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

be doing that any more. Again, Arron would be so disappointed in me. I'm disappointed in me.

"You volunteered," he counters, trying to sit up. Juilliard growls and Marcello slowly lowers himself down again. "I didn't think you could break its neck, but if I told you that would you have listened? Nooooo. No fucking way you would have listened."

Oh, I would have only seen that as more of a challenge, but I'm not going to let him know how right he is.

"You didn't even try to fight it. Did you think that I could have ended up like Davison? Were you just waiting for me to volunteer as the sacrificial lamb?"

"Who's Davison?" Juilliard asks.

"The other Human."

Both of them fall silent. Is that confirmation that I'm right? Had they really thought that maybe I'd accidentally kill myself and get them by the Criosphinx?

"What Mavi and the others did to Davison was wrong," Marcello whispers, his face scrunching up as Juilliard pulls his fingers from his friend with a sickening suction sound.

Juilliard pins his friend with a daring stare. "Don't you fucking move. I don't want to do that again." He holds his hands in front of him, crossing the large tent to get to the water set up. He twists the knob on a sink, leaving behind bloody fingerprints. His foot finds the small pedal at the base and he pulses his foot against it as water begins to spit out and rinse away the red.

Juilliard sighs, grabbing a white towel and drying his hands. He pauses as he faces me. "I would have been the one to consider offering you up as a sacrifice. Marcello," he looks at his friend, "wouldn't even consider it. And... if I’d tried he'd probably kill me himself for it."

My fingers tighten around the plush material of the towel. What had once been white is now stained crimson. I don't know how much is actually fresh blood and what has just been soaked up from around the wound.

I watch in silence, Juilliard eventually peeling away from the sink and gathering a pointed needle and sutures. His boots tap against the concrete floor. When he nears he motions to pull the towel away with a tight face.

My jaw tenses as I lift the towel away, the cold fresh air striking the wound like a slap against my skin.

He glances up at me. "You'll scar."

"What's one more scar?" I already have so many, no one would notice if I added to the collection.

That makes him smile, not a lot, but a fraction of an upturned angle pulls at his lips. Juilliard shuffles back to the long tabletop of supplies, this time picking up tonics and reading labels until he finds the right one.

"You doing okay over there?" He calls behind him. Not to me, but to Marcello.

Marcello lets out a long breath. "I'm fine."

Juilliard shakes a clear vial with sloshing green liquid, thick with chunks of whatever herb has soaked within it. "He's not fine, but he will be," he says mostly to himself before he hands me the glass bottle and adds, "Drink this."

"What is it?" I swirl the glass. Green clots in herbal heaps against the sides. Like a swamp. This bottle looks like a capsule of swamp water.

"It's for the pain. Just drink it, please, I don't need you passing out."

"He didn't pass out." I point to Marcello who still lays frozen. Could it be possible he's passed out now?

"He has Elf blood, you do not. Didn't we just talk about you being too prideful or some shit? Take the damn tonic."

With a pop, I pull the cork from the bottle. A putrid scent of rot greets me. This can’t be good for my health.

"Nilsa, it'll have you on your feet faster." Juilliard coos.

I need to be on my feet. I need to go out and start mingling with the other teams. As much as I don't want to be, it's important for me to figure out who the prince is as soon as possible. If I can take him out during the Games then I won't have to worry about him later. So I bring the bottle to my lips. With one hand I pinch my nose shut as the other tips the glass.

Liquid shoots back, hitting my throat and I swallow like my life depends on it. Still, a bitter taste sits on my tongue. I push the glass back into Juilliard's grasp, wiping the back of my hand across my lips. Nothing is going to get this taste from my mouth. I just know it.

"Get to work," I say as I'm smacking my lips, trying to force away the taste with the scrape of my tongue against my teeth. A tingling sensation blooms from my stomach, traveling up my throat. An awareness of the numb feeling that travels through my veins settles as the pulse of my torn flesh recedes.

I hook my arms behind my head, allowing the Elf access. Juilliard flicks his gaze up to me before he bends and begins pinching the skin together. Medicine, even the items bought from the Magic Corner, do not work like this in my experience. Is there a little bit of magic in what I just drank?

Along my side, I can feel Juilliard prodding against me. I can even recognize the pinch and sting as the needle weaves through the edges of flesh. But it's only uncomfortable. Nothing really hurts. Yet.

"That tonic you gave me worked well," I say, if only to keep myself from grimacing as the needle pokes through a more sensitive bit.

"As it should."

Marcello emits a soft snore. At first I think he's joking, or poking fun to suggest that my conversation skills are lacking. However with one quick look it's plain to see the Elf sat so