Vengeance (The Prince's Games Book 1)

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Vengeance (The Prince's Games Book 1) Page 36

by Rebecca Grey


  "No. Desperate words meant to create a reaction. I-I needed you to have a reaction that would help me know which was you."

  His fingers curl into his palm. His outstretched hand falling back to his side. My attention follows that hand. What would he have done with it? Held my face? Held my hand? Touched my skin? An Elf... to a Human? In front of an audience like this... no he wouldn't have done any of those things. If anything he'd probably have given me a handshake just like Jefferson and Rake had done.

  A guard lumbers forward, pointing us back to our team. Marcello's gaze finally shifts from my face. His features light up, his smile beaming and wide takes over his entire face. His arms stretch out at his side and he jogs by me and to the merriment of our team.

  "I knew I picked you all for a reason. Oh Saints!" He grabs Hedda's head, planting a big fat kiss on her forehead. "Hedda, if it had been up to you a guard would run me through with his sword." He takes Finnegan's hand in his, giving it a hefty shake and then turns to Sloane and kisses the back of her hand. "You two were absolutely no help, but I'm glad you could be here for moral support." He laughs before grabbing Juilliard and shaking his shoulders. "How could you not be certain which was me? Gah! I could have slugged you if my hands were free."

  The Elves touch foreheads. Juilliard smiles, closing his eyes as their skin meets. "I tried! I swear I tried!"

  Marcello's hands run down the side of Juilliard’s hair, flattening the strands against his scalp. "I know you did."

  Another scream catches in the air. My entire team turns to watch as Isla becomes nothing more than shredded skin and blood. All of them except Marcello, who opens his arms and beckons me forward. Every breath is hard to take as I join my team. Even harder yet as all of them press into me, wrapping me up in a tangle of limbs and indiscernible body parts.

  "Please let go," I groan loudly, my arms stiff at my sides.

  "Do all Humans hate to be touched? Does it hurt?" Hedda chimes as all teams turn toward the Safe Haven with the sound of dismissal from the announcer.

  "Humans don't hate being touched. Just our Nilsa." Marcello walks near my side, his arm brushing mine with every movement. "Think of her like a cat. She wants attention on her terms only. Pet her when she hasn't asked and you're likely to get scratched."

  "You seem so calm for someone who could have died minutes ago." I look up to him, but his rosy complexion and sweat drenched hair tell another story.

  "That already feels like so long ago."

  "Does it?"

  He hums as the spotlights fade behind us. Darkness comes and goes as we pass through the hall to our waiting Safe Haven. Teams mumble to each other, some quieter than the others. As soon as the fluorescent lights douse all of us in their never-ending glow, all eyes travel up to the screen with everyone's names on it. Isla and Danisha both stamped with the red mark of death, forever gone from the Games. The scroll of Marcello's name on the board further relaxes all the tension riddling me.

  Our team clambers ahead. Juilliard talking quietly to Finnegan. Hedda slows so she matches my pace. "That event was so quick, what should we do with all the free time we've found ourselves with?"

  "What a good question." Marcello stops at the table stacked with goods. He pulls a loaf of bread, a knife, and jelly from the display and stares directly at me. "I have not yet eaten today. Perhaps I can steal you away so we might discuss a few things? You like strawberry, right?" He shakes the jam jar.

  "I do like bread and jams." Hedda nods.

  "I don't think he's talking to you." I say quietly to the Orc. Gently, I set my hand against her shoulder and give her a reassuring pat.

  "Oh," she adjusts the gun strapped to her back. "Very well." Her lips twitch as her attention bounces between us. Strands of gray hair topple into her face as she gives a small bow and turns away.

  "We can go to my tent?" Marcello arches a brow, the question hanging in the air for a moment before I find the words to answer.

  "That sounds too private."

  "What I intend to talk about with you does not need additional ears. Unless you wish for them? Then I'm sure Hedda would be happy to rejoin us." He balances the food in one arm and with his free side holds out his elbow. I stare at the gesture. "You're supposed to place your hand in the crook of my arm."

