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

"And do you find me attractive?" He asks when Hedda slips around us to join Juilliard a few feet behind Marcello.

I smile. Maybe for one night I can play his games. Maybe, when we go down to this party and we can be anyone we want to be for a few hours, I'll be that girl who flirts and has fun. I grip the lapels of his jacket and tug him a step closer, until our bodies only have an inch of space between us and we share our body heat.

"Ask me again at the end of The Oasis Games." I let my lips brush against his ear as I speak. When I step away, I swear the hint of a blush touches his cheeks. As quick as I'd pulled him to me, I push him away and force whatever confidence I have into the sway of my walk.

"Well shit, Nils, there was a whole ass woman underneath all that dirt and leather, huh?" Juilliard straightens from where he leans against the back of the couch in his own black suit and white shirt. Juilliard's left most of his shirt buttons undone, showing off his chest and an impressive number of gray tattoos. He gestures at himself, "Should I undo a few more of my buttons?"

"If you undo any more buttons you'll be undoing your pants at this point." I cross my arms, the loose material of the draping neckline bunching across my forearms.

"Well, we aren't done getting ready yet." Marcello softly closes the bedroom door, walking by our small group to some folding cloth on the edge of the table. He pinches a piece and holds it up.

"Masks?" I ask, squinting at the lacy black thing with two small holes for eyes.

"It's a masquerade so that way we won't know our opponents’ true faces until the Games begin." He hands one to Hedda and Juilliard but mine he keeps in his hands, looping his arms around me to help me put it on.

I grab the thin piece of material, helping it over my face. When I can comfortably see through the slashes of the lace, I weave my fingers into my hair, lifting half of it up and allowing Marcello to tie it to me. I think about putting the mask on myself but the nearness of him makes me steady. He pauses once it's tied. He doesn't touch me, but I can feel how close he comes to doing so.

"What are these from?" he asks and I know he means the scars that I can't hide in this thin slip of a dress. I turn in time to watch him slip his own mask on. If anything, the mask draws more attention to his already piercing silver gaze.

"You don't get away with murder without earning a few scars of your own." Most of the scars, at least the deep gnarly looking ones, had come from the night that a Werewolf had surprised both Arron and I. It hadn't killed Arron, he was too stubborn to let that be the death of him. But I think it had shortened his lifespan, it wasn't long after that that he became too fragile to work and his body aches had made it much too hard to take any jobs.

Marcello doesn't ask about the pinprick marks that Joss has left all over my skin. It leads me to wonder if Juilliard and him can smell Joss on me like Finnegan and Sloane had.

"Now your outfit is complete," he concludes.

If only the mask could cover the jagged scar over my mouth. Or the dress could hide the markings on my back. To Hybrids I'm sure they must look like marks of my own weakness and fragility. To me, they are my strength, evidence of everything that I'd survived.

"May I?" Marcello offers his arm.

I sigh dramatically. "If you really must."

"Oh, I do." He grins, his smile grows even larger as I slip my arm into his.

Juilliard grunts as Hedda doesn't wait for him to ask and grabs a hold of his arm. The pair follow us out into the hallway and down to the waiting elevator. Marcello pushes a button that glows yellow from his touch. Then we stand in silence together where we can hear the dull murmur of Hybrids in the open lobby below.

My grip on Marcello is as gentle as I can offer, a light touch of a feather against his sturdy arm. Even cleaned up he still smells so strongly of peppermint and licorice. So damn sweet.

As my patience for the elevator begins to disappear, I tap my toe against the ground. "Why must you insist we take this elevator when we could make it down a flight of stairs faster?"

"No need to get ourselves all sweaty before the party even begins. I have a feeling we'll be sweating enough when the dancing starts up." Juilliard drawls in a humorless tone.

"You dance?" I look over my shoulder.

"How else do you think he gets any girls?" Marcello chuckles. "It isn't with his charm and good looks."

"Of course I know how to dance," Juilliard says. "Dancing is the best way to know if the woman is a good lover or not. She has to be firm but loose. Follow your lead but have a mind of her own."

The elevator doors finally ding and open up for us. My heels click as I enter, and Hedda's do too. For someone with such large feet, I'm surprised she was able to find a pair that fit correctly. Even if her heels are a different shade of blue that doesn’t truly match her dress.

"So where did you get a dress as fine as this one?" Marcello fills the silence as we pass floor after floor.

"You know you don't always