So soon you forget about me, my love. What is two hundred years to one such as you? A flash, a dream. Nothing. And now you kiss another.
Roman was stunned into immobility. The voice in his head was so familiar, it was as if he’d heard it yesterday. And yet it was foreign, touched with something unsettling and changed, and the fact that it was in his head in the first place was unthinkable.
Ophelia!
Aw, you remember me after all.
Roman’s body was moving before he fully realized he was directing it. He could feel Evie behind him at the desk and could sense her confusion, but it couldn’t be helped. He tore the curtains from the window and peered into the darkness beyond with the keen eyes of a hunter. The inner garden was empty. Ophelia’s statue stood solemnly, gazing up at the night sky.
“Roman?” Evie’s voice, soft and sweet in its concern.
Oh, she’s just precious. But you’re too late my love. You’ve poked the bear.
Roman whirled around as the voice in his head seemed to echo off of the walls of his consciousness, coming from every different direction at once. Confusion rattled his bones, abrading his nerves. He could barely believe what he was hearing. Ophelia was alive?
And she was a vampire.
More unbelievably, somehow she had amassed enough power to enter his mind. No other vampire on Earth could do that.
You’ve poked the big, bad master vampire bear, Ophelia continued. Then she laughed, the sound like audible evil. Now it’s hungry, her voice continued, petulant and further away than before. She was receding. And it has a taste for what you hold most dear.
Chapter Eight
Siobhan felt something brush her leg and looked down. A large ginger cat cocked its head back and stared up at her through clear yellow eyes. Its tail flicked against her calf, curling around her leg.
Brrreow.
Siobhan smiled, pulling off her gloves to dump them in the soil in the flower bed against the east wall of her house. The cat had no collar and no tags. She knelt and gave it a gentle scratch behind the ears. An odd vibration traveled up her fingertips and into her wrist. Frowning, she withdrew her hand. The feeling disappeared.
The cat began to purr loudly, making that half-meow sound again and butting its big orange head against the side of her knee. It wanted more petting.
Siobhan glanced up at the sky. The sun was finally lowering in the western sky; it was the hottest time of the day. Though she preferred day to night since the urge to use her magic was less then, she’d never been a fan of the heat. “Tell you what,” she said to the cat, giving it another little scratch and trying to ignore the strange vibration that came with it. “I’ll go get us a couple of drinks. Stay right here.”
She stood and made her way into the house, passing by the drive way, which no longer sported a shiny black Mustang. She’d used magic last night to expand the garage and the car was now resting safely inside.
Siobhan pulled the milk from the fridge and poured some into a bowl for the cat. Then she filled a glass with ice water for herself. She was heading back toward the front door when she heard the motorcycle.
She froze mid-step, and a touch of milk sloshed out of her bowl to splash onto the hardwood floor below. She glanced down at it in irritation, but the bulk of her attention was pinned on that sound. It was a deep rumble, not the higher pitched whine of the motorbike that had followed her down Highway 107. But strangely enough, it was familiar anyway. It filled her with a sense of foreboding, drying her throat and turning her stomach to lead.
“What’s wrong?” Steven asked, suddenly beside her and more solid than ever.
Siobhan shook her head. “I don’t know.” She turned, put the bowl and glass down on the shelves against the wall, and looked up at him. “What did the demon look like?”
It was the only time she’d asked him to describe his attacker. He’d told her once right after he’d come back as a ghost, but she’d been in so much shock, she hadn’t really digested the information. Not properly.
“Did he have black hair?” she asked.
Steven shook his head, frowning. “No, he was blonde. Why?” His blue eyes narrowed.
It had occurred to Siobhan that this senseless fear she’d been feeling toward the motorcyclist might have something to do with Steven’s attacker. It had been too long since the attack; she had no idea why she’d been left alone. Why hadn’t the demon kept good on his promise to come back for her?
