The Phantom King (The Kings) by Heather Killough-Walden Read Free Book Online

watched as North America spun toward them, zooming in as if they were ridin g a falling star, until at last only one state remained. It filled the entire wall, its highways glistening like trails of headlights, its metropolis glimmering like multi-colored diamonds.
    “ Massachusetts ,” Thane said, frowning. “Boston?”
    Jason shook his head, his smile broadening. “Salem.”

Chapter Four
    He’d dropped the alcohol buzz in favor of the high he always got when he took one of his bikes a good distanc e. This was one of his favorite sports bikes , a Ducati Diavel Carbon, and in the early Boston twilight, its glossy paint job streaked and gleamed beneath the street lights and neon signs as he made his way through town.
    His ultimate destination tonight was Salem, a smaller town about thirty minutes away, but Thanatos had never been to Boston. It had been a very long time since he’d allowed himself to stay out of his realm for this long. The meetings of the kings drew him to this realm but were always straight-forward, to the point, and ended mere minutes after they’d begun. Each and every one of the kings had a job to do, and little time to spare.
    The last time he’d wandered the face of the planet this much , it had looked decidedly different than it did now. He wasn’t going to waste the excuse he had to be here ; it was time to open the bike up and see what she could do on a real highway rather th an the endless expanse of dirt that Purgatory currently wore.
    With a twist of the throttle and a determined lean, Thane tore up the on - ramp and merged with traffic. Rush hour had ended two hours ago, but stragglers muddled along at the speed limit, slowing down everyone’s progress. Thane made it around these vehicles with expert, incredible ease, carving some short distances to the point that his foot pegs scraped along the road, sending sparks shooting behind him.
    The sky grew darker, t he lights brighter, and the exits became fewer as Thane left Boston’s city limits and took 107, also known as the Salem Turnpike, through Lynn toward Salem . The wind picked up a little, spraying rogue raindrops across the tarmac. Thane’s wheel s sailed over these on a hydroplane of speed and bliss, eating up the miles with absolute carelessness.
    He rode well ahead of everyone and fell into a contented rhythm u ntil a black Ford Mustang streaked into place beside him, seemingly out of nowhere, and drew his attention sharply to the right. The windows were darkly tinted; he couldn’t see through them, and he had only a second to try before the car sped on past, leaving him a full ten car lengths behind.
    Thanatos had repaired and ridden a lot of e ngines over the last century . Just like everything he pulled into his world and focused on, it was a hobby he’d begun to pass the time that had quickly become the only thing standing between him and solitude-induced insanity.
    So he knew a thing or two about horse power – enough to know full well that while the 1965 Ford Must ang Fastback was not a slow car per se, there was no way in hell it should have been capable of the kind of acceleration this one was now exhibiting. In fact, no car should have been capable of it.
    Thane was intrigued. He was troubled too, though he didn’t immediately recognize the sensation, but mostly he was curious. His steel gaze narrowed, his gloved grips on the handlebars tightened, and he twisted his throttle once more to send the bike careening forwa rd into the distance between himself and the Mustang.
    He’d expected to catch up right away. However, as if the driver of the car detected the chase, the car sped up. Almost impossibly, it weaved between two cars in the next lane that were no more than a car length apart from one another , and then shot into the darkness.
    Oh no you don’t , he thought as he automatically picked up speed to match it. He was running on auto-pilot, it seemed, his body leaning with the bike, his grip on the throttle