  "I know that." I lift my hand but don't dare touch him yet. "You are not in the castle, I'm sure you're not expected to show manners such as this." Especially to a Human such as me.

  "Perhaps I would like to offer you the gesture as a thank-you for making the right choice today. What is the harm?"

  I let out all the air in my lungs and finally place my hand against his arm. Warmth spreads through my fingertips, drawing me closer to him with every step we take to our dark plum tents toward the back of the room. Hybrids linger outside their tents. I’m not sure what they think as they watch the two of us walk through the room together. The world around becomes hazy and my vision is strictly a pinpoint of clarity on Marcello.

  He could have died today. He could still die tomorrow. Talons clench my spirit inside of me, pulling me away from his heat. Marcello slows.

  "Don't run, Nilsa."

  Is that what I was about to do? My steps slow and I examine the way I've bounced back off his frame and am straining in a stretch to put as much space between us as possible. Was I going to run? Yes. Running is what I do best. Running doesn't end in the feeling of your soul being ripped from your body and crushed into a thousand little pieces that take years to put back together, if you happen to be one of the few who even can.

  Marcello's statement sounds more like a challenge. I refuse to let him win. Or maybe for once I refuse to let my demons win. My fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt sleeve in one desperate attempt to keep me at his side. I stay like that, straining and fighting the urge to flee all the way to his tent.

  Our little campsite is empty and quiet. The rest of our team somewhere else. Purposefully? I try swallowing to alleviate the scratchy feeling in my throat. It does nothing as Marcello slips his arm from mine and holds open the tent flap.

  Two cots sit on either end of the tent, one with the blankets made and the other a scattered crumple of quilts. Marcello points me to the less cluttered side.

  "I told Juilliard I wasn't going to clean up after him. He seems content to live in a mess, so I've let him." He says, crossing his legs under him and sitting down on one end of the cot. The knife and the glass jar clink together as he drops the food to the middle and watches me sit down by his pillow. "You look stressed."

  "We just completed another event. It was stressful." I curl my arms around my body. "What do you want to talk about?"

  "Are you uncomfortable?" His attention drifts down to my arms. "Do you not want to be alone with me? We really can go outside if it would make you more comfortable."

  An ache from the tense muscles in my back and neck settles inside the back of my skull, reminding me of the tightness of my braid. I force my hands away from my stomach and instead busy my them with unraveling my braid. The three strands create a tumble of waves in my blonde hair.

  "I've told you before that you and I alone is not a very good idea."

  "Is it because of our chemistry? Are you fearful that I'll whisk you away and make you fall madly in love with me?"

  I snort. "We do not have any chemistry." I try to argue it, even as he looks at me now with that half smile on his face. The kind of smile that reveals a single dimple in his cheek. He stretches forward to pluck the knife from between us creating an urge in me to lean into him and meet him in the middle.

  "That's not what you said earlier."

  "I've said a lot of things lately that I do not mean." Mainly the comment about Lily and his father. It was cruel of me. It wouldn't have bothered me to say it except I could see exactly how much it hurt him when I'd said it. If it had been anyone else, I would have already forgotten what I said.

  "I just wanted to tell you that I accept your apology." I start to
protest but he holds up a finger, still gripping the knife in his palm. "You can’t take it back, you've already said it. And I've already forgiven you. Bread?"

  "Sure."

  He works quickly, opening the loaf, balancing bread on his knees and spreading jam over a few slices. "How did you know which one was me?" He doesn't look away from his work.

  "The last one said that he loved me. I think I can say with certainty that you do not love me. No matter how much tension you seem to think is between us."

  "You know the magic they used pulled information from me. What the other versions of myself said had some truth to them."

  "Are you trying to tell me that you do love me?" I hold his gaze even as I reach for the slice of bread he offers me. I take a bite, eager to keep myself busy with something. Crumbs flake from the bread and scatter across my lap. "I'm afraid I do not return the sentiment. It would take more than what I've received for me to find some way to love an Elf."

  Marcello chuckles. "All I need to make you fall in love with me is ten minutes in private, clothing optional."

