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

I lift a single finger aiming for the figure I surely hope is Marcello despite my team's suggestions. Now, as the cuffs behind their backs dissolve to smoke, they all reach for their masks and I pray to the Saint that's blessed Marcello the most. I pray to Saint Luck, may his blessings be in our favor.

Two piles of ash and dust drift down to the arena floor. The second figure cups his mask and pulls it from his face. There is no screaming, no strings of flesh, and most of all there is no love.

Marcello stands between the two piles of the magic made copycats. Relief floods his features as I imagine mine does as well. Applause erupts from the crowd I can't see around the shining lights pouring down on us. My own team cheers behind me.

The announcer carries on, unaware of whatever moment is passing between Marcello and I. "Team Cuttingham, Bekke, please choose your teammate."

Everything in the room feels small and quiet, even when I know that it's not. My shoulders finally fall away from where they've grown tense and lifted all the way up to my ears. Marcello doesn't move from where he stands, only tilts toward me as he speaks.

"Did you mean all of that?"

The space between us seems to shrink. Everything I've said before, all those words came from a place of desperation and vulnerability that I can't often offer. I want to take them all back. Marcello isn't dying... he's not dead. And I want everything to go back to normal.

"Nilsa?" This time he does move closer.

I can't think, I can't even breathe. A wave of heat fans over my body quickly followed by a clammy cold that tries to take hold of me. Marcello takes another step and I take a step away, keeping what distance between us I can. One hand, the hand with feeling stretches toward me.

"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