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

"I do like bread and jams." Hedda nods.

"I don't think he's talking to you." I say quietly to the Orc. Gently, I set my hand against her shoulder and give her a reassuring pat.

"Oh," she adjusts the gun strapped to her back. "Very well." Her lips twitch as her attention bounces between us. Strands of gray hair topple into her face as she gives a small bow and turns away.

"We can go to my tent?" Marcello arches a brow, the question hanging in the air for a moment before I find the words to answer.

"That sounds too private."

"What I intend to talk about with you does not need additional ears. Unless you wish for them? Then I'm sure Hedda would be happy to rejoin us." He balances the food in one arm and with his free side holds out his elbow. I stare at the gesture. "You're supposed to place your hand in the crook of my arm."

"I know that." I lift my hand but don't dare touch him yet. "You are not in the castle, I'm sure you're not expected to show manners such as this." Especially to a Human such as me.

"Perhaps I would like to offer you the gesture as a thank-you for making the right choice today. What is the harm?"

I let out all the air in my lungs and finally place my hand against his arm. Warmth spreads through my fingertips, drawing me closer to him with every step we take to our dark plum tents toward the back of the room. Hybrids linger outside their tents. I’m not sure what they think as they watch the two of us walk through the room together. The world around becomes hazy and my vision is strictly a pinpoint of clarity on Marcello.

He could have died today. He could still die tomorrow. Talons clench my spirit inside of me, pulling me away from his heat. Marcello slows.

"Don't run, Nilsa."

Is that what I was about to do? My steps slow and I examine the way I've bounced back off his frame and am straining in a stretch to put as much space between us as possible. Was I going to run? Yes. Running is what I do best. Running doesn't end in the feeling of your soul being ripped from your body and crushed into a thousand little pieces that take years to put back together, if you happen to be one of the few who even can.

Marcello's statement sounds more like a challenge. I refuse to let him win. Or maybe for once I refuse to let my demons win. My fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt sleeve in one desperate attempt to keep me at his side. I stay like that, straining and fighting the urge to flee all the way to his tent.

Our little campsite is empty and quiet. The rest of our team somewhere else. Purposefully? I try swallowing to alleviate the scratchy feeling in my throat. It does nothing as Marcello slips his arm from mine and holds open the tent flap.

Two cots sit on either end of the tent, one with the blankets made and the other a scattered crumple of quilts. Marcello points me to the less cluttered side.

"I told Juilliard I wasn't going to clean up after him. He seems content to live in a mess, so I've let him." He says, crossing his legs under him and sitting down on one end of the cot. The knife and the glass jar clink together as he drops the food to the middle and watches me sit down by his pillow. "You look stressed."

"We just completed another event. It was stressful." I curl my arms around my body. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Are you uncomfortable?" His attention drifts down to my arms. "Do you not want to be alone with me? We really can go outside if it would make you more comfortable."

An ache from the tense muscles in my back and neck settles inside the back of my skull, reminding me of the tightness of my braid. I force my hands away from my stomach and instead busy my them with unraveling my braid. The three strands create a tumble of waves in my blonde hair.

"I've told you before that you and I alone is not a very good idea."

"Is it because of our chemistry? Are you fearful that I'll whisk you away and make you fall madly in love with me?"

I snort. "We do not have any chemistry." I try to argue it, even as he looks at me now with that half smile on his face. The kind of smile that reveals a single dimple in his cheek. He stretches forward to pluck the knife from between us creating an urge in me to lean into him and meet him in the middle.

"That's not what you said earlier."

"I've said a lot of things lately that I do not mean." Mainly the comment about Lily and his father. It was cruel of me. It wouldn't have bothered me to say it except I could see exactly how much it hurt him when I'd said it. If it had been anyone else, I would have already forgotten what I said.

"I just wanted to tell you that I accept your apology." I start to protest but he holds up a finger, still gripping the knife in his palm. "You can’t take it back, you've already said it. And I've already forgiven you. Bread?"

"Sure."

He works quickly, opening the loaf, balancing bread on his knees and spreading jam over a few slices. "How did you know which one was me?" He doesn't look away from his work.

"The last one said that he loved me. I think I can say with certainty that you do not love me. No matter how