The Night Shifters by Emily Devenport Read Free Book Online Page B

chest. I wonder what it is?”
    “Of course I’ve got
something in my chest! What have you got in your chest?!”
    He laughed gaily,
almost madly, his head thrown back in abandon. “My dear!” he said,
“you don’t want to know!” He laughed some more, and the driver
joined him. Then he regarded me with a seductive smile.
    “Now – I think
you’d better level with me, Hazel. What have you got in your
chest?”
    The door remained
hard and unyielding against my back. “I thought you already knew
everything about me.”
    “So did I. But
apparently I was wrong. Was it something you got from Sir
John?”
    I didn’t answer,
but his smile widened. “Hmmn – probably something to protect you
from bewitchment. Well, I know how to counter that.”
    He pushed a
button in his armrest, and the back seat began to roll toward the
front seat, extending itself into a bed. I rolled with it. It
locked into place with a click .
    “What’s this for?”
I asked uneasily.
    “You have something
of his inside you,” he said. “Now I’m going to give you something
of mine.”
    The driver began to
laugh again as the Car King crawled across the bed toward me.
    •
    “Just wait a
minute,” I said, ineffectually.
    He put a hand on my
ankle. “Once this is done we can wait together. And I promise
you’ll feel better about things.”
    “ I’ve
heard that before. Though I can’t remember
exactly when ...”
    He seized my ankle
and began to pull me toward him. The pain in my chest was now
almost suffocating. As I slid down the door, I caught sight of a
golden flash outside the car window, an approaching light.
    “What’s that?”
    “Nothing.” He took
hold of my knees and tugged some more. But outside, an angry
buzzing began to grow. We both looked to the window, which glowed
with the golden light.
    “ It’s The Wild
Hunt ,” snarled the driver.
“They’re surrounding the car!”
    A moment later I
saw the handlebars of a huge motorcycle; then bronzed, muscular
arms, and then – a mask! The rider wore a horned mask like the one
on the statuette in Sir John’s den. His eyes glittered at me
through the eye slits, and long hair the color of ancient gold
streamed behind him in the wind. My crystal heart gave me a
different sort of pain, one I rather liked.
    A dozen more riders
appeared on both sides of the car – young, bronze-skinned men with
black or gold hair, their chests naked, wearing wide bands around
their upper arms.
    “They look pretty
wild, all right!” I said.
    “They dare to call
themselves The Wild Hunt,” said the Car King, his voice somehow
sounding both cool and hot. He didn’t spare me a look, but kept his
eyes fastened on the Masked Man.
    “What do they
want?” I dared to ask.
    “They want
you.”
    My crystal heart
gave me another one of those pleasurable jabs.
    The Masked Man
smashed his fist against the window, and it cracked. The Car King
pushed another button on his door, and a compartment opened in the
back of the front seat. Something long and metallic gleamed
inside.
    “Cover your face!”
cried the Masked Man. I obeyed, and he struck the window again.
This time it shattered – tempered glass flew everywhere.
    “Your hand!” he
shouted, and even his voice was golden. He reached for me. I took
his hand, and with one great surge he pulled me from the car.
    But just before my
feet cleared the window, the Car King seized my ankle.
    “ Not so fast!
She’s my guest! If you want her, you’ll have
to fight for her!”
    I looked up at the
Masked Man from my precarious position, with the road blurring
beneath me. I could see his strong, smooth neck and his firm chin
beneath the mask. He looked down at me, as if deciding.
    His eyes were
amber.
    “I accept,” he
said.
    The Car King
released my ankle, and the Masked Man pulled me into his lap. But
before I could enjoy my position, he passed me over to another
cyclist, a black-haired fellow with blue eyes. The Masked Man
reached down to where his