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

rules of the night. Or because they all secretly wanted to be on the dance floor anyway.

The space they had occupied is slowly absorbed by the crowd around it as they chat to one another. It's not the crowd my gaze falls on, though. It's the same silver eyes that are always following me. Marcello leans against the wall, one side of his mouth lifted with a smirk. He lifts his glass to me in acknowledgment. For the smallest moment, I envision it's his hands on me now. It's him that I lay my head against as he pulls me a fraction closer and the music slows.

Our glasses clink together on the table as two hands smack against it, rattling them. I gasp and immediately step away from Davison. Juilliard leans off the dance floor, grabbing for my drink. He manages to get it up off the table before I shift and grab the glass by the stem to stop him.

"Nils, don't be like that. You weren't even drinking it." Juilliard tries to look innocent as he glances between me and Davison, still holding my drink tightly.

"What are you doing? Let it go and get your own!" I hiss.

"It's just a quick drink. I'm busy dancing." He rolls his body in time with the music. It is pretty impressive. "Or should I ask who your new friend is?"

My eye twitches, but I let go of the glass. The force of which I'd held it makes the cup spring up and liquor slosh over the top onto Juilliard's hand. He doesn't mind though, he brings the drink to his lips, downs it, and sets it back on the table. He extends the hand still covered in liquid to Davison.

"Hey, I'm Juilliard, one of Nilsa's teammates."

Davison takes his hand and shakes firmly. "I'm Davison."

"Be good to her now. We need her." Juilliard shakes his finger before some girl with two horns curling from her temples grabs his arm and yanks him from the conversation. The drink must be getting to his head because Juilliard has never acted as though he’s needed me.

My eyes go large. Speaking to Davison like that makes my pulse pick up with frustration and a nervous laugh bubbles up. He says it as if he has some sort of claim on me because I'm part of his team. It's both possessive and protective, and I fucking hate it. I can look out for myself. I don't need him or Marcello to do it for me. Davison is clearly Human, which makes him less of a danger to me than any other creature in this room.

The smallest part of me enjoys it. I try to tell that part to shut up. But she remains smug as can be about having someone, anyone, acting the slightest bit protective over her. That part of me is stupid.

"Get out of here, Juilliard," I shoo at him, tucking hair behind my ear, and turning back to Davison. "I'm so sorry about that. Now that we're on this stupid team they think they have some sort of say over me and it's absolutely ridiculous. But that's enough about me. Where are your teammates?"

Dancers cheer, drowning out some of our conversation. Men pick up girls, placing them on their shoulders and carrying them around the dance floor as such. Many of them sneak a glance under their skirts, like adolescents who have never seen a vagina before. Good Saints, if I were one of those girls, I'd have dug the point of my heels into a pressure point on their neck.

"Actually, that is my team." He points to the rowdy men.

"Those guys? You're joking."

"No," he laughs. "Let me introduce you to a few of them. I promise they aren't nearly as bad as they appear."

"I'm not sure I believe that."

One of the men, an Elf, holds a bottle of champagne against his hip, shaking it violently before he pops the top and the liquid explodes all over the dance floor. Men in their dress shoes slip against the liquid and women shriek as their dresses get doused. A Vampire falls, taking out a Minotaur and the two girls they held up with them. The Elf leans back and laughs.

"Have you never been to a party before, Nilsa? Things are about to get much wilder than that." Davison smiles, drawing a line down my jaw and tipping my chin up to him. "Any interest in getting wild with me?"

I look around the room, heart pounding. My arm rises to tug at the hood of a cloak, to hide my face, that doesn't even exist, so I drop my hand down to my waist. Saying you can be anyone you want is an exciting thought, but in practice it's terrifying. And the truth is... I'm me, not them. Crowds make me nervous, and this dress makes me feel exposed.

"Get wild with you tonight and try to kill you tomorrow?" I point out. Perhaps that’s the most frustrating thing about this entire night. We're all just supposed to get along and party until they start the games tomorrow and pit us against each other. Getting close to Davison is a bad idea. I'm stupid for not thinking it through.

"If tonight’s our last night, we might as well have a good one." He shrugs.

There has to be a reason he’s here. A reason the Saints have just brought us together. The idea makes me curious so I speak, even though I know his answer changes nothing.

"Tonight's not my last night, and I just can't bring myself to pretend to be anyone's friend when I'm not. I'm already doing that enough with the Hybrids that dragged me here. Why are you in the Games, Davison?"

His brows furrow and he picks his glass back up stepping away from me as he thinks for a minute. "I