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

floor behind me. I leave it there, pacing the room. Green light from the small gem inside the window filters the low glow of the moon side, making everything shine like emeralds.

I want to break something. Saints, I need to break something. I tease my fingertips at the top of my daggers. Both hilts are warm from pressing against my skin all day. Slipping them from their sheathes, I stalk forward toward the bed. Air hisses between my grinding teeth as I raise my arms over my head and bring both weapons down into the pillow.

The blades pierce the slender pillow, stabbing all the way through it and into the mattress. I rip both my arms up, wheeling them up and down frantically into the cotton as if I'm stabbing at that Vampire’s heart all over again. Strike after strike, I force all my weight down on the daggers and bring them back up until the stuffing inside starts to leave it in tiny fluff balls that litter the old quilts on top of the bed.

I stop when I feel the sting of angry tears welling in my eyes. I hate crying more than I hate being angry. Even more so that being angry in the end always makes me cry. So I stand and push the blades back into their sheathes.

"If you can do that to a pillow, I'd hate to see what you'd choose to do to me."

Stepping away from the voice, I spin around to find Marcello, no more than a shadow standing inside the door. He takes his time closing it. When he does, I can't help but be reminded of the fact that it's just he and I inside these four walls.

"Do you always get this angry?" he asks, rubbing a hand across his chin. I expect that he would be furious with me. I'd almost ruined our trip, and now I'd just destroyed his pillow. But there isn't anger in his glowing silver eyes when he looks at me now... it's something different, something... worse. Pity.

"Yes," I say, because I haven't any excuse or smart witty thing to add to the conversation. And it's the truth. Anger is the number one most frequent feeling that I feel. The one that I have little to no control over. "Are you going to yell at me now?"

"Why would I yell at you?" He shakes his head watching me, searching for something in my face. Then, as if he suddenly grew bored, he travels to the desk and grabs the small wastebasket next to it. I hold myself with perfect posture as he walks over to me and starts stuffing what remains of the pillow into the garbage.

"I," I lower my voice to a whisper, "I killed that Vampire. I just destroyed the pillow."

"And the mattress, it would seem." He clicks his tongue, clearing away the last of the shredded cotton.

"So you are not mad?" My mouth goes dry.

"Nilsa, I might be leading this little team of ours, but I'm not your parent. You're what, in your twenties? You're a woman in Human years." How does he know anything about Humans at all? "If you say that you had no other choice but to ram your knife into the heart of that Vampire, then I'm choosing to believe you.” Even if he sounds a little exasperated with himself for that very choice. “Even if I think it would have been smarter to holler for Juilliard or me. However, you did have a choice whether or not to cut up my pillow, so I'd be keen to hear an apology about that."

I press my lips together. Marcello sets the wastebin down next to the bed and watches me with his arms balanced on his lean hips.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks.

"No."

"Very well then. Should you change your mind, I'll be around." His eyes trail back to the bed and he sighs before he heads for the door. "A word to the wise, it's smart to talk about the things that bother you. If you keep bottling them up like this, they'll keep exploding out of you." He points to the bed. "You can have that mattress tonight, since you ruined it. I doubt Juilliard will want it, and I sure as hell don't.”

My hands fist at my side. It takes all of me to give him the slightest nod. With every heartbeat I can still feel the unchecked fury pulsing inside of me. I've seen too much in my short life. I've felt enough heartbreak to last not only my lifetime but probably Marcello and Juilliard's too. Hell, some of my wounds feel so deep that I can probably include Hedda’s as well. Now, I'm just pitying myself. And that never takes me anywhere except to the bottom of a liquor bottle.

Marcello closes the door softly; I almost don't even hear it latch. He leaves me alone and the moment he's gone I flatten against the wall, sliding down it rather dramatically. Even I’m self-aware enough to know that I'm acting a fool. I prop my knees up and wrap my arms around them, resting my head against my forearms.

Why hadn't Marcello yelled at me? Why hadn't Marcello yanked me up by the collar of my shirt and pressed his nose against mine as spit flies into my face while he shrieks? Why hadn't he tried to fight me? Had I done wrong in a job for Joss, he'd have done one or more of those things. Or maybe he'd choose to raise my rent for staying in the coven?

But Marcello... he'd cleaned up my mess, spoken to me softly, then when I'd said no he accepted the answer and left. Maybe he knows that he tested me enough over Hedda's little challenge for one night.

My head hits against the wall behind me as