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

been who’ d followed her, and she also had no idea why she was so afraid of him, but something had taken ahold of her. Driven her. She’d never run from anyone before. Maybe it was the fact that he’d given chase in the first place.
    Or maybe it was his strong frame – she’d been able to tell he was tall. Very tall. He’d had black hair; he hadn’t been wearing a helmet, stupid man. And she was almost certain his eyes had been not gray, but silver . T hey’d flashed once beneath a streetlamp , almost like lightning . He had a strong jaw; his profile was Roman and masculine. But she’d taken it all in d uring quick, furtive glances. T hat was all she’d had time for as she raced down the highway at break-neck speeds, casting spells left and right.
    He’d kept up beautifully. It was uncanny and frightening and alarming and intriguing and thrilling. H e’d come closer and closer, until he’d finally sent her magically careening through a tiny hole in the median wall and barreling down the off-ramp to get away.
    She’d been terrified. Excited, but genuinely scared.
    How strange .
    With that thought, Siobhan waved her hand at the car beyond the door and muttered a quick few words that would cloak the vehicle. It disappeared. She exhaled.
    “Where are your groceries?”
    Siobhan squealed and jumped, spinning around to face Steven . He stood in the hallway, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed casually over his chest, his ghost gray eyes even more solid than they’d been before she’d left that afternoon. Siobhan blinked. Was there a hint of blue to them? It was as if he were re-forming… becoming whole again.
    “The store was closed,” she came back, not thinking before she told the lie. At once it felt wrong.
    Steven ’s brow raised. “ Over the course of the three hours you were gone , you could have made it to the nearest Wal-Mart in Boston, which is open twenty-four-seven .” He straightened, coming off of the wall and dropping his arms at his sides, and Siobhan was reminded of why she’d begun dating him in the first place. He was impressive. He was smart, he was built tall , and he was good-looking. He’d grown up an orphan, but had taken society by the balls and made the most of it like only the best could. Not much got past him. He’d even been a goalie on his college hockey team.
    And now he was dead. Because of her.
    Steven came forward, brushing by her and once more filling her with an eerie chill as he bent to peer th rough the peephole on the door.
    “You want to tell me who it is you’re hiding from?” he asked as he finished looking and turned to face her.
    Siobhan found that she was hugging herself; a n unconscious gesture in the wake of his ectoplasmic cold . “No one.” Lame , she thought. Really, really lame . It wasn’t like her to lie, and here she was blowing smoke like a steam engine.
    Steven smiled, but it wasn’t a kind smile. “Let’s see,” he said, as if about to tick off a list of evidence he’d been writing in his head. “You were gone three hours with no explanation, y ou r heart rate is elevated – I can see your pulse pounding in your neck – a nd you just hid your car from view.” He cocked his head to one side and narrowed his gaze.
    Definitely blue , she thought absentmindedly.
    “You sure this is the story you want to stick with?”
    Siobhan gazed up at him. She thought about the man on the motorcycle – silver eyes flashing, hair the color of night – and swallowed past a lump that had formed in her throat. She opened her mouth to reply, not at all certain what it was she was going to say – when a sound came out of the darkness, distinctive and harsh in the otherwise quiet Salem night.
    Siobhan’s goldstone colored eyes widened. It was the motorcycle. She had n o idea how she was able to tell it apart from the sound of any other bike, but she did .
    Steven ’s chin lifted, his eyes flashed, and he vanished. Poof .
    “ Steven ?” Siobhan