Vengeance (The Prince's Games Book 1) Rebecca Grey (first e reader txt) 📖

Marcello leans over the bread with a loud sigh. "I'm going to make you a piece of bread with jam. Would it literally kill you to let me do one nice thing for you?"

His question has me searching my memories for the last time a Hybrid did something nice for me. Noor... but does that count because she did it for her own personal gain too? Juilliard? He'd stitched me up. I look over to the Elf. Juilliard picks up some grapes, tossing them into his mouth.

Would he have done it if Marcello wouldn't have made him to begin with? Unlikely. Juilliard and I already had troubles getting along. I know our sour-ass attitudes are likely the cause.

"Strawberry," I finally say.

"What a wonderful choice. I'm much more of a peach man myself, if you cared to know." The blade saws into the bread, a thick slice falling flat.

"I don't care to know." But my wicked betraying lips lift in a smile. Saints, I need to get myself under control. Since meeting Marcello my life has been a whirlwind of a storm and I don't have anything to hold on to. My emotions are just raw and thrashing in the wind like a flag beaten and tattered by the constant breeze. I have no control. Perhaps the first step is just admitting that I don't.

"Didn't figure you did. Oh well." Marcello pops the lid off and dips a butter knife in. With a back and forth motion, he slathers the deep red jam across the slice then holds it out for me to take.

I reach out for it slowly, the smallest worry that he'll snatch it away present in my thoughts. He watches me, somewhat confused and amused, as he drops it in my palm.

"Don't expect a thank you." Juilliard points out with a mouthful of fruit. When he speaks, spit flies from his mouth and he rushes to cover his parted lips. Ever the gentleman.

"Oh, I don't. But it would be nice." Marcello cuts himself his own slice, grabbing a second knife and slathering the peachy concoction on his bread.

"That would be nice." I mumble into my bread.

Juilliard waves a hand before I can walk away. "Come, let’s go back to the medic tent and change your bandage. I'll wrap you up real tight before the event starts. We don't have long."

In a way I'm thankful to put some space between me and Marcello. If it wasn't for my still healing stitches I'd go run and jump right in that flowing river. My hormones... my emotions... my whatever the fuck is fueling this wanting need inside of me requires a cold shower.

He leaves the table behind. His dark hair shines under the large hanging lights above and I follow the bob of his head as he nods to other players trailing off to the large white tent. By the time we make it back there I've gotten through most of my slice, eating faster than I intended. My apple is still clutched in my other hand.

"Cot," Juilliard demands as he stands in the tent's entrance, pushing back the long flaps.

I shove the last bit of bread in my mouth and toss the apple in the air, catching it on the unbitten side. Juilliard remains quiet, gathering a new bandage and another wet cloth. He doesn't meet my eyes as I watch him.

Without asking, he starts to curl the edge of my shirt up to take a look at the bandages below. It'd originally been white, but now looks almost brown. At least it's not green.

He rubs the white cloth against the edges of the bandage, dampening the adhesive. Arron had done the same thing for me as a child to soften the hurt of ripping it right off.

"Are you nervous for the event today?" He clears his throat and asks. His dark eyes flick to my face, then back down to his work.

"Not particularly."

"Your heart is racing. Are you not feeling well? Do the stitches hurt? I can give you another dose of medicine to try and help you through today."

My heart is racing? I bite my lip. That's exactly why I'd followed Juilliard, so that I could stop my heart from fucking racing. I should just stop thinking. That's it, I should just find a way to shut my Saints damn brain off. That would be nice.

"I'm fine," I say too harshly, so I soften my voice. "But yes, if I could have more of that nasty tonic I will not turn it down."

"Alright?"

He doesn't believe me. I'm not going to try and persuade him though.

Carefully, he peels the bandage away. I press my eyes closed, taking a few breaths to ease through the pain... to slow my heartbeat. Without the bandage, cold air licks at my skin.

He touches around, but not on the stitches, looking at the skin. "They still look good. Had me worried with this bandage."

He turns to toss the old bandage into the nearest bin and turns back immediately, picking up the new one. He presses it on around the wound. His hand disappears from my side and when I crack my eyes he has a clear wrap in his hands.

"Can you hold your shirt up?"

I gather the fabric in my hands, holding at the bottom of my bra line. No further. Juilliard gently presses the wrap over the bandage and wraps his arms around me again and again until he is satisfied. Every time my lungs expand they press against the wrap. Every time I shift there's a restriction to my movement.

"I feel stiff." I let go of my shirt as he steps away, heading for the tonics.

"Good. It's meant to help keep you from moving that area too much. I'll be annoyed if I have to redo the stitches