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

"Juilliard doesn't seem to have a problem with sleeping."

He chuckles. "No, Juilliard can sleep easily no matter the circumstance. I wish I could do that."

Honestly, so do I. I've gotten used to the little amounts of sleep I run on most days. Still, I yearn for a day where I don't worry about having to make money or if some Hybrid is going to try killing me. All I want is a day of rest, lounging in bed, eating everything I crave but can't afford. The closest I've come to that though are the days when Joss isn't busy and he gets a thirst for the bedroom.

Days like that could have me put up in his office or his personal chambers where I'm fucked until I'm raw and feel like a prop. Days like that often leave me sore and bruised for the next days to come.

"Are you scared?" Marcello asks so plainly.

His question pulls me out of my thoughts. My eyes search his face for his meaning. "Scared of what?"

"The Games." He looks up at me. "Death."

"I'm not scared of anything." Another lie. It's more like I'm scared of everything. "It does me little good to be scared of death when the chance of it lurks around every corner at every hour. Whenever I go... it'll be my time. But I can guarantee you that I'm not going down unless I take everyone with me."

"You should be scared."

"Are you?"

He doesn't answer immediately. A brief quiet falls over us as we listen to the sound of the sea and the few crew members up and moving about. It’s a nice quiet.

"Would you think less of me if I said yes? If I said that I'm risking everything just to prove myself that I can do it. To save what I love the most."

"I already thought less of you before I even posed the question."

Marcello beams up at me, holding in a small laugh. "That's one thing I like about you. You never hold anything back."

"Are Hybrids too nervous to speak the truth in The Oasis?"

"I wouldn't say they're nervous. I would just say... they're particular... or perhaps speaking so bluntly is against the status quo. If one of my parents’ friends didn't like me, they wouldn't say a word. You, you'll look me straight in the eyes and tell me to go to hell. That I can appreciate. That, I wish The Oasis had more of. And it soon will." He looks down to his feet. "I have to tell myself that we will. We'll make it. We'll win this. If I don’t, I'm afraid, I'll turn and run away." A light chuckle passes over his lips as he shakes his head. "You're awfully easy to talk to."

"I don't try to be. Actually, I'd prefer to stand here in silence until I tire myself out and can fall back asleep." The wind changes its course and a long bit of hair flies across my face.

“You know, there is another more pleasurable way to tire out.” His voice turns to near velvet. “And admittedly I’m quite good at all forms of it.”

I turn to look up at him, astounded with the pure audacity of what he’s saying to me right now. If he is indeed saying what I think he is. I’ll pretend like he isn’t and give him a chance to take it all back.

Stupidly, my heart does a happy tumble in my chest. Is that all it takes? A few flirty phrases and a pretty face?

“I doubt you can tire me with sarcasm and excessive confidence.”

“Oh, I’m not talking about either of those. Though I’m good at both.” He tries to force his smile down, but the coy grin remains. “I’m talking about the service of my lips. Perhaps even my tongue.” My eyes narrow. “I’m suggesting I use my hands.” He holds his hands up for me to see. I tilt away from him, already expecting his next answer. Already feeling heat burn my face and neck with anticipation of what he’ll say next. “And it goes without saying, but my cock might do best to bring you a good night's rest.”

I give him a dry look. He chuckles then. Muscles curl low in my stomach. Heat blooms in my chest, eating away the cold of the night.

"Silence it is." Marcello smiles up at me from his languid position against the railing. "Thank you for listening, even if it was only for a few minutes."

"Y—You’re welcome," I stutter.

Without his coat, the only thing he has on to protect himself from the intense icy cold are the long black sleeves of his leather shirt and the skin tight leather pants and boots. Hybrids are better conditioned for the elements though, so it's not nearly as bad for him as it is for me.

I shift in his jacket and pink fur rubs at my cheeks. The smell of the coat, the smell of Marcello, is annoyingly pleasant. So much so that I frown out to the sea and try to focus on it and breathe through my mouth.

My dream still haunts me. It still sits in the back of my mind. Between my shoulder blades my shirt is still damp and cold. Without thinking, I lift a hand and touch the scar that runs over my lips. Jagged and white after years of fading, but it's still slightly calloused and rough compared to the rest of my skin. Arron's training didn't leave me with just emotional scars, but this marking too. A reminder of my failure. But I don't... I don't want to think about it.

"Does the cold bother your scar?" Marcello straightens, his hands finding his pockets.

"N—,” I look from the sea to him. "No."

"Sometimes it bothers my wrist. The metal gets so damn