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

combed flat against his head, his red eyes focused on the blood in Marcello's hand. There is a shadow of a mustache over his top lip.

His partner is curvy, similar to one of Hedda's girls. She has yellow-blonde hair that hangs perfectly straight down to the top of her chest, her thin lips cut across her face. Both are in fine clothes, finer than anything most wear in The Bend.

Had they been able to take their belongings with them in their banishment? I squint. The male has a navy pinstripe suit fitted to his frame while she has an impressive turquoise dress, so tight it's a second skin. Individually, they're stunning. Together, they're a threat.

"Sloane Whitlock, Finnegan Whitlock, have a drink and we can sit down and chat about why we've come to visit." Marcello shakes the bottles.

The woman, Sloane, is the first to move, extending her long fingers and pointed claws to Marcello's outstretched hand. Finnegan is quick to follow. The brown corks pop loudly as they rip them out the tops, touching them to their lips. Like a shot of alcohol, the blood disappears with the bob of their throats. When they look back at us their eyes glow a brighter shade of burgundy.

"That's good." Sloane closes her eyes, her long lashes curling against her cheeks. She stands in silence, smiling joyfully at her meal.

Finnegan looks at our little ragtag group. He starts with Marcello, sizing him up before his attention skips to me, jumps to Juilliard, then slides over to Hedda who's already strolling by us to make herself comfortable on their white sheet covered furniture.

"Shall we welcome them to our home, my love?" Finnegan takes Sloane's hand in his and escorts us into their living room. He pauses only to frown at the red blemish on her delicate wrist. I ignore his resulting glower.

Their whole home looks as if even they themselves haven’t been living here. At least not truly living. A thick layer of dust lays over the hearth of a fireplace that isn't lit and across the shelf full of books to its right. Even our footprints are left behind on the floor boards. No sign that they'd walked the home before us at all.

Marcello lets me go. My palms push off his back. I step back into Juilliard and he steadies me by my shoulders. Marcello moves forward, turning to look at me.

"You should be thanking me, love."

"I had the situation under control." I shake off Juilliard. "How did you even get those?"

"Some things you don't want to know." Juilliard whispers as he walks around me and joins Hedda on a long narrow couch.

"I'm sure that you could have wiggled your way free, I'm sure that you'd have been able to save yourself, maybe even drawn your weapons. But would you have been able to stop yourself from killing them? Would you have had to add their names to that silly little book you brought?"

Heat burns my cheeks. "You looked through my things!?"

One side of his lips lifts and he shrugs one shoulder, walking to the living room with me hot on his trail. "I was curious if you were writing a book or had a diary where you were practicing writing my last name with your first in."

"You invaded my privacy!" I curl my fingers into my hair. I could pull all the strands out by the roots with the way frustration swells inside of me. "You make me insane, Marcello Torres. You make me—"

"Horny?"

I cough, choking on the words that I had been ready to say. "I was going to say that you make me glad that I know exactly how to get to a man's heart."

He leans his elbow against the fireplace hearth. "With that sassy mouth of yours I'm sure that you do." I can't tell if he's being sarcastic or if the way I talk truly entertains him, and that only pisses me off more.

I point a finger at him, stabbing the tip of my nail into his leathers to emphasize every word I say. "By tearing a hole right through his goddamn chest."

"We so hate to intrude on this lover’s spat—” Sloane begins, watching us with puckered slender blonde brows.

"We are not lovers!" I exclaim with frustration.

"Please do not interrupt my wife." Finnegan folds his hand in front of him and points his glare at me, as if it's supposed to be scary. He looks at Marcello only briefly at my side before he turns to his wife. "Dearest, please continue."

Sloane cups her hand over the burn on her forearm, holding it tightly. "Why have you come here? Bringing us the Human gift, taking it away, then providing the aged blood? What do you want?"

"We want you to join our team. Compete with us in The Oasis Games and win a shot at gaining power once more. We don't mean to bring the Human with to taunt you with, we gathered her from The Bend to play as part of the team as well. Even if she is a rather big pain in the rear, she has some commendable skills."

I open my mouth to chime in, to tell him to shut the hell up or to express how he himself is not the easiest to get along with. He's constantly assuming that everyone around him adores him. I bet he'd love it if we just kissed his feet as he walked by. But he stretches out his arm, and with his fingers spread wide palms my face, forcing me to take a step back.

"Little Human, sssshhhhhh," he whispers. I slap his hand away. A dull ache grows inside of my head, pounding behind my temples, painting my vision red. "I've already got the tickets. No need to go through the grueling interview process that everyone else must."

"And what do