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

hour." He offers me his glass with hardly a sip left in it. "Would you like something more to drink?"

I stare down at the drink. I could... just this once. Nah, even drunk I don't think I could actually let loose. Not like Davison's team of men, or the girls who let themselves get swept away. I almost let Davison sweep me away, until I remembered who and what I am.

One of the guys breaks away from the dance floor. His Elven ears poke out of his silver blonde hair that hangs to a blunt cut at his shoulders, making his already pale skin even more washed out. Behind a plastic mask painted a deep hue of purple, his stormy sea-green eyes cut to Marcello and I. His smile quickly dissolves as he straightens the collar of his soaked white shirt. In all the madness he'd already lost his jacket and the champagne had made his shirt sheer, showing off muscle after stacked muscle.

"Trust me," Marcello continues, "it helps. The more you drink, the less worried you become about turning into someone you're not. You can pretend all night if you just drink enough." The last bit of liquid slips from the glass and over his lips as he drinks it down.

"That feels hypocritical." I glance at Marcello but he blatantly ignores the Elf who's still storming our direction.

"We're all hypocrites in one way or another." There’s a sorrow in his voice, one so deep and genuinely true, I'm curious what he could have done to make himself feel as if he falls into this category as well. That alone sets me on edge.

Even if I worked up the nerve and set aside my pride to ask, the other Elf stops directly in front of us. He plants his feet and crosses his arms, his pretty face is made ugly with the wicked sneer that cuts across his features.

"What the hell are you doing here Marcello?"

Marcello takes his sweet time bringing his eyes up the man before us. There's a clear shift in the energy between us. I'm used to Marcello being relaxed, carefree, and annoyingly joyful. All of that's gone in an instant.

"I'm playing in the Games," he says in a dead tone.

The man tilts toward Marcello, lowering his voice to a rough growl. "The fuck you are. I thought we'd discussed this. You were going to sit this out."

"No, Mavi, you discussed it. I have every right to be here, just as you do," Marcello snaps his fingers and steps into the Elf, Mavi's, personal space.

“I knew when I saw Juilliard that you had to be around here somewhere. I can’t believe this. I'll have a word with someone about this. I won't let you get away with it!" Mavi turns, his face flushed red, and knocks his shoulder into Marcello, sending him barreling into me. I plant my feet and grab Marcello's arms as he curses.

"It won't do you a lick of good!" he yells after him.

Marcello takes a step forward, making as though he's about to chase after Mavi. The Elf is indeed rude as hell, didn't even acknowledge my presence except for the undeserved scowl he gave me on the way from the dance floor, but tonight there is no fighting, unless we want to be disqualified.

"Marcello, don't," I say facing him toward me. His head remains cocked as he tries to watch over his shoulder. "Look at me." I grab his chin and force him to look down at me.

His chest rises and falls with a huff of breath as he closes his eyes. I keep my hand on his face, certain he'll turn away the moment I let go. Everything in my body locks up when he brings a hand to mine and presses my palm into his cheek. The rough stubble of the shadow of a beard that's grown in throughout the day bites into my hand.

"Maybe a drink would be nice after all. I take it you know him." I say, pulling my hand away.

"Yeah, yes. Unfortunately, I do."

"He didn't want you to join the Games. Why?"

"We're practically family. He wants the glory, I want a change." Marcello moves to a small table against the wall and sets the glass down. It's harder to tell that he's worked up because physically, he's just as perfect as he was moments ago. He starts pacing and the dimples of his smirk are long gone at this point.

I snort. "What could you possibly want to change in The Oasis?" He grew up there and he can't even see how good he has it? Sure, I want to change some things... mainly find a way to knock down that wall that separates us. But him? I find it hard to believe that someone who lives in a place as grand and giving as The Oasis could find fault with it.

"Nilsa," he finally cracks a small smile, "you don't understand."

"Why? Because I'm Human?"

"No, because you've never lived in this. Being here for just this one party before we enter the Games isn't enough for you to see why The Oasis needs saving too. You're here to get the money to save yourself from The Bend, I'm here to save The Oasis from itself." He runs a hand through his hair. "Try having to sit through parties like this every weekend. Trying finding it hard to have anything to celebrate but still be expected to become a drunk swaggering fool like the rest."

"You are a drunk swaggering fool."

"But I don't want to be. That's the point," he tilts his head back and laughs. "Saints, look what they've turned me into. Ah, Nils, I'd hate for The Oasis to get its hands on you and to wipe away the true grit of who you are. I won't let them do it, either.