  "You are so sure of yourself. Before, what did you say? Oh yes, you said that you were going to be gentle with me, make me purr. How sure are you that that is what I need or even so much as like?"

  "Well, what do you like?" His teeth sink into his own piece of bread. His tongue quickly darting out over his lips to steal away the crumbs.

  A nervous excitement washes a heat over me. Maybe I should not be so picky about how he may or may not touch me. Finishing my slice of bread, I stare into his eyes.

  "You make me feel so..."

  "Horny? Turned on? Magical? I can think of a lot of words that could help describe the ways I probably make you feel."

  His accent curls around each word. Horny. Turned on. Magical. Yes, all those things and more.

  "Try frustrated, angry, or even fearful." In my head my response sounds more playful than anything, but spoken out loud it's absolutely pitiful.

  Marcello's jaw slows as he finishes his own slice. He nods his head, thinking as he puts the lid back on the jam and slowly moves all the items off the bed and to the tent floor. Now there's nothing between us but the crackling static of the air and the space that begs to be closed.

  Springs creak as Marcello scoots himself forward until our knees touch. I don't dare move. If I do anything, I'll sprint from this tent. Even the air around us feels shallow, like I'll drink it all down in a few moments and there will be none left for us to survive on.

  "You do not need to be fearful with me." He lifts his hand, but does not touch my face. "May I?"

  "Yes." I whisper so softly I'm not sure that he catches the word at all.

  The pads of his fingers brush over my cheekbone, following the curve of my face. His touch stops for a moment, then he traces the scar that slices through my lips. The caress keeps moving, chasing a tremble across my skin.

  "I don't know what it is about you, Nilsa Windsor. I don't know what draws me to you so fiercely I can hardly think, but I intend to find out."

  He can't think? I can't think. Ever. Every time he comes near my mind is a boggle of confusing thoughts and demanding desires that I don't give heed to. I want to give heed to them now. Perhaps I'm just feeding a different sort of demon now.

  "Has anyone ever taken their time with you?"

  My heartbeat races but it's for a much different reason than minutes before this conversation was even started. Marcello draws little circles down my neck and around the neckline of my shirt. Heat pools between my legs with every sweeping touch.

  "What do you mean?" I rasp, my voice suddenly raw.

  "Has anyone kissed you like they meant it? Or touched you with a passion that seems to have no end? I'm not talking about whatever sort of fast pace fuckery you typically dally in. I'm talking about lovemaking. Sex that last hours upon hours just because you can't quit falling back into each other’s arms."

  I've had sex with Joss for hours. Though some of it others may consider more akin to torture than sex. But has anyone been gentle with me? No, not really.

  "Maybe I won't like lovemaking. Maybe I like to be fucked." I lean in toward him. The small motion presses his hand gently against the base of my throat. I smile at the pressure.

  Marcello's half smile falls. His eyes search my face. "Not when I'm through with you, you won't."

  "Such promises you make."

  He huffs the smallest laugh before he's closing the space between us entirely. Somehow I know that if I kiss him, I'll never be the same again. Some part of the hate that lives inside of me might very well die. Because this isn't anything like sex with Joss or even fucking Jefferson. This is intimate. This is powerful.

  My pulse races faster and faster as Marcello brushes his lips against mine. With his kiss comes the helpless feeling of vulnerability. I open my mouth to taste the sweet candy scent of his lips on my tongue. Every nervous thought is squandered away, lost in a haze where only sensations live. Touch and tension and taste.

  Marcello pulls away slowly from our kiss, his hand running up my neck and tilting my head for better access. He presses a kiss against my jaw. A shuddering breath passes my lips, but I'm too lost in the feeling of his eager touch to feel embarrassed about such a noise.

  He kisses me, softly at first, but when his teeth scrape against my skin and everything in me feels like I'm free falling all over again, the kisses turn more needy. My eyes flutter closed. I wrap my hands around his shoulders, finally entangling my fingers into his hair. The curls are soft, catching against the roughness of my calloused hands. Some of the strands remain damp from sweat. Even his sweat smells sweet.

