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

her heels in, trying not to ram into my back. With a shake of her head she walks around us, mumbling about needing breakfast.

"What are you doing?"

"Marcello," I shake his hand off. "I'm going to go eat. Whatever do you mean?" I bat my eyelashes for good measure.

He pushes out a rush of air trying to gain composure of himself, but I can see an angry red creeping up into his cheeks. Seeing it makes butterflies twist and turn in my stomach, they take flight when he levels me with his heated silver gaze. His hand on my arm burns red hot, even through the fabric.

He steps a little closer. The air between us crackling with an unspoken energy that threatens to steal my breath away.

"Quit playing with me, Nilsa," he sings.

"Mavi offered me a truce. I'm just doing a little bit of digging. If I find out who the prince is and we kill him off, that only gets us closer to the win. Does it not?"

Marcello looks up at the cameras that float on by. How much of our conversation do they pick up?

"If the king hears of this, he'll send an assassin to kill you in your sleep and let someone else take the blame for it. Watch what you say. I'm not done with you yet." He lets go of my elbow, turning to the tables where new food is laid out and the temptations still wait.

I'm not done with you yet.

Those words send curling tendrils of heat sweeping low in my belly. Possessive, but promising in an accented rasp that makes my throat go dry. My face heats. I follow silently, not wanting to draw any attention to the blush taking over my body. It's been days since I'd been with Joss, and the need to be touched grows within me. I'll bury those feelings too. Bury them, bury them, bury them.

Unlike yesterday, the meal they've left out for us today has not been prepared ahead of time. Large cuts of meat are left uncooked in a stack next to equipment like Mavi and Jefferson had used. A loaf of bread sits with a knife, but has not been cut into. Jars of different jams and butters sit beside that. A tray of fruit brightens the table with its arrangement of colors.

I spy Credence already there, no doubt making himself a small plate to take back to his campsite. I'll forget about my growling stomach, if only to get a little bit more information out of someone today.

Marcello grabs an apple. He looks over his shoulder before tossing the fruit in the air. Juilliard catches it with a smile. Another streak of red flings over Marcello's shoulder and I take a step forward to keep it from splattering against the floor. I cup the apple and bring it to my lips. My teeth cut into its flesh and I take a bite with a satisfying snap.

I mosey back to the bags of legends. My finger taps the burlap tops as I count to make sure all remain accounted for. And they do.

"Well that's new." Credence's deep voice announces.

My boots squeak against the concrete as I turn to find out what he's talking about. Credence, Marcello, and Juilliard all tilt their heads as they read. Plastered on the back wall a screen blinks with information.

Each team is listed. The name of the team, then under it each member, their race, and their gender. Davison and Noor's names are both crossed out with big red lettering stamped next to them. DECEASED.

And just like that images of Criosphinx biting into Davison's body as he screams come hurtling forward. The sound of his bones crunching. The spray of his blood. I touch my uniform where his blood had been, as if I'm carrying the only piece of him left.

Averting my gaze, I sink my teeth into the apple again. I stroll around Marcello, Juilliard, and Hedda who hasn't looked away from the piles of food yet. With one finger, I run my hand over Marcello's chest as I walk by. I watch a shudder travel down his spine. A giddy feeling bubbles within me.

"Watch this," I whisper. So he does. He pins me with his focus that roams down then up my body.

Falling in step beside Credence, I look up at his tall looming figure. "Good morning," I chirp as if I mean it.

"What do you want?" He snaps hardly even bothering to look in my direction.

"Oh, you know, just curious if you're the prince or not."

Credence snorts. "Good luck with that."

"So you're not denying that you are the prince." I step in front of him, walking slowly so he has to match my pace.

"And if I was? What would that matter to you?"

"Well then I'd have to kill you, obviously," I say in a harsh whisper.

The Elf struggles to keep his features neutral, his lips wanting to work up into a bemused grin. He finally settles his gaze on me. "Again, I wish you the best of luck with that." He breathes out a laugh, chuckling, "Human." as he takes a large step around me and walks away.

Well that doesn't give me much to go on. I tear my gaze back to Marcello. He brings his hands together in a slow clap. "Wow Nilsa. You're right, that was totally worth the watch."

Next to him, Juilliard looks absolutely mortified. His mouth is slack, crimson stains the tip of his pointed ears. It's really quite the sight to see.

"Now that that is over... why don't you eat something more than just that apple before that stupid metal door opens and we're off to the next event." Marcello picks up the bread knife. "What kind of jam do you like?"

"What?" I nearly lose my grip on my apple. "What