Well, maybe he had. Maybe her moving to a new house had temporarily thrown him off her trail and now he’d found her again. And this was him. Always on a motorcycle.
But the rider’s hair had been the color of midnight, not blonde.
“Siobhan, what is going on? Talk to me.” Steven reached out, perhaps instinctively, as if to take her by the upper arms in an earnest grip. He’d done it before, several times since coming back as a ghost. However unlike before, this time his hands did not glide right through Siobhan’s body. Instead, they slowed at the threshold of her flesh before finally slipping through with a thick, sluggish slowness.
The effect was painful. It was wrong in a fundamental way, and Siobhan found herself backpedaling until his grip was gone. But even as she moved out of his reach, it seemed to take too long for his fingers to come free of her body. The passage was frigid and foreign, leaving Siobhan with the feeling that a part of her that never should have been cold had just iced over.
“Steven,” she said as a violent shiver took her and she hugged herself over the invisible ice marks he’d made on her arms. “What the hell?”
Steven blinked and looked down at his hands. Siobhan watched as he turned them over. She couldn’t see through them any longer. Not really.
Outside, the sound of the motorcycle became louder. The bike drew near, and Siobhan chanced a glance over her shoulder toward the living room door. “It’s him,” she muttered without realizing it.
“Who?” Steven asked. It was more of a demand than a question.
Siobhan hesitated. And then she exhaled. “The man who followed me on the highway. He kept up with me no matter what I did.” She shook her head. “I know that’s him.”
Steven straightened, his tall form eyeing the door. Siobhan watched him as a kaleidoscope of emotions played through her. Steven’s body was nearly solid. She knew it in her heart; just another day, and he would be whole again. He’d barely made it through her own body without getting… stuck or something. She shivered as she thought of it. And now his eyes were so bright they were nearly glowing. He seemed amplified somehow. Different.
Powerful.
But the expression on his face changed as she looked on. At first he wore anger, self-righteous and fierce. But as the motorcycle outside pulled up into her now empty driveway and shut down, the look slid into one of uncertainty. Then doubt. And then outright fear.
“Don’t let him in, Siobhan,” Steven whispered. “Whatever you do, don’t let him in.”
With that, he disappeared. The detective was there one moment and no more than a puff of wispy white that quickly evaporated into nothingness the next.
A wave of cold washed over Siobhan as she stood there, eyes wide, fingers clutching her upper arms.
There was a knock a the door, firm and clear.
Siobhan remained motionless, her heart pounding, her breath caught. Seconds passed and the knock came again, this time a touch louder.
Siobhan slowly turned. On legs that were going numb and feet that tingled, she made her way to the door then leaned over, placing her eye against the peep hole. The man outside was turned away, his attention on something near the porch steps. Just before he bent, she was able to take in the broadness of his back, encased in black leather, and the way his thick black hair curled over the collar, outlining the strong curves of his neck and chin. And then he was out of view and all she could see was the pink-orange color of the sky as the sun began to set.
Siobhan straightened, closed her eyes, swallowed hard, and
undid the latch. She swung the door open. “Can I help you?” she asked, surprised at the amount of strength she was able to inject into her voice.
The stranger was crouched on legs that looked well-muscled and strong where they pressed against his jeans. He was scratching the same ginger cat who had vied for her attention earlier. Without turning or standing, he said, “That was some impressive driving you managed the night before last.”
Siobhan felt the blood drain from her face. His voice was deep and filled with all kinds of forbidden knowledge.
“I’m assuming you’ve hidden the Mustang in the garage,” he added. “Which wasn’t big enough for it the day before yesterday.”
He stood then, placed his hands on his hips, and turned to face her. His hands dropped from to his sides and he froze, his entire tall, strong body going still as a statue’s. The pupils of his light mercurial eyes dilated, and his lips parted slightly.
Siobhan’s breath caught. A buzzing erupted in her ears.
He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.
