Captivating Magic (The Thorne Witches #14)

Chapter 3

3

“ L azslo!” Ebba’s heart stopped and resumed again at an abnormally fast rate. So fast, the lights around her flickered and dots appeared before her eyes. Could one stroke out from fear alone?

Blood pooled from the gash on his forehead, and she dropped to the floor beside him—mindful of the shattered vase shards he’d tried to protect her from. Whipping off her shirt, she pressed it to the wound and prayed to God he hadn’t sustained brain damage. That horrific, soul-shriveling thud when his head had connected with the corner of the entertainment center wasn’t a sound she was likely to forget.

“Niall, please hand me my phone.” She fought against a suffocating panic and pasted on an encouraging smile. Her neighbor’s brother had been intent on helping her, that much she gleaned. Possessed of a panda bear’s temperament, Niall wouldn’t seek out trouble, but if he’d happened to overhear Lo crash through her door, he might’ve assumed she was in danger.

“Is he your friend, Miss Ebba?”

The uncertainty in his deep voice was painful to hear.

“Yes. He is. Will you hand me my phone so I can call an ambulance? The bleeding is too much for me to stop on my own.”

After rushing to the side table she pointed to, Niall returned with her cellphone. “I’m sorry, Miss Ebba. I didn’t mean to hurt him. Will I get in trouble? Will the police take me away now?”

“No, Niall. I’ll let them know it was all an accident and Lo stumbled, okay? Please, give me the phone.”

Worry and confusion tightened his craggy features, and his ordinarily wide, smiling mouth was pulled down at the corners.

She wiggled her fingers in an impatient gesture. Infusing command in her voice, she said, “Now, Niall.”

After punching in the number, she placed the device on Lazslo’s chest and lifted the corner of the material to peek at his wound. The blood flow showed no signs of stopping or even slowing, and the ringing through the speaker was overly loud.

“For fuck’s sake! It’s an emergency line! What the hell is taking so long?” she muttered.

“Must be a busy afternoon,” Lo murmured, eyes still closed. “Hang up, Ebba. I’m fine.”

Although she did as he requested, she shook her head. “You’re not. I can’t stop the blood.” Inside, she cringed at how whiny her tone sounded. She’d never been horrible in a crisis, but since the accident, her ability to stomach blood had drastically diminished.

“I promise you it looks worse than it is.” His lids lifted, but before he could meet her eyes, his locked on her chest. “Did I miss all the fun? What happened while I was out? Were you practicing to become a stripper? I’m totally down for that.”

Having forgotten her topless state, she scowled. Thank goodness she was wearing a full-support bra. Had it been her demi-cup, she’d be dead from humiliation.

“They’re called exotic dancers, and will you focus?” she growled.

“Oh, I’m focusing, all right,” he assured her. A wicked grin curled his mouth as he closed his eyes. “I’ll be recalling this in my dreams.”

She fought a smile and lost. Who didn’t love attention from a secret childhood crush after twenty-odd years?

“I really think we need to call an ambulance, Lo. This looks bad.”

“Call Liz.”

Ebba recoiled and glanced at the phone’s screen with indecision. For their entire friendship, her best friend had lied to her. Facing her at a time when the betrayal was still fresh would only lead to accusations and arguments. She wasn’t prepared to sweep it all under the rug and pretend it had never happened.

When she registered the sensation of being watched, she looked at Lo, only to find him observing her. The concern on his face wasn’t misplaced, but her behavior was silly when he was the injured party. Firming her resolve, she lifted the device, prepared to do what she could to see him healed.

His hand stayed her.

“Use my phone and call my cousin Alastair if that makes you feel better. He’s skilled at healing, and he can also help us with your other… uh, issue,” he said after casting Niall the side eye.

The subtle hint registered. They needed Niall gone, not just because he shouldn’t be there when another witch arrived to heal Lo, which she assumed was possible, but because her resident spook could start throwing items around in a fit of rage at any moment.

Ebba hadn’t had time to wrap her mind around Lo’s claim that hers was the spirit haunting the place. What the hell did any of that truly mean anyway? With a minute shake of her head, she urged Niall to return to his place, citing she didn’t want him to get into trouble when the police showed up with the doctor.

“Doctor?” Lo murmured as Niall hightailed it toward the lopsided door.

“In my mind, your cousin is a witch doctor. What else would you call someone who heals witches?”

His chuckle stole the chill from her bones, and although she wanted to join in the amusement, she refrained.

“Al will get a laugh from that one.” He reached up and brushed the curls from her eyes. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner, Ebba. It had to be hurtful to find out the way you did.”

A mere shrug was her attempt at hiding her discomfort and upset. Of all the people in the world who she believed would never lie to her, Liz was her number one and Mack was her number two. Lo didn’t necessarily rank since they’d only been friends in passing. To discover the opposite was devastating, but she didn’t want to discuss it while he needed help.

After shifting the device to capture Lo’s face and unlock the screen, she scrolled through his contacts until she found the one she sought. “Alastair Thorne? He’s the only one with that first name.”

“That’s him.”

When the man on the other end of the line answered, her eyes about rolled back in her head from the pleasure his deep, cultured voice caused. He could