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

never understand why Marcello is fascinated by you. I told him when he found out that you were Human that we shouldn't bring you onto the team, but he said your resume was 'good enough' and here we are." He grimaces and steps away.

"Here we are," I spit.

Inside the small boat, where every wave is a test to our balance, there are two short boards opposite each with room for the four of us to sit on either side. Two paddles are laid inside. Saints, we are going to have to row ourselves to shore.

"Have a seat," Juilliard snips.

"Where are you sitting? So I can make sure that I sit with someone else."

"Here seems good enough." He lowers himself to the board behind him.

I glance behind me and step back to sit on the board opposite of him. But now my view is his scowling face. "This isn't going to work, I'm not staring into your eyes the entire trip."

"It's a five-minute trip! There's nothing wrong with looking into my eyes. And equally, all I have to look at is you." The way he says you is like poison on his tongue, he spits it out quickly.

I exhale loudly and roll my eyes. The ladder smacks against the side of the boat, pulling our gazes up to Hedda as she starts down. No, not starts, barrels. Orcs are quite dense creatures, and every step she takes the old boards groan at her weight and slams against the ship. All we can see is the large roundness of her ass as she lowers herself more.

My eyes snap to Juilliard because I'm suddenly realizing I don't want to be pressed against Hedda's voluptuous form. He must be thinking the same thing as his eyes widen and he drags his attention back to me. I shake my head slightly.

"Hedda you can sit with Juilliard!" I call.

"Ah, no, nope. Actually, I think I'm gonna sit next to the Human. We could use the... the bonding." He doesn't even fake a smile as he says it. Before Hedda can step into the boat he leaps across the space and forces himself into the seat next to me. "Nice try, Purist."

"And this is somehow better?" It's better than sitting with Hedda, but still.

Hedda pushes off the ladder and lands in the boat, rocking us violently. My hands smack into the board under me and I grip the edge to keep from falling out. Juilliard turns white, well, whiter than his already extremely pale skin tone.

"Hedda, sit down!" I lift one hand to point to the opposite seat. "You're rocking the boat so much I'm about to knock heads with Juilliard and I don't want his face anywhere near mine!"

"Do all Humans squabble as much as you?" Hedda laughs deeply, every step she takes toward her seat tipping and tilting us where we sit.

"I'm not squabbling," I hiss through clenched teeth.

She plops down into her seat and Marcello is already at the bottom of the ladder. He steps lightly into the center of the boat, looking to where Hedda takes up the entirety of her bench before he plants himself where he is standing. He reaches for the oars and sinks them into the water on either side.

Juilliard leans away from me, reaching to untie the boat from the ladder. When he sits back up, Marcello purses his lips as if he's trying to keep from laughing.

"You two look so cozy. I love this team bonding we have going on." Marcello pushes against the sea and the boat starts toward the shore.

I bite my lip, no longer in the mood to bicker with them. You have to be in a certain sort of mood for that, and I don't think I woke up in that mood today. So I cast my face toward the ocean, trying not to picture what it would be like for these waves to rise up over my head. I twist to look toward the land.

As we make our way over waters I'm certain are riddled with monsters, perhaps as bad as the ones sitting in the boat with me, maybe even worse, the fog clears from over the land. Trees come into focus along with the steep rise of a hill. I can make out the vague impression of a building that looks out over the top of the cliff.

At least this island isn't riddled with drunk and horny Elves. It does have that going for it, in the very, very, very least. My stomach jumps up into my throat as the boat rises over a swell and crashes back down on the other side. Droplets of cold water scatter over the cloak and my legs. I brush my fingers over the beads that shine like rainbows under the sun against my pants. They smear against the material, chilly against my fingertips. The heat dries out the thin streaks of water before we reach the sands. My boots wet in the puddle that is growing at the bottom of our tiny boat as the water rocks over my toes.

The ocean around us grows darker the closer we get to the shore. Inky black boulders and sharp points of rocks only inches under us. Occasionally, a rock will scrape as our boat goes over it. Sometimes the peaks of the rocks even rise above the surface, pointing like swords to the cloudless sky.

My hand reaches almost on its own accord to touch the edge of the nearest one as we pass. Its edge is slimy covered in a moss, but I can feel how easily it could tear through my skin if I moved fast enough against it. These rocks would rip apart boats, but they could also rip apart flesh.

The corners of Marcello's mouth tweak up slightly, but he keeps his gaze fixed on the approaching shoreline.