Fatal Sight (Harbingers Of Death Book 2) by LeAnn Mason (universal ebook reader txt) 📗

a mat of chest hair peeking around his loose, off-white tank top, the older man looked like all the crazy fishermen I’d seen on TV, working in insane conditions and death-defying waves.

“I’m sorry. I haven’t met you yet. I’m Aria.” After giving the man a once over, noticing that his sea legs were sturdy, keeping him upright as the ship teetered, I decided to take his advice and cast my gaze out to the horizon.

“Ah, yes, the banshee. So few of you to start with, though I have heard of your kind. Never thought I’d meet one. I’m Charon, and this is my vessel.” My head was pulled back to him as he swept an arm out to depict the grandeur, or lack thereof, of his domain.

“The Ferryman?” I asked incredulously. “Forgive me, but I never thought I’d meet you either. It’s still trippy to think that all of these beings people tell stories about… actually exist.” I shook my head then quickly angled my face back toward the looming depths when a wave triggered another bout of nausea.

Seke’s lesson about realizing untenable situations roared to the front of my mind again. Except, there was literally nowhere for me to go other than straight to the bottom of the ocean.

I didn’t want to end it all — just the horribly uncomfortable situation I found myself in. Again. Prison was looking like a pretty sweet gig after free-falling from thousands of feet in the air and getting tossed around like a ragdoll against monster waves.

Wait… “Is that a mermaid?”

Charon leaned his large frame over the railing so he could better see the waters near the hull. I contorted backward to avoid being knocked aside. “Ah, yes. It is. Did you meet Sena? She always chooses to be in the water once we’re out on task. Especially when there’s weather.” Charon jerked his chin toward the tumultuous sea. This close to him, I could smell all the decaying scents I associated with the ocean, giving me further incentive to back away.

If I learned only two things from this mission — this team — it would be that one: I was definitely not suited to be in a constant-motion situation; and two: I would never eat seafood again.

“Charon, I see you met the new girl. What do you think of her look?” A thick arm fell heavily across my shoulders, the hand dangling dangerously close to my twin peaks as the speaker interjected himself familiarly into my space. His unoccupied hand reached to grasp the now-teal tips of my long, silver hair, giving the strands a rather thorough inspection before dropping them to reach for my eyebrow ring.

Raising said eyebrow at the dude’s audacity, I shrugged out from under his appendage before his hand could get twitchy. It would probably be bad if I kneed a team member in the balls on the first day. People might start thinking I was trouble.

My old team certainly did.

“Who and what are you?” I asked the interloper as a means to dispel the unwanted thoughts pinging around my head. I wasn’t sure I cared to know anything about this team, seeing as I wouldn’t be staying with them. I couldn’t. Not without being in a fucked-up state the entire time. There was probably something I could take to help with the nausea, but that wouldn’t keep. It wasn’t a realistic expectation for every day.

“I’m Stone,” the man responded, unfazed by my rejection. “Hellhound. At your service.” As he bowed with an exaggerated flourish, I took note of his appearance.

Now that I knew his type, I actually saw some resemblance to Cole: solid; muscled; lean-waisted; tall. He even had dreads, though his were much longer and dirty blond with a few beads and colored threads worked in. It was like they were opposite sides of the same coin. Light versus dark. Ostentatious versus broody. But the burning red irises that met mine as Stone regained his height were the clincher.

“I’ve always wanted to meet a banshee,” Stone tried again, delivering the line with a charming smile that I was sure attracted all sorts of women — and probably men — causing them to drop their panties at the sight.

But for me, it was… smarmy — oily. I didn’t believe a word coming out of this guy’s mouth. Everything he said would have an agenda.

“Seems to be a theme,” I retorted, choosing to turn back to look at the undulating sea.

Clouds were gathering steadily, dark ones, and the wind picked up, pounding at my head, whipping my hair around my face and shoulders. I really needed to invest in some hair ties; getting attacked by my tresses was getting old.

“The weather’s turning. I should return to the helm. Play nice, children,” Charon admonished before he meandered back toward the glassed-in section of the boat that sat above the deck at the stern.

I assumed that was the boat’s “Captain’s Area”. Did that make Charon the captain of this team?

“So, why all the hardware?” Stone tried again to push past the “fuck-off” vibe I projected. His hand rose, heading for my nose where a small horseshoe ring, bookended by tiny metal spikes, glinted in the fading sunlight.

I pulled back, delivering my best resting bitch face, channeling Raven. “What makes you think you can simply waltz up and just start touching me?” Without pausing, I added, “Don’t.”

Blondie’s hands went up in surrender, and a dark chuckle left his clean-shaven mouth. “No harm done. Just trying to get to know my new teammate,” he purred. “I’ve always wanted to snag a banshee.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Did he just...?

“I’ve never had a banshee. They’re so rare. Honestly, I thought your kind were extinct.” Stone leaned in close, forcing me to arch backward over the railing to keep away. “I bet you’re a real… screamer, aren’t you?” the creeper jeered, biting his lower lip as he looked me up and down.

I had some strong advice for those recruiters after my experiences in the HD so