Chapter Nine
It took forever for either of them to speak, much less move. They seemed frozen there in time on either side of the threshold, separated by a boundary neither of them could see but both could feel.
The stranger’s wavy dark hair brushed the collar of his black leather jacket and a stray lock or two scraped along the scruff that graced his strong chin. His eyes seemed to be throwing off sparks in the handsome frame of his face, so light they looked like electricity. She was going to fry in the heat of their dangerous depths, but she couldn’t look away.
He was broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted, and his form filled the doorway like a shadowy wall. As she stood there and gaped out at him, she caught a whiff of soap and leather. Her mouth watered, the effect Pavlovian and instant.
There was a weakness settling into the bones of her legs when the stranger finally raised his arms, ever so slowly, and braced them on either side of the door in order to lean in. It was predatory, and Siobhan would have stepped back but for the fact that she felt nailed to the spot.
“It’s you,” he said, his voice cascading over her like a waterfall of magic. “You’re the one I’ve been-” He swallowed and seemed to stop himself short, to catch his next words before they had a chance to be born into the world. He hesitated, his eyes boring into hers, his incredible charisma acting like a magnet on her blood.
Finally, he said, “You were the one I sensed on the Anime. It’s your power keeping him here, isn’t it?” His tone never rose, but the inflection was so personal, the words so starkly unnatural, it was as if he’d speared her with them.
Her breath stilled in her lungs and her eyes grew even wider in her face.
He smiled, his lips slowly spreading to reveal straight, white teeth… and incisors a fair deal longer than they should have been. “You’re a witch,” he said.
“Leave,” she replied. And then she blinked. It was as if she’d spoken without no instruction from her brain whatsoever. The word had simply slipped out – defensive, protective, and frightened.
The stranger’s molten gaze narrowed, and it felt it tear right through to her soul.
And then those eyes widened, just a little, and he straightened in the doorway. His head cocked slightly to one side. “You’re a warlock.”
Aside from touching up old cars and antiques and making changes to a centuries-old mansion, Siobhan rarely used her magic, and never against people. The reason she didn’t use her magic against people was because that was specifically what her magic wanted her to do. Her life had been a struggle with her power, with temptation, and until that very moment, Siobhan would have sworn up and down that she was winning.
But as she stood there within the confines of her own property and felt caged in by the massive presence of the man before her, Siobhan sensed the magic pouring into her hands. It was heating up her palms and swirling just behind her eyes. It felt hot, volatile, and deadly.
“Please leave,” she repeated, this time almost more concerned for his safety than for her own.
The stranger eyed her with careful wariness, unreadable emotion, and with something akin to determination. The set of his jaw was hard, and his hands were clenched tightly where they held to the door frame. He shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
Don’t let him in, Siobhan. Steven’s words replayed through her head. Whatever you do, don’t let him in.
God help me, she thought as she stepped back, raised her right hand, and gave in to her magic. It coursed through her triumphantly, all too ready to take over, all too willing and able to know just what to do.
But as her hand lit up with dangerous light, the stranger moved forward and into the living room, slamming the door shut behind him with incredible speed. It was the last thing she expected. She’d expected him to move away, recoil, or maybe even dodge to the side. Not come closer.
She flinched as the magic released, shooting toward his chest in a conic stream of red light that darkened to inky black at its center. Sparkles that looked like stars danced within the darkness, motes of illumination that resembled pixie dust and the Milky Way. Siobhan held her breath as for the first time in her life she attempted to do harm to another.
But the beam of multi-colored magic struck the stranger and was diverted, wrapping around his chest as it dissipated into a dull orange and then a gray before it evaporated altogether. The stranger watched her all the while, his eyes never leaving hers, his tall body utterly unharmed.
“How….”
“Your magic won’t hurt me, warlock,” he told her, taking a step forward and shaking his head in reprimand. “And I have to say, that wasn’t very nice.” His look turned dark, his perfect mouth curling in a nasty, closed-lipped smile. It looked good on him; God help her. It really did. It was the kind of look women ached for in the safety and comfort of their own dreams at night. It was a dangerous kind of look, all promise and predator, and Siobhan had never felt more the prey.
