The Phantom King (The Kings)

by Heather Killough-Walden

  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 through 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; an 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, your heart rate is elevated – I can see your pulse pounding in your neck – and 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 no 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 moved forward, receiving goose bumps off of the residual cold he’d left in his wake. He was gone.

  Outside, a sports bike turned the corner at the end of her block and headed her way. Siobhan stiffened. Her house was in the cul-de-sac. There was no reason for the bike to be moving in this direction. Maybe he just needs to turn around.

  Her heart hammered and her stomach felt strange. Slowly, as if someone would see her, she moved up to the door a second time and peered through the peephole. A single light grew brighter in the middle of the street. The bike drew nearer.

  Siobhan held her breath. Nearer… nearer.

  As if he would see her through the tiny porthole of glass, Siobhan shrank from the door and shut her eyes tight.

  She listened as the bike swung around in the cul-de-sac, and for half a second she wondered if he was going to pull right up into her driveway and run into her hidden car. But he didn’t. A few loud seconds passed, and a moment later the bike could be heard heading back down the same road in the other direction.

  He had needed to turn around. That was all.

  That was all.

  But sleep was slow to come that night. She saw her pursuer’s steely eyes in the darkness and heard the motor of his bike in the stillness. And no matter what she told herself as she tossed and turned in her bed, her heart refused to stop pounding.

  Chapter Five

  That was definitely the car. The fact that its owner thought to attempt to hide it with a shielding spell was only further proof that it was the one he’d been looking for.

  That’s not what you’re looking for Thane, he corrected himself. He was looking for a ghost, not a Mustang-driving, rubber-burning magic user. Snap out of it.

  But he couldn’t. No matter what he did, he couldn’t get the car and its mysterious driver out of his head. It didn’t help matters that the ghost was nowhere to be found. He drove his bike through the streets of Salem all night, sending out his feelers for any sign of the rogue Anime, only to come up empty handed and exhausted by the time the sun began to creep up over the horizon.

  He’d never stayed out of his own realm this long before, and as he pulled his bike up to an empty space in the parking lot of a drive-in motel and shut it down, he realized that he couldn’t put off a return any longer. The bodies had piled up, the newly-dead wronged were waiting in veritable throngs for some sense of peace and belonging, and he had a job to do. Pinning down the escapee would have to be put on hold.

  Thane leaned back in the seat on his bike and peeled off his gloves. His expression was grim as he thought of the black car and the magic user living in the cul-de-sac mansion. The vibration in the air around that house had been rather intense.

  And now that he allowed himself the peace and time to think on it, he realized that it had also felt familiar. He frowned, going still. It felt like sparkling stars, he thought. Like space. Like dark magic… that wasn’t so dark.

  “Holy fuck,” he muttered under his breath. The realization knocked the breath from him. The sensation he’d received when turning around in that cul-de-sac and looking up at that three-story house had been the same that had accosted him when the escaped Akyri had reached for him in his garage. The same damn thing. The same magic.

  “Christ.” With that hard thought and harsh utterance, he looked left and right to make sure no one was watching in the early morning twilight. When he was sure it was clear, he waved his hand, opening a portal to Purgatory. Then he started his bike back up and drove on through.

  He would catch up on the dead, stretching time on his end as much as was possible. And then he would head back here and make his way straight to that mansion’s door. If he hurried, he wouldn’t be too late. It wasn’t good to leave a pissed off Anime to its own devices for too long.

  The spirits only knew what could happen.

  *****

  Dannai Caige knew full well that only about fifteen percent of pregnancies culminated with the mother’s water breaking. But she was special; she was carrying very special children, and of course she should have expected nothing less than what actually happened to her.

  At just after one o’clock in the morning, her water broke, drenching the bed sheets beneath her and sending her gasping into full awareness. “Lucas!”

  The werewolf beside her was awake and out of bed before she’d even told him what was happening. No doubt he knew. He always knew. Before even donning a shirt, he moved around the bed with incredible speed, grabbing jackets, blankets, and cell phones before he was back beside her with a beautiful yearning and determination in his dark eyes. The muscles of his tall, strong body rippled in the pale light coming through the curtained windows, and Danny experienced a selfish, needful emotion. She couldn’t wait until she was sturdy and strong enough that he could hold her up against the wall and ravage her the way he had before he’d knocked her up.

  “I’ve got you, baby,” he said, helping her out of the bed and then lovingly draping her sweater and jacket over her. It wasn’t exactly cold outside, but May in Trinidad, California wasn’t exactly warm either, and Lucas wasn’t known for taking chances when it came to his wife.

