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

duty, if I meet another Purist Human man, to produce an offspring. Many offspring. To keep my race intact and alive.

I start my descent down the flights of stairs to the ground level. I try to push down the repulsion that someday I’d have to give my body over to a child. A world like this isn’t kind, and I’m not sure I want to subject anyone else to it.

To get pregnant, to bear a child, would be of my own selfish desire to not allow the Immortals to overtake the world. It wouldn’t come from a place of want for my own offspring. Arron would think me wrong for it. But he isn’t here to scold me anymore, is he?

My boots hit the final step, the door to the common area has long since been removed from its hinges. Mercenaries are already milling about. Their chatter carries to me. They talk of their jobs, joke about the games they play with one another, and flirt shamelessly. It quiets as I enter. Their way of not allowing me the chance to overhear something and enter the conversation with them. It’d be too much to ask for them to just fucking shut the hell up completely. That would give me far too much attention. Far too much power over their actions. Not to mention protect me from getting a massive headache.

That’s okay, I didn’t wake up in a people mood today. Fuck people. All of ‘em.

I try to look past the small group where I find the counters laid out with breakfast. A variety of food, what little the house has to offer, is set out on trays. Mainly they offer an assortment of stale breads.

The girl from last night, the sneering, snotty Orc woman who thought she could slut shame me, pours herself a bowl of cereal at the counter. My gaze automatically travels to the small jug of milk, only half a cup worth available.

As she reaches for a spoon, I mosey up, grab a mug with chipped edges and pour the remainder of the milk into said cup. Funny enough, I don’t even like milk. But I hate this bitch more than I hate milk, so I sip it with a smile on my face.

Her gray hair is braided from the patches that are formed from her scalp. The apples of her cheeks darken, the green shade of her skin turning near purple.

“That milk was for me.” Her black eyes stare at me. “I need that for my cereal.”

“Well, that’s a damn shame. First come, first serve.” I sip again, frowning at the cup. “Milk is gross. Really, I’m saving you from it’s awful taste.”

“I like milk. Specifically, in my cereal,” she sighs but moves to sit down.

“I hate milk.”

“Then why did you steal—”

I dump the milk down the sink, then set the mug on the stained countertop.

“What the fuck, Nilsa!?” she hisses through her bite of dry cereal.

“What the fuck, Calliope?” I laugh.

Maybe they don’t hate me because I’m Human. Maybe they hate me because I’m a saintsdamn bitch.

Her friends send me similar glowers from over their breakfasts. I offer them my politest smile before grabbing an old bagel and propping myself against the counter while I eat. Their conversations swing back into a dull murmur, already forgetting about the annoying Human girl who is but a blip in their mornings.

The kitchen is rather small, which is only more apparent because the body heat from the group of us up for early morning jobs is suffocating. Two blue, worn counters meet in the corner of the room. They’re only large enough to hold the few trays of food set out by Hodgkins, the house help. Chipped gray paint, which I’m sure had once complemented the countertops well, peels off the walls. The brown tile below us only offers enough floor space for the small table and chairs. My feet, as I stand at the counters, almost touch the legs of one of the filled seats. I contemplate kicking it, just so the Immortal sitting there will drop the food from their fork.

The Dwarf is saved only because Joss’s office door clicks shut. Carefully, Joss adjusts his all-black attire, picking a spot of lint from his chest. I take another bite of my bagel, admiring the elegant way he has smoothed back his blonde hair.

I want to mess it up.

Instead of finding myself without yet another orgasm, I meet him in the entryway between the office and the stale breakfast. The legends jingle together in my pocket as I move, the noise drawing his attention. Reaching into my pocket, I clamp my hand around the coins.

Joss raises a single brow. “Good morning, my pet.”

Calliope snickers in her seat, earning herself a dark look from Joss that quickly shuts the shrill noise up. Joss curls his fingers over the back of her seat, letting the silver rings on his fingers tap against the chair in warning.

“I have my housing payment for the month.” I slowly lick my lips, pulling Joss’s gaze up to my mouth.

“Have you?”

The smooth circular coins press into my palm, sticky against my skin, even as I uncurl my fingers to show Joss. He blinks down at my hand.

“You don’t have enough.”

My chest tightens and I have to force myself to take a breath. It comes out in a shaking laugh. I lower my voice, though I know it does little good.

“What do you mean? Housing is fifteen legends. I have fifteen legends.” I staccato the last two words.

“Price went up this month.” Joss plucks the legends out of my hand and flashes his fangs in a brilliant white smile. His shoulder brushes against mine as he moves around me to the food. The sentence, as it leaves his lips, makes me stiff and I