Vengeance (The Prince's Games Book 1) by Rebecca Grey (electric book reader TXT) 📕

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. Slowly, 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