  All I can do as he presses his lips against the tendons in my neck is cling to his wide unmoving form as he remains the only steady thing in this spinning reality. Marcello kisses his way back up to my lips with a tantalizing slowness. He parts my lips again with a single sweep of his tongue. In the back of my mind, where everything feels foggy, I'm still able to register that I'm kissing him back.

  My hand fists his curls behind his head. A low moan vibrates against my lips, sending a wild tremor through me. I tug on the twisting strands and as if his sound is a command to keep going. Marcello's legs unfold and he lowers himself over me, letting our bottom halves become a tangle where his hips press against mine. His cock, hardened with want, pushes against the thin fabric of my pants.

  I can't get enough. There will never be enough of these kisses, so I let him continue until my lips are swollen and my face is flushed. He kisses me until I might burst, until I reach for the buttons of his leather vest.

  Cold air fans my face as he breaks away, catching my hands. "Not now, love. This is not the time or the place. I don't want anyone around when I pull noises you didn’t realize you were capable of making from you.” His beating heart thuds in his chest and I can feel it when he flattens my hand against him. He exhales long and low before rolling to his side.

  I roll to mine to allow room for us both in such a small space. Everywhere our bodies align feels like flames eating away at my skin. I'm not patient enough for this.

  "Will you stay?" he whispers.

  "Stay?"

  Marcello's eyes close and the length of his long eyelashes curl against his tan cheeks. I tuck my hands under my face to keep from stroking every perfect inch of his unblemished skin. I'd wanted to bolt moments ago, but now... now I can't remember why I wanted to run from something that feels as good as this.

  "It was a long few hours in a dark cell before this event today. I'm very exhausted," he continues. "Will you just lay here with me? I only want to rest for a moment." He stares back at me, waiting to see if I'll turn to mist under his touch and vanish.

  "I'll stay."

  "Perfect," he hums and I can already see a heaviness in his gaze as his eyes fall to half hooded. "Do you know that you have the most beautiful green eyes I've ever seen?" He yawns quietly. "Green like the freshly blooming gardens outside the castle." His eyes start
to close.

  "Marcello?" I whisper.

  "Hmm?" He doesn't even open his eyes.

  "Are you the prince?"

  He stays still. His mouth draws into a slight grin. "I wish I could tell you."

  ***

  Claws come out at night. Under the moon there's the slice of a glistening blade against my skin and the hot sting of blood. My blood. Arron’s blood. I can't really be sure. But I know that it's wrong. I know we've been lied to and whether it was intentional or not it's made this night so much harder.

  Teeth gnash against flesh and when my dagger finds the beast's thick hide and bounces away as if it's nothing, the animal turns on me. An upward swipe and my face is on fire. I stumble back, my feet sliding in the grass slick with dew. The wolf snaps its jaws.

  Somewhere underneath the full moon, somewhere inside that horrid creature, is half a Human. The Human inside of him doesn't exist right now. Maybe if he wasn't fully turned he'd know to stop. Maybe it would slow him. Or maybe he knows exactly what he is doing.

  My fingers, coated in my own blood, find my second dagger. I look behind the approaching monster. Arron lays impossibly still, his head pulled to the side. My eyes sting with the pinpricks of threatening tears.

  The wolf snarls and spit flies. It prowls closer leaving footprints behind where grass is crushed under its massive weight. There are more teeth in its mouth than I have time to count and its eyes follow me. I make a move to pull my second dagger from the sheath. The wolf lunges.

  As the knife comes from my belt it slips from my fingers and the claws come down on me.

  I fling my hands out, fighting to push the weight of the wolf off of me. The sounds of the night are fading away, replaced with the regular chatter of the Safe Haven. Reality comes slowly trudging back, but the hands on me still feel like claws.

  My chest rises and falls with panicked breaths. It takes a moment for me to realize I'm pressed against a solid chest, that a hand strokes down my hair and a lyrical voice whispers into my ear. "You're fine. It's me. Everything's okay. It was just a dream. It's not real. You're here with me. Just breathe. I'll keep you safe. You're safe." One word after another, Marcello presses his cheek against mine.

 

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