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

fix their alcohol splattered suits and comb back their hair. This is the first we've been able to see what we are up against. I take it all in with greedy need and a deeply curious desire to survive.

Davison's group is all six males. Mavi stands in the middle of the group, preening the most. He smooths his already straight hair. Both the men's eyes linger on us as we pass. I keep my attention fixed forward, not caring to even acknowledge the both challenging and pitiful looks we get.

I wonder what they see when we approach, standing so close to one another. Is the tension in the air palpable to them as well? I can still feel the impression of Marcello’s hand on my back. Can they see the way his touch has made my thoughts feel flustered? Watching the rest of the room, I challenge any eyes that dare to land on me.

I know even less about the other groups, and I'm quick to realize I've wasted valuable time on the damn rooftop when I should have been collecting information on our opponents. I'm swept into this perfect Oasis land and suddenly forget to use my head? My years and years of training?

Am I sorry though? No, not really. Not truly.

Near our small group, who watch us approach quietly with deep curiosity, another group is made almost mainly of women with the exception of one burly male with dark haunting eyes and hooves for feet. The other teams are mixes of Hybrids similar to ours. Most everyone looks to the stage with the gleam of hungry hope in their eyes.

"Where were you two?" Juilliard whispers when we come to a stop next to him.

"Needed a breather," Marcello adjusts his jacket and stands with a perfect posture. He ignores Juilliard's inquisitive look. "What did we miss?"

"I shouldn't be surprised." He glances at me, less inquisitive, more annoyed. "We're getting ready for the betting."

"Bettin—" I start to ask but the wall behind the musicians groans and lifts up from the floor.

The man at the band raises the microphone to his slender lips and grins. "Welcome teams to The Oasis Games! Please enter the arena!"

 

Large glowing golden balloons bounce off the wall where they are tied to sconces. The banners and decor strung from one side to the other disappears as the entire wall lifts up and into the ceiling. My heart lunges into my throat as dirt and gravel wait for us on the other side.

Stadium seats filled with spectators quiet as the wall disappears and our teams, evening attire and all, come into view. Rows and rows of Hybrids press forward to catch a glimpse at us, rising up in their seats all the way up to the rooftop Marcelo and I had been on only moments ago. How had we not known they were there? How long had they waited for us?

"Please remove your masks and move to the middle of the arena and the betting will begin!" The announcer’s deep baritone voice rings out.

Hybrids tug at their masks, pulling them down from their faces. My eyes flick from one person to the other, back to the arena, then finally on Marcello as he reaches behind his head and undoes his own. He hides his mask in a small pocket inside his jacket and steps behind me.

"Here, let me help you." He lifts my hair and tugs at the bow, making the mask go slack and slip off my face.

"What the fuck is happening right now?" I whisper. Only a few other competitors share the same bewildered look as me. All of whom appear as if they've lived on the other side, judging by the state of their evening wear. I bite down on my lip. To them I look just like every other piece of Oasis trash because of the magnificent dress that Genovese and the others sent with me.

"They're inviting the spectators to come down and get a look at the teams," Sloane purrs, "I remember when King Caspar was but a player in this game. Don't you remember placing bets on his round in The Oasis Games, dear?"

That was before my lifetime. Before my parents’ lifetimes. I know that to become king, King Caspar had to have competed in the games. If he hadn't, he'd be dead or unworthy of the crown. Yet, I can't help but feel a sudden jolt of awareness travel through me. These Hybrids are old and dangerous, and I've chosen to surround myself with them. Now I'm certain I'm as much a fool as everyone else in The Bend who's talked about joining. Moreso since I'm actually standing here now.

"I remember sneaking out of the third event for a little fun of our own." Finnegan laughs, curling his fingers around Sloane's, as if we aren't being herded into the arena before us by the guards that push from the back of the room.

"This is messed up." I turn to look at Marcello. All emotion is wiped clean from his face. His mouth is pursed, creating the smallest lines of frustration around his lips.

"No matter what they say, keep still and don't say a word. Keep your chin up and only look them in the eyes if you dare." He finally says as my heels travel from the marble flooring and into the soft dirt of the earth.

The crowd roars with excitement with such deafening intensity my head pounds and I have to resist the urge to cover my ears. Movement off to the side of our group has me turning my head. Marcello's hand falls between my shoulder blades as he guides me through the gathering of teams.

A golden elevator without a dome of glass to protect it rises from our level up the stands to my left.