She was assaulted by a menagerie of emotions in that moment and wouldn’t have been able to make heads or tails of them if she’d tried. Fortunately for her, the conscious thoughts of her mind made way for the physical actions of fight-or-flight. She had no choice but to give in; as far as her old brain was concerned, her life was in peril.
She raised both hands this time, and the magic poured into her palms as if someone had opened the flood gates. The stranger looked down, saw the light gathering at the ends of her arms, and this time he did react, raising his own right hand palm-out in response.
Power shot from her body and raced toward him like the blaze of a flame thrower, but the bright, crackling magic fizzled as it neared the stranger’s own out-stretched palm. He seemed to catch it in his hand, coalescing it into a single weak ball of light before he closed his fingers, crushing the magic out of existence altogether.
“Who the hell are you?!” Siobhan finally cried, real terror taking hold of her now. He hadn’t taken his eyes from hers, and now they sparked with magical energy, glowing nearly white to give him a demonic appearance. Siobhan’s heart pounded painfully. “Oh my God,” she said softly, as a realization struck her. “You’re the demon. You killed Steven.” Just because he had black hair and not blonde didn’t mean he wasn’t the one who’d killed her ex-boyfriend and set fire to her house. If a demon could catch magic the way he just had, he could probably change his appearance as well. She’d been stupid not to consider this before. The lapse in judgment might now cost her her life.
But instead of admitting to the accusation as Siobhan had expected him to, the stranger frowned and gave her a quizzical look. “You’re talking about the detective.”
“Yes,” she said through teeth that were beginning to clench. “He was.”
Some kind of knowledge flickered in his white glowing gaze before the glow began to die down. He seemed to be coming to a conclusion or an understanding. He shook his head. “No,” he said. “I
absolutely did not kill Steven Lazarus.”
Siobhan would never be able to describe the amount of relief that flooded her system at those words. She had no logical reason to believe him. She had no idea who he was and in fact didn’t even know his name. He was some kind of being capable of great power and despite the fact that she hadn’t said it, he even knew Steven’s last name and that he’d been a detective. He had all of the markings of the demon. She was certifiable to believe him. All the same, she absolutely did believe him. In her heart, she positively knew that he wasn’t the one who had set Steven ablaze, and that knowledge was more comforting than words could tell.
“But he is the reason I’m here,” he said. He stepped forward again, and Siobhan found herself stepping back. The atmosphere moved before him, as if even the very air wanted to afford him more room. She could feel his power brush up against her just before she stepped out of the supernatural bubble that surrounded him, and the brush of that magic made her skin tingle. It wasn’t unpleasant.
“I know he’s here somewhere,” he continued. He pulled his gaze from hers and glanced around the old house. All was quiet upstairs; there was no movement around them. He turned in place, as if trying to sense where Steven might have gone. “I can feel him.”
“Who are you?” Siobhan repeated herself. Meanwhile, she was thinking of the gun she had upstairs, a collector’s Smith and Wesson she’d repaired along with a lot of other items purchased in an estate sale a few months ago. It was in working order now, thanks to her magic. And while her intruder might be immune to said magic, she very much doubted he could move fast enough to stop a bullet.
The problem was getting to it. That, and working up the nerve to use it.
As she stared at his broad, leather-encased back, his perfect tight ass beneath those worn jeans, and the sheer height and breadth of him, she felt horribly torn. He was so beautiful, it literally made her ache a little inside. And so far, he had done nothing to harm her. So far.
The stranger turned back around to face her. Once more his silver eyes lightened, his pupils expanding. “My name is Thane,” he told her. “I’m….” He seemed about to explain further, but his voice trailed off and his gaze narrowed. “How much do you know, warlock?”
The Phantom King (The Kings) Page 7