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

you know of us?" Finnegan lifts his chin. Sloane's heels tap against the floor as she walks behind him, curling against him with her hands around his waist. She whispers something into his ear while she keeps her eyes pinned on us.

"I know that you've outlived your banishment. I know that you two were able to hijack trains coming into the capital of The Oasis by yourselves without any help and that you did that for decades before someone was able to catch you. That means you're fast. That means you're cunning. That means you can get in and out of places without being seen until you need to be."

"Oh, he's good." Sloane smiles.

"Look," Marcello rights himself and places his hands on his hips. "The way that I see it is this is your chance to rub it in their faces. This is your chance to let King Caspar see that you've outlived your punishment and you've come back to make him look like a fool."

"We'd like that very much, wouldn't we dear?" Finnegan settles against Sloane, her hair catching against the slightest bit of stubble I hadn't seen growing on his cheeks.

"Yes," she replies.

Hedda picks at the white sheet under her. In contrast to the couch, her greenish skin is bright. Her large eyes roam around the room, taking in all of the dark corners and hanging cobwebs. The only light we, or rather I, can use to see with is the light from the still open door. Wind blows through it, taking with it a swirl of ashy dirt off the floor.

Juilliard sits, his legs wide, one arm draped over the back of the couch and the other resting in his lap. He watches Hedda, horrified as the Orc reaches up and picks something from her teeth, staring at, then choosing to eat it. I follow his gaze, now my stomach churns as Hedda swallows whatever it had been down. It could be worse. She could be eating something off of the couch or floors.

"So do we have a deal?" Marcello asks, bouncing on his toes.

"Do you think we have a deal?" Finnegan turns to Sloane.

She runs her hand down his back and slips around him to stand at his side. "Do you think we have a deal?" she asks him in return.

"Oh for the love of the Saints." I press my palm into my forehead, patience wearing thin. "Do we have a fucking deal?"

Her hand rises to touch her heart, her lips part as if she's surprised by my little unwillingness to wait. Marcello sighs loudly before the Vampire speaks. "Are we sure we have to bring the Human along?"

"I like the Human. I vote the Human stays." Hedda grins. "How much anger can be in such a tiny little body like that? Ah, I'd love to just sit and pick your brain."

"Thank you, Hedda, for having my back." I hold up a finger, frowning at the idea of having to hold myself down in one place for a conversation with Hedda. "Patience may not always be my strong suit, but is it necessary to draw out your response like this?" It's not. Not at all. Still, I'm sure they'll keep doing it anyway.

"We do have a flair for the dramatics." Sloane smiles softly at her husband.

"My honey is so right." Finnegan takes her hand, pressing kiss to the back of her hand. "Shall we go ahead and give them our answer?"

My eyes widen as I stare at them hard. Every vein in my neck is pulsing and I can feel my heartbeat behind my eyes.

"Oh, just tell them Finny." Sloane tugs at his sleeve and I can't help but picture her as a child. She and her husband lean into each other and chuckle at the suspense before tossing their arms in the air and shouting, "We're going!"

"Oh, very good." I give them a forced smile and turn to look to Marcello. "Shall we slide back down this mountain on our asses and board the ship and be on our way?"

"Why do you have to hurry off? Surely after a journey such as yours you'd like to rest a minute. Let us host you. It's been so long since we've seen anyone or met new people. Let us show you our home. We want to host them, don't we?" Sloane starts to flutter to the next room. She opens the door, hanging from the edge of it as she waits for confirmation.

Finnegan turns to face us. One hand rises and he strokes over the slight mustache on his upper lip. A protest is already forming inside my mouth when Hedda stands to stretch with a groan.

"I'd love a rest. It's been a long time since I've moved this much," She practically screams the words as she yawns with her hands above her head.

Warning bells are already going off in my head. If walking up a hill is hard for her...how will she ever survive the Games? A new prince comes along once in every century, the currently ruling race of Elves seeing lifespans of one hundred to one hundred and fifty long years. So I haven't been alive long enough to experience the Games to truly know what is to come.

What I've learned over the years is simply because people like to talk. And about anything and everything, I've found. Hybrids will sit and shoot the shit with you for hours if you let them, blabbing about one meaningless thing or another. I mean, I never let them sit and shoot the shit with me. For many reasons. Other than the glaringly obvious reason that I value my life, I've never had the want to sit and listen to the nonsense they spew for that long. Just sitting through someone's conversation while I wait to slit open their throat is hard enough.