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

Some creatures eye me moving about the edge of the street, coming nearer to the ships tied up at the docks. Four tall masts rise up into the clear sky, flags waving in the breeze. Four ships, only one of which is my ticket to the game.

You could bolt now, Nilsa. Some dark part of my mind suggests. There is still time for you to go into hiding, or even board a different ship to see how you fare in another kingdom.

No. This is bigger than me.

Then the angry part of me smiles. It snarls in its nasty voice.

There is still death to be paid.

Yes. I still had the will and the want within me. Blood will be spilled in the name of every moment of mistreatment me or any other Human has had to endure. It's that thought that makes me move a little faster.

In carefully engraved and then painted letters, each boat has a name printed across their bow. Women's names, if I have to guess. Why is it always women's names? Even in the rise and fall of the Immortal wars and the battles that Humans fought somehow years after, it is still women that suffer the most. And if you are a Human woman like me... the battle is that much harder.

When I win the Games, I'll buy my own boat. I'll buy a whole fleet of ships. And I'll name every last one of them after men. That I would love to see. Maybe I'll name a boat after Joss, see how he feels about being objectified.

The street before the piers is too full for anyone to allow me my own crumbling sidewalk. My shoulders knock against other passersby as the front of the ship with the only faded name that starts with a 'G' comes into view. This has to be the Genevieve.

My attention follows the gangway down to the street, where a hot-pink fur jacket comes into focus. A black hood is lifted to cover his face as he talks animatedly with another man whose hair is split down the middle with his bangs hanging into his eyes.

Marcello Torres.

My one-way ticket to freedom.

There is a static in the air. Or is it just in my head? In my chest? The entire world blurs around Marcello, my vision tunneling on only him. I guess it is the uptick in the beating of my heart that draws his attention, or maybe it's the way I'm barreling through the crowd toward him.

In the daytime, Marcello's skin glows like gold. Flawless and rich. His eyes are haunted, but he masks the look with a dazzling white smile that makes dimples appear in his cheeks. He turns away from his friend, lifting his hands up from his sides in welcome. There isn't an ounce of shock on his face that I've suddenly made my appearance. No, he’s cocky enough to assume that I was coming. It's enough to make me want to turn and walk away right now. I force myself to keep moving forward, only stopping when I'm a foot away.

"Ah, you're here!" he calls. "So you've decided to take me up on my offer?"

I bite the inside of my cheek, cursing myself and this life. Without answering, I shift my gaze to his friend.

Marcello glances to his side. He grabs the man's shoulder and yanks him forward. "Meet the first member of our team. My best friend, Juilliard." He tousles Juilliard's hair. "Say hi."

"Hi," his friend bites out with a small wave.

I’m unimpressed. What is this, yet another pirating Elf? How does he expect to win the Games with no one of talent other than myself?

Juilliard stares back at me with deep-set brown eyes. His nose is perfectly straight as if he has never had to take a punch. The same could not be said for my round, crooked nose. He is a slender man, not near as much muscle on him as Marcello. Even his cheekbones cut across his face so sharply it gives him the appearance of someone who hasn't eaten in weeks.

I turn to Marcello, not offering his friend even the slightest reply. I'm here to win the Games, not become all buddy-buddy with Hybrids.

"Here, allow me." Marcello reaches for the items I'm holding. I jerk them out of his arms reach. His smile falters for only a second before he tries again. "I'll show you onto the boat then. Someone left you a trunk." He points beside him. Red and polished, a trunk that looks almost brand-new awaits. "Would you like to carry this yourself too, or may we assist you?" His tone is taunting.

I make a show of looking between the men and the chest before I give him a slight nod. Marcello shuffles to one side, squatting to take a handle while motioning for Julliard to do the same. His friend follows along with clear objections on his face.

"Let us show you onto the ship." A statement with little excitement behind it.

Julliard grunts, surprised by the weight of the chest. What had Genovese packed inside? Weapons? New weapons? My heart flutters at the prospect.

Marcello's hood falls off his face as a strong wind cuts through. His hair is drenched with sweat and he pushes it out of his face with one hand.

"Is she mute?" Juilliard whispers through his teeth, as if I can't hear him. I immediately notice he does not share the same accent as Marcello. His is more plain, much like mine.

"She talked plenty last night. Maybe she's scared of your ugly mug," Marcello teases. "Think of it as a kindness, nothing she says is as pretty as that face of hers."

Everything in my upper body goes tense. Heat floods my cheeks and I tilt my face towards the