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

much on the same team." He laughs again, the sound cut short as an axe embeds itself in Costello's skull.

Hot blood splatters against my skin. Jefferson's body goes lax for the smallest second as surprise overtakes him. I don't wait for another opportunity. I could be dead before another comes. The last of my air is exhaled as I slip my arm between us and force his sword away from me. Simultaneously, I'm kicking behind me with one boot. To his knees... to his groin... to whatever the fuck I can hit to help push him off of me.

I'm spinning, already prepared for him to charge after me, but a streak of blonde hair and red eyes leaps on his back. Buzzing fills the air as cameras hover low through the trees, taking in the scene that is happening far too fast for me to stop. Sloane sinks her teeth into Jefferson's neck, a hand wrapped around his wrist holding his sword at bay and he hisses.

Sloane pulls away, blood staining her lips. "Run, Nilsa," she snaps.

I don't run from things when I can finish them. Something in the wild snarl that escaped Jefferson and the fury to which Sloane clings to him with extended fangs tells me that I will not win here. I'll be in the way. So to keep my life intact, I turn, leaping over the fallen Orc and sprint.

Not far ahead, two more bodies litter the ground. A fight that we missed? Seconds. It had only taken Seconds for the bloodshed to begin. The arena floor might be large, but it's not too large for us to find our opponents. Two bodies, Lux and Amory. Neither of which I care to mourn. I keep running past them. Forcing every breath to be as quiet as I can manage and every step to be as light as a feather. Where am I even going? I don't have a clue where. To the flag? To Hedda? Marcello?

I catch the sound of heavy footsteps and I slow. Bark presses into my palms as I pull my weight up into the nearest tree. I scamper up another limb then two, curling behind a spread of leaves. Air purges my chest, burning with fear and excitement.

India, the Elf with long black braids swaying down her back walks slowly around the two fallen bodies. She examines them for a moment before she steps over them. Kill, Kill, Kill. My mind repeats. Kill them all so none can get to the flag. So none can claim your victory.

She doesn't look up into the trees as I had. Either too cocky to bother or she already knows I'm here. Like Sloane, India carries an axe, though hers looks much more slender and less cumbersome than the Vampire’s. I ready myself to leap from the tree limb. I'll aim for the space behind her and run my dagger through before she even knows what's going on.

Lifting myself ever so slightly, I brace myself for the drop. India's yelp forces me to stop and freeze to find what I'd missed before. A long sword purges through her chest, Jefferson on the other side of it, twisting sharply.

"You should have taken the deal, India," he growls, before ripping the blade clean from her and becoming yet another blur in my vision.

"Sloane.” I give it one heartbeat then two before I drop. My feet slam against the ground and my knees threaten to buckle underneath me. I ignore the way my bones groan at the impact, already running back the way I'd come.

The lowest of the tree branches whip against my skin as I throw myself forward off of every obstacle in my way. The toes of my boots catch on the fallen body of Costello and I stumble over him to a stop. My pulse races as I look at the blood that stains the ground. The axe that had been in the Orc’s head is gone. Instead, new blood drips from the blade.

Sloane gasps, red drips from her lips and I'm sure it's a mixture of Jefferson's and her own. Her feet dangle underneath her. Her hands holding the weapon now pinning her against the large trunk of a tree. Slowly, her crimson eyes draw up from the axe in her stomach to my face. Blood sputters from her lips and she smiles.

"For the Resistance," she whispers.

"No. No. No! No one asked you to do this. Sloane, no!" The mask I usually keep in place to hide the far too fragile girl underneath slips. She's dying. She'll be dead for me. Sloane, a Vampire, will have died saving a Human. Unspeakable.

"Find," she takes a ragged breath, "Finnegan. He will," She coughs and chokes, a long drip of red rolling over her large bottom lip. "He will keep you alive for the Resistance."

"You're mistaken. I'm not part of the Resistance. I'm not a part of it. I can't ask that of him. I certainly didn't ask this of you." Everything I'm saying comes out in the rasp of a breath that I hardly have inside my tight chest.

"Nilsa Windsor," Sloane smiles slightly again, "You are the exact spirit of the Resistance. I die so you may claim the heart of the king." Her voice fades as she speaks, her eyelids lowering to the slightest slits as she loses more blood that forms a large puddle between us. "Go now. Don't look back."

Sloane doesn't deserve to die like this. And she certainly doesn't deserve to die alone. I shouldn't have listened to her. I shouldn't have left her alone. I lift my hand, brushing back stray strands of hair, curving my palm against her bloodied cheek. Our skin sticks together and her Vampire skin feels like ice.

"You did not deserve this," I whisper.

"Go." The word doesn't have sound, her head lolls against my hand, even as