  Oh God, she thought, as her swollen arms barely made it through the sleeves of the jacket. She was enormous. Every move she made ached a little, and the scale had been her worst enemy for weeks, but she’d been leery about using magic to ease the pain and discomfort. Lalura had been by her side for the majority of the pregnancy, and she never failed to help with her tea and tinctures, but when it came down to it, becoming a mother was a messy, painful process no matter how you rolled the dice.

  To make matters worse, there was a vast and hellish difference between carrying one child and carrying two. The twins had turned her into a beached whale within the course of three short months. She wasn’t at all surprised that she was going into labor a month early. If she didn’t get these babies out of her soon, her skin would split open.

  “I can’t wait until this is over,” she said, grimacing as a contraction hit out of nowhere, forcing her to a stop in her dripping tracks and bring her teeth gnashing forcefully together. “Son of a bitch,” she growled.

  The contraction rolled through her like a tsunami, drowning all conscious thought in the red pulse that was pain. Lucas held her as she closed her eyes against it, and she used his hand as a squeeze-toy. She was a werewolf, so his bones consequen
tly cracked under the pressure. But he was a werewolf too, so he said nothing, did nothing, and simply let her hold him as she rode it out.

  When the contraction passed, she opened her eyes and tried to breathe normally. “Okay, kiddos, it’s show time,” she said as she released her husband’s hand and pressed her palm gently to her swollen belly. Lucas moved her quickly through the house and toward the door that led to the garage.

  They’d thought long and hard about the names they were going to give their children. The boy, they’d decided to call Kavanagh, in honor of the late werewolf council Overseer who had also been the grandfather and last remaining family of Danny’s close friend, Claire St. James. Danny had no doubts that the name would be shortened to Kevin by everyone close to her son, but she didn’t mind. Kevin meant “handsome one,” and she was certain that he would be.

  The girl, she’d called Jazarah. It was an Ethiopian name that meant “beloved princess,” and she’d heard the name in a dream several months ago. It fit. She loved it. And if it was shortened to Jessie by those closest to her daughter, then again so be it. After all, it would then honor Jesse, the current werewolf council Overseer, and another close friend of the family.

  A few seconds later, Lucas had them both safely sequestered in the car he’d purchased immediately after finding out that Danny was pregnant. It was one of those economical vehicles that got great gas mileage and fairly emasculated almost any man who got behind the wheel. But it was a family vehicle, and there was no length that Lucas wouldn’t go to when it came to seeing to his family’s needs. Plus, he was an alpha werewolf and definitely not almost any man. Not a thing in the world would ever succeed in emasculating him.

  Danny tried to adjust the front seat as she waited for the garage door to raise. She tried to relax. But she could sense another contraction coming, like an impending lightning strike through her nervous system, and it sandpapered away the last of her patience. With a flick of her wrist and a spark of magic at her fingertips, the garage door ramrodded up into its casings, shaking the foundations of the entire house.

  A man stood on the driveway, a tall, solitary form draped in the vestments of night.

  Jason Alberich.

  “Jason,” she breathed, torn as she always was when she set eyes on the man. He was her oldest and, in a way, closest friend. He was also a former pursuer, a man who had hunted her down, abducted her, and terrified her. He was also the man who saved the life of her sister-in-law, the Curse Breaker. Without him and his power and his unselfishness in using it, she would have lost her brother-in-law, and with his loss would have come the inevitable loss of her husband. They had a lot to be thankful for when it came to Jason.

  But that wasn’t why she loved him. There were shades of gray to Jason Alberich. There were so many layers, he practically existed in four dimensions. He was complicated - and there was a power to him that she sensed growing stronger. He was destined for something big, she could feel it in her bones.

  Jason was also her protector, her guardian. He’d been made Patra to her unborn children because she trusted him almost as she trusted no other. Despite the chaos of their history, Dannai could honestly say that Jason had never hurt her. And he’d always been there for her. Always.

  Just as he was now.

  “The son of a bitch always knows when it comes to you, doesn’t he?” Lucas said under his breath. He put his car into gear and waited as the Warlock King made his way to Danny’s window. She was about to roll it down with magic, not wanting to even move as the second contraction drummed over her. But Jason beat her to the punch, using his own magic to roll it down, and then reaching in to place his hand to her stomach.

  At once, she was both alarmed and relieved. It was always best to keep any unnecessary spell casting to a minimum while carrying a baby. But in her heart, she knew that no magic she would have cast to help with her pain would cause harm to her children. It was just that as far as pain relief was concerned, she was afraid… not of any danger, but of what people might think of her. Women had been going through pregnancies without the aid of magic for thousands of years. What kind of woman did it make her if she couldn’t do the same? Her doubts and sense of social responsibility had kept her from doing what needed to be done.

  Thankfully, Jason Alberich had no such compunctions.

  So when he pressed his palm to her stomach and waves of pleasure rolled through her, wiping out the pain, she didn’t fight it. Instead, she leaned back against the seat in the car and closed her eyes. A warlock could make his or her victim feel anything they wished with no more than a touch. Whatever anyone said about warlocks, she would always be a fan of this particular ability.

  “There now,” he said, his deep voice a soothing rumble. “That’s better.”

  Danny could feel him shift beside her, but she didn’t open her eyes. “I’ll follow behind you,” he told her husband. Lucas didn’t reply, but she assumed he nodded, because Jason’s hand gently removed itself from her abdomen, and she sensed his departure.

  “Let’s get you to the hospital,” Lucas said, his own deep voice tight with what must have been anxious anticipation as he gave the car gas and they left the garage behind. They couldn’t transport into the hospital for fear that nurses, doctors and other patients would see them, plus again, Danny didn’t want to chance too much magic at the moment. Driving was their only option.

  She kept her eyes shut and prayed that the pain relief Jason had bestowed upon her would hold up a little longer. St. Joseph hospital’s urgent care center was twenty miles away. Barring any traffic mishaps, they should make it there inside of twenty minutes.

  The sudden sound of sirens forced Danny’s eyes open. She leaned over and peered in the right rear-view mirror.

  “We have an escort,” Lucas said, picking up speed as a cop car sped past them to take its place in front and lead the way.

  Danny frowned. “Is that –”

  “Kane,” Lucas told her. “Lily had a vision that this would be your day, but she didn’t want us to say anything to you, just in case,” he told her. “She and Daniel came up yesterday.”

  Danny smiled a small, grateful smile. Lily Kane was a seer, a werewolf, and a good friend of Dannai’s. Daniel Kane, Lily’s gorgeous alpha werewolf husband, was the police chief of Baton Rouge and probably had very little to no jurisdiction here in California. But their tiny convoy was composed of werewolves and warlocks, and jurisdiction was probably the least of their worries. Whatever came along, they could handle. The important thing was to get through traffic and get Danny to the delivery room as soon as supernaturally possible.

  Daniel Kane’s expert driving and police sirens managed to pull it off in record time.

  Chapter Six

  The hospital hall was bustling with a quiet yet buzzing sort of medical busy-ness. Ramses, who had once been known as Amon, moved with slow deliberation, his long stride beating out a steady pace, his deep, dark eyes absorbing every characteristic of the building that housed and cared for the sick, dying, and convalescing.

  It had been a very long time since he’d walked the hallways of Earth’s abodes. In his absence, the planet had grown arms of metal that reached to the heavens as if trying with all of their might to pluck the sun and moon from their thrones. It had also developed oozing sores that reluctantly coughed up metal and stone for the humans that ran rampant across its surface. Its forests were nearly gone, its oceans had become sewage, and the sun tore through holes in the sky, burning unprotected skin to a crisp.

  Much had changed.

  People still attempted to care for one another, placing their own short-term well-beings above anyone or anything else’s. This hospital and its endless passageways, humming intercoms, and bitter tang of antiseptic was evidence enough of that. But the battle for well-being was no longer one of self-defense, which had always been natural to Ramses and hence admirable. Now it was a war that humanity had waged on everything around it. And humanity was winning.


  Everything was different. Ramses was no longer so certain about what was right and what was wrong. Thousands of years ago, the supernatural world had preyed upon humanity, using them for food and taking them as slaves. Humans had run screaming from vampires, werewolves, dragons and their ilk. Ramses, then known as Amon, the god of gods, had taken physical form so that he might help protect those who worshiped him. As a god, he was an idol of imagination, without substance or function. He was an energy that was fed and thus grew, but could give nothing back. When he became solid, this energy amassed, pooling into a well of power the likes of which no human had ever seen.

  Amon became Ramses, using his physical avatar to protect the humans who had created him against the creatures who would see those humans dead or enslaved. His love, his bride Amunet, had taken human form by his side. Together they’d done what they could to see to the welfare of their people. Supernatural killings were now virtually unheard of in the public and accepted annals of human history, and there was a reason for that. When he’d done all he felt he could do, he and his bride had left the mortal realm. That was five thousand years ago.

  For eons, he’d slept, only to come awake with a hard feeling of loss and desperation. Amunet was gone.

  At once, he’d taken mortal form in order to search for her, and as he’d done five millennia ago, he immediately sought out those humans who felt as he did about the scourge of otherworldly creatures on the planet. With nearly no effort at all, he’d become their leader, taking charge of a growing band of men and women known throughout supernatural channels as the Hunters.

  Through them, he hunted down the monsters he’d hunted all those years ago. And as he did, he searched endlessly for Amunet.