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

life plagues him. Let it haunt him more. Let him think about me until he is driven mad. Let him crave the idea of my body pressed against his, the curve of me squirming underneath him. Let him have the knowledge that all these attempts at flattery, of persuading me into being enthralled with his charming demeanor, will never work. He'll never have me.

So I don't pull my hand away. I just watch as he draws little circles over my skin. I sit still as the feeling tingles up my arm.

"Is there always this much sexual tension between them?" I hear Finnegan whisper to Hedda whose shoulders rise and fall. I keep my attention fixed on Marcello's face.

"No, I’m just wondering what the hell the Human plans to do with the knife she’s trying to steal off your table," Marcello says, then his eyes travel up my body where tension riddles me and he curls his fingers into my sleeve, plucking the knife out. He sets it with a thunk against the table. "I'll try to keep my hands off you from now on. I'd hate for you to follow through with one of your threats and I end up with two robotic hands." He sits back in his chair and smiles up to Finnegan and Sloane. "Your home is lovely."

"Thank you," Sloane gushes, but still pins me with an inquisitive stare. Her long nails click against a pitcher of water as she walks between us and pours it into our cups. She looks down at me when she gets to my side. "My apologies for wanting a taste when you got here. You smell delectable. I can see why the Elf is interested in you. You're so pretty, in like a rugged way."

That's not a compliment.

"But please, don’t steal my things,” she continues, “I'm hoping that we can put that behind us now that we're teammates."

"I think that would be for the best." I agree and wrap my hand around the goblet as she moves on to Marcello. Nothing finer has ever touched my lips as I bring the gold cup to my mouth. The water is fresh, and so cold I can feel it travel all the way down to my stomach.

"Why don't you tell us about yourselves?" Finnegan sits at the end of the long table and smooths down his hair against his head. He points a finger at Hedda, his long yellow nail even more disturbing in proper light.

"Mmm, yes," Hedda swallows and sets down her cup. "I own a brothel on Kaprisha. Pretty good business for this side of the wall, if I do say so myself. I reckon Marcello picked me up for the team because of my steady aim."

"Hedda could shoot a man dead from across the city, no matter how crowded the streets are. It's marvelous, her abilities." Marcello presses against the table look from Hedda to Finnegan.

"Did you know each other before this?" Finnegan points between the two.

"I mean, I've visited Kaprisha a time or to myself. Visited Hedda's establishment."

Of course, he has. I shouldn't be surprised. I shouldn't want to throw up all over this damn table, either. Sometimes I'm funny like that, only in the way that it's not fucking funny at all. But sometimes, when someone is as attractive as Marcello, the thought that they've touched anyone else other than myself is infuriating. No matter how attracted to him I may be, I just have to keep reminding myself that it's all superficial. It's a good combination of skin, hair, eyes, and muscle. Under all that is nothing more than a lying, evil creature.

Hedda, on the other hand, is a good shot. I'd witnessed that myself. So maybe she isn't the most athletically inclined, but do you need to be when you can lie on your belly and shoot a man from a hundred yards away?

"And you?" Finnegan shifts his gaze to Juilliard.

"Can I smoke in here?" Juilliard brushes the black strands from his eyes and pulls out a small carton of his cigarettes.

"Juilliard," Marcello warns under his breath.

Juilliard huffs a breath and puts his cigarettes back into his jacket. "Fine." He pouts. "I'm smart, I guess."

"Just smart?" Sloane sets the pitcher on the table and curls into her husband’s lap at the head of the table.

"Yeah. That's it. I mean, I'm well trained in battle and I've been this bastard’s best friend since he came to my home town." He points his thumb to Marcello.

Then all of their gazes turn to me, as if Juilliard had said enough. I return the stare, bouncing from one waiting face to the other. Hedda smiles, hopefully waiting for any tidbit of information she can glean from whatever I'm about to say. Do I even know what I'm about to say? Shouldn't Marcello be jumping to explain my life story like he has before?

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out at first. "I'm a hired mercenary. I've gotten away with killing Hybrids in The Bend for years."

"She's being modest." Juilliard taps his fingers against the table without looking up. "Nilsa is the Ghost that takes men in the night."

I grimace tightly as Marcello adds, "She's fucking stealthy. Quiet as a wisp of wind. Deadly in the very best of ways. Unafraid."

"The Ghost? We're in the presence of a legend!" Sloane throws her hands up. “And to think we almost ate you.”

"I thought you've been in solitude for decades?" My eyes narrow into slits.

"Dear," Finnegan laughs, "You think that actually stopped us from getting visits from our dearest friends? Oh, Saints no. We're up to date on most major news, including the plague of the Ghost that roams The Bend."

"What about you Marcello? Please, tell us something else about your life. I'm dying for another sob story." I incline my chin to him.