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

adjusts the solid red mask over his eyes. "You, on the other hand... I spotted you from across the room. You look like a goddess."

Maybe he means it. Maybe he's saying it to flatter me. Either way, I'll take the compliment coming from him.

"Thank you. I'm not used to wearing anything as nice as this. In The Bend I'd be lucky to even own a complete outfit without holes. You know what I mean?" I'm rambling, I can tell. "Now I'm here and everything is like, big and dramatic. Overly so. No one here is humble while everyone there is starving. I might starve here if all their food is anything like that bite I just tried."

Davison lifts a brow, which I can't see from behind his mask, but a few wrinkles appear on his forehead, so I can imagine the motion. "Is that where you've been this whole time? In The Bend?"

"Have you...have you been here, in The Oasis?"

He nods once. "I wouldn't say my family is considered wealthy in The Oasis, but we've done well enough."

"Your family?" I interrupt. "You have a family?"

"Not anymore. They got sick a few years ago and I was the only one who survived it."

"That's awful." And I should have realized that, he'd said before he had thought he was the last of the Humans. I'm even more embarrassed now and can't settle for any one place for my hands. With a small sigh I look out at the dance floor and clasp my hands in front of me.

"Yes, it was. But I'm healed from it now." Davison plucks a couple tall skinny glasses off a tray from a man walking by him. He stretches an arm out to offer me one. "Here, these are plenty good."

"Thank you." The edge of my lip quirks up into a slight smile. My fingers brush over his and they're relatively rough. The tiniest touch sends a spark of electricity up my arm. My lips part and I look up at him.

"Have you any family?"

"My parents were killed when I was five and I was taken in by another Human man. He cared for me until he passed when I was eleven. And I haven't seen another Human until today."

He lifts his glass, an act I know. I lift mine to his. "To finding more of our kind," he cheers.

"To finding more of our kind," I echo and bring the glass almost to my lips. "I like that." And I take a sip. The carbonation bubbles and the sweet taste, almost like a candy, helps to wash away the remaining aftertaste of the last thing I'd eaten.

We both take a few sips and go back to holding our glasses between us. I speak first. "I'm surprised there are any Humans at all in The Oasis. Hybrids have never treated me well and I just assumed they wouldn't allow any of us to enjoy anything." I shrug. "What do you do for a living here?"

"Mostly manual labor. Annoying tasks Hybrids can't be bothered with doing. I spend most of my time in a factory putting things together and helping the machines run smoothly. Sometimes I take on jobs re-doing some electrical work in older buildings." Davison follows my gaze out to the dance floor. "Would you like to dance?"

"No," I say too quickly. "Sorry, I wouldn't know what to do. I'm not much of a dancer."

I love music. Often when I practiced with my own guitar I'd sway around the room and imagine myself surrounded by a crowd of Humans, all cheering me on as I did. That was usually interrupted by someone banging on the wall and telling me to shut the hell up. That's the most dancing I did.

"I could teach you a few steps."

"Like that?" I point at the dancers who all seem to have learned the same choreography together. "That looks much too complicated for me to learn in one night."

"You look smart, I bet you'd pick up on it faster than you realize." Davison sets his glass down, closing the space between us. He holds both his hands up. "May I?"

"Here?"

"Yes here." He takes the glass out of my hand, careful to set it with his.

"Won't we look silly?" The more burning question is, won't I get made fun of?

"I've found that it's nearly impossible to have a good time if you don't get a little bit silly, at least once." Davison looks down at me. His hand wraps around mine, heating my skin as he tucks one hand against my waist. "All they're doing," he nods toward the dance floor. "is a simple box step and a flick of their skirts for some flair. You don't seem like the loud and lavish type though, so perhaps no skirt flicking here."

If I toss my skirt away from my body like they're doing, not only would it show off the impression of my knives on my thigh, but it will also flash them the hardly-there underwear that came packed for me. I've survived many things, but I'm not sure I could survive the embarrassment of that.

"Step back. To the side. Step forward. To the side. And start all over again." He guides me in the movement and I look over his shoulder for any watching eyes. We move slower than the dancers on the floor, and my spine is much stiffer than theirs is, and I'm more than aware of his hand against me as it slides to my lower back and stays there.

Behind him, a group of men submerge themselves into a group of women who were talking peacefully. They rush in with drinks and wild shouting as they whisk them up and rush them to the dance floor, whether the women want to or not. None of them fight back. Maybe because it’s the