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

ground to hide the blush. Pretty. Hybrids don't call Humans pretty. I myself am not pretty. Not with the scars all over my body, the most gruesome one cutting over my mouth. Not with the dark circles that are always under my eyes, the unladylike way that I walk, or every other clear flaw.

Elves, though I hate them, appear to be superior in their evolution. Everything about them is precise... perfect... beautiful. Much the same could be said about Vampires. I'd even go as far as to lend the compliment to a few Dwarfs. Not Orcs, though. Those things are always unsightly. And every other Hybrid is far too different from Humans to even be considered in this category.

I have to change the subject, anything to hide the red tint of a blush as blood rushes to the surface of my skin and stains my neck and cheeks. Hybrids don't call me pretty. Not unless I've lured them into my bed for my own personal satisfaction. And even then, I’m not prone to believe anything that falls from their devious lips.

Tucking my chin, I stare at my feet. The two of them, grinning at each other like they've got a secret to share, begin weaving through the crowd. It's for the best that I follow. I hadn't a cloak to mask my Human scent and sooner rather than later Hybrids would start to notice, start seeking me out. I am an oddity in this Immortal world. A particular yummy goldmine for any passing Vampires.

There was a time before the Rise of Immortals that Humans ran the world. Then there was a time when Humans were almost extinct, much as it is again today, compared to the newly announced races. The start of the Rise of Immortals began when Elves, Vampires, Orcs, and other less common species emerged, no longer willing to hide in the shadows. The wars that followed were bloody, or so I’m told. But learning to live together, that was far worse. The time of the Immortals has since come and gone. Their muddled bloodlines still in reign, but no longer able to live forever. Every species with Human blood in it has its own timeline for death. Undoubtedly, death comes for us all.

Forcing myself to lift my chin up, I follow Marcello and Juilliard. They head for the gangway and make their way up with ease. My feet teeter on the edge as I feel the flimsy bridge bounce and vibrate with every step they take.

"Are you coming? Not going to chicken out now, are you?" Marcello tosses the words over his shoulder.

A part of me still insists that there's time to run, that every step forward is one inch closer to my impending death. Or my timely victory. I try to back my thoughts up with positivity. A trick Arron had taught me that I didn't often utilize. Positivity, simply put, isn't my strong suit.

I push myself forward, one foot at a time until I'm up the gangway and standing on the large deck of the ship. My head turns on a constant swivel, trying to take everything in. Mark every visible weapon, pinpoint the Hybrids I'm certain have weapons hiding, I'm even looking for any and all exits. The crew that hustles about is plenty, more Elves than I would have liked to guess. Without moving my hand to the hilt, an act that would likely draw attention to the hidden weapons, I recognize the warmth of the handles pressing firmly into my waistband.

Even with the anchors holding the boat in place, it still rocks gently as the ocean comes and goes. From where I stand, I can see the white foam of the waves curling against the dock, against other ships. I imagine it's much the same for the hull of the ship I stand on now.

"If you already have the tickets then it's too early to head up for the Games. No need to go through the grueling interview process," I call to them, though they're only a few paces away. Not to mention their hearing is damn near perfect. I couldn't pass gas without them noticing the sudden gust of air hissing out of my asshole.

"She speaks!" Juilliard cheers.

"That's because we're making a few stops along the way. Picking up the rest of our teammates." They set the trunk down and lower themselves to sit on top of it. I stop, leaving more space between us than is truly necessary, holding Marcello's gaze.

Why does he look at me like that? How is there so much fire behind his eyes? Does he stare at everyone as if he can see straight into their soul?

My hands beg to fidget under the relenting hold his starlight eyes have. I choose instead to fist my them at my side. I will not budge. I will not be moved by such a terrible species.

Juilliard adjusts his position on the corner of the trunk. His head volleys back and forth between Marcello and I like he's trying to figure out who will win in this pissing contest. Me, it turns out. With an airy chuckle, Marcello looks back at his friend.

"I'm sure you'll welcome others with this warm personality of yours..." he trails off. "What would you like us to call you? Or should we just call you..." He mouths the word Ghost.

Panic, white and hot, stiffens my spine. To use that name out loud, so publicly, around all of these Hybrids would likely be my death sentence. Not even Joss could save me if that knowledge were released to the entire community.

"Nilsa," I say far too quickly.

"Last name?" The drawl of his voice, so cocky and sure of himself, makes my ever-present sneer deepen.

"Windsor."

The pair nods to themselves as if the two names coming together makes perfect sense for someone like me. Did they expect a