and he pulls out his already hard, throbbing cock.
His fingers create a trail down my torso. The blue eyes of his lock onto mine as he wrenches my underwear down. The scrape of his nails against my skin builds the flames inside of my core. I want more. I need more.
"Fuck me like you hate me," I breathe.
"Shouldn't be hard." His body aligns with mine. His hands wrapping around my legs as he lifts me up off the ground. "Because I fucking despise you, Human-trash."
Somewhere deep inside of me I register his words. Somewhere I know what he's saying to me, but as I recede to the place without feelings, I don't mind.
He lowers me onto his dick. No, he doesn't lower me, he prods at my entrance for the slightest second until he finds his home and slams me down onto him. He's plenty impressive, enough so that the movement takes my breath away.
My arms snake around his neck, his hair becoming a tangle between him and I. Jefferson doesn't kiss me. He avoids my mouth entirely, sucking and biting down my neck. His teeth scrape against my skin, spiking my desire as I bounce against every step he takes until we're in the shadows together, unseen.
His arms hold me against him, making my ribs ache. I bite my lip to keep from making noises that would draw attention to us. The last thing I need is to get caught fucking around. Then everyone will think I'm as stupid as the girls bribing information out of the Elves with sexual favors. No, this... this is all for me.
Jefferson's body warms one side of me while the other is laid against the concrete floor. His hands find my hips and he slams into me. The motions become repetitive, making me jump at every thrust. He holds me in place, only smiling when I gasp.
My breasts bounce with the movement, drawing his eyes. His nails, more like claws, scratch down my arms as he pulls the straps of my bra down and flips the cups out of the way. Arousal pebbles my breasts while his hands massage and tug at them.
His eyes catch mine, and in an instant my cheek is stinging as he slaps his hand down on my face. He turns my head away, grinding my face into the floor.
"Don't fucking look at me, Purist."
The slamming pace quickens as he sits up. I keep my head turned to the side, my cheekbone already feeling bruised from the pressure. Even as he grunts, forcing himself all the way inside of me,
one hand finds my most sensitive spot between my legs.
Jefferson circles his thumb over my clit in time with the rhythm of his hips. My eyes damn near roll in the back of my head. This is what I've been waiting for, what I've needed, this is the release I've needed for days.
Every swipe and loop he draws with his finger brings me closer to the edge. Pressing into the touch, my back arches, my hands tugging at my breasts.
"Come for me, you filthy fucking whore. Come for me!" Jefferson growls. I don't need his permission, but his words have me coming undone in the very best of ways.
My legs quake around him. My sex clenching around his dick as a fierce orgasm grabs ahold of me. The feeling crests and eventually falls like a wave. When it does, he pulls his hand away.
His cock pumps in and out of me. I pull my arms up over my head, reveling in the feeling of being used. Jefferson holds my hips again, holding me down on him until his breathing changes and the pattern of his thrusting shifts.
I expect him to pull out, to cover me in hot cum from my belly button to my breasts. Instead he leans into me, pushing his dick so far the pleasure starts to border on pain. He releases everything inside of me, muffling his moan against my skin.
As he finishes, he pulls away from me, pulling his pants back up. His eyes find mine in the darkness. "Thanks for the quick fuck."
With his back to me, he leaves me alone, naked, and emptier than I was when I'd run away from the Saints damned tent.
Morning always comes, even when you don’t want it to. I’m not sure when the first day I had that thought was, but I remember the realization that no matter how shitty I feel, the world will continue on without me. So I make the most of this pathetic excuse of a life. I hang on to the hope that one day I’ll make it better.
These fucking Oasis Games are supposed to be making my life better. Today doesn’t feel better. My primal need for skin on skin had only slightly been quelled. Jefferson isn’t who I want. Admitting who exactly I do want feels like a crime. Feelings are dangerous and someone is bound to get hurt.
And... I'm the Ghost. I'm not supposed to have feelings. I'm not supposed to care that some Elf may or may not want to spend his time with me. Marcello Torres is a virus. He's infected me with emotions I never asked for. A shiver chases down my spine.
Voices carry from around our fire pit. I can't make out what they're saying, but the hushed whispers are rushed and harsh. Shouts muffled to a low volume hiss to avoid drawing attention. Hedda leans over her boots from the edge of her cot, lacing them up. Her attention is focused on the shoe laces, however her body leans toward the noise.
"Can you tell what they are saying?" I stand, pulling the hem of my shirt down.
"No." She shakes her head, sending her white hair dancing around her chin. Those large gray eyes widen, taking up more of her face. She inclines her head. "What happened to your cheek?"
"What do you mean?" I touch my face.
"There's a shadow of a bruise there."
Whatever words I plan on saying next get caught in my throat. What do I say? Well, certainly I'm not going to tell her that I let Jefferson fuck me and he shoved my face into the concrete. No, I won't say that.
"I must have gotten it sometime during the fall yesterday. I think I remember Marcello's shoulder banging against my face during the impact." I nod along with my lies, waving it off and heading out of the tent.
The second my toes hit the bright light and I straighten, the voices stop. Juilliard's hands are on either side of Marcello's biceps, holding him in place. Between them, Marcello cups a clear bottle with a brown colored liquid. A tag is tied around the top hanging from the beaker, like the drink is meant as a gift.
Juilliard's dark gaze lands on me. With a long exhale he drops his hands from Marcello. I watch him as he pinches the bridge of his nose and walks away, shaking his head. Marcello turns on me. Liquid sloshes under the cork as he thrust his arm forward and presents it to me.
"This came for you." His voice is hoarse. Quickly, he pulls back his shoulders and clears his throat.
I hold his heavy stare, wrapping my fingers around the chilled glass. The tag presses into the skin of my palm. Marcello lets go, but his hand grazes mine. And there it is. The same sharp static that tingles up my arm and into my heart.
Some form of a thank-you is still lodged inside my throat, caught behind the lie I just told Hedda. So I don't say anything at all. Instead, I sidestep and walk around Marcello and the dastardly look on his face.
"What's wrong with you?" Marcello's voice calls.
I walk faster, heading for breakfast before the next event. Rumor has it that the event won't take place until evening, so I have most of the day to... to do what? Avoid Marcello? Hide? The Elf doesn't give me a choice as he chases after me.
"Why did you do it, Nilsa? To mess with me? Are you trying to get back at me or something? Last I checked you were the one acting cruel. Not me."
Every muscle inside of my body locks up as I come to a halt. Marcello skids to a stop next to me. His dark brows are pulled together. He searches my face for something, an answer that I can't offer him. What does he know? What does he think that he knows?
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"The tonic." His voice lowers as other teams look up from their breakfasts.
One by one, I open my fingers and cup the bottle in my hand. The small tan card attached parts open, a neatly written sentence is scrolled across the paper. I scan the card and sigh, holding it out toward Marcello.
"I can't read it."
"Wha—" he starts, but doesn't finish. His eyes bounce from the card to my face and back down to the card. "It says, 'Thanks for the ride. A tonic for unwanted pregnancy. From Jefferson.'" He pushes my hand away from him, looking around the room, avoiding my gaze all together.
Shit. Fucking Saints above. He knows. Oh, I'll kill that fucking Elf Jefferson. I'll kill him. No one needed to know. Least of all Marcello.
"He's been bragging about it all morning." Marcello’s cheeks heat. "Nils. Jefferson is my brother."
Jefferson is Marcello's brother.
"Y-You two don't look anything alike. You've hardly talked to him since we got here. He threw a knife at you! What do you mean you're brothers?" The words spill out of me in a rush as I try to find a way to make what he just said feel less dirty. I feel dirty.
"He's my adoptive brother. We don't have the same parents. And I fucking hate his guts. Jefferson is literally the worst. And of all the Hybrids you could hate, he should probably be number one. He's never had anything good to say about Humans. He hates them. He hates you."
He'd said as much last night. I wanted to be hated then. I felt like I deserved it.
The room spins, my body feeling impossibly light. I sway on my feet. And the seed of that man is still inside of me. The cork pops loudly as I yank it from the top of the vial. I chug down the liquid and close my eyes, trying to steady myself. I fucked up. Oh, Saints, I fucked up. Again.
Snapping my eyes open, I shake my head at Marcello. "Why does it matter so much to you? You certainly had your fun last night. Didn't you?"
I turn away from him, walking with a false confidence as I feel other participants look in my direction. They don't know that I'd done it to fulfill my own desires. They don't know that I wasn't just trying to snake information out of Jefferson in hopes that he could be the prince. No one knows that except for me.
"I thought you'd missed that," Marcello says breathlessly as he catches back up.
"So you can have your secrets but I can't have mine? Marcello, I had to listen to some floozy suck you off last night. I had to listen to every noise you made leading to and then completing your... your... your fucking orgasm." I gasp, suddenly not sure what I should be doing with my hands. The now empty bottle feels impossibly heavy.
"You said you didn't want me. You said..." Marcello points a finger toward me.
"I know what I said," I say under my breath. "I know."
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"Was that not true?" His voice softens, his full lips falling to a soft pout.
"Was what you said true?" I counter.
"Yes." Marcello grabs my arm, pulling me to a stop just before the table laid with food.
We’d gathered plenty of attention walking through the large room, even though we've kept our voices low. Mavi and Jefferson sit at their camp, sipping a steaming liquid from their cups and watching us with teasing smiles on their faces. I try my best to ignore them.
"I meant every word. I'm not playing you, Nilsa. I like you."
"Stop." I hold up my hand. "You don't like me. You hardly know me. I'm just some box to check off a fucking list so you can say you've slept with a Human or some other fucked-up shit. Can’t you call it that?"
"No, you stop. Stop deflecting your insecurities onto me. Stop putting words in my mouth that I never said. And I do know you, you asshole. I know that you don't like to get close to anyone, so you push everyone away. I did that for a long time too. I know that your tongue is sharper than any blade. I know you like attention, even if it's bad. And I know... I know you would have saved that girl from the spider if you could have. I know you wouldn't be killing Hybrids if life hadn't handed you the shitty end of the stick. I know that's not who you really are."
"Oh Saints." I look up to the ceiling. "Do you hear yourself? Do you hear how ridiculous you sound?" Tightly fisted, his hands fall to his sides. "You're so soft." I continue. "Everything you do is easy and life hasn't calloused you in the way that it has me."
"That's not true. Life is as cruel to me as it is you, just in different ways. But I've chosen to be better than what those wounds try to turn me into. I fight it daily. You... you wallow in it."
"I don't wallow. I revel."
"Gah!" Marcello growls. "I can't keep having this conversation with you. You make me feel insane. I'm not the nutty one though. Saints above, you are." His hands, those large hands that I can't stop imagining running over my body, touching me everywhere, intertwine into his hair as he tugs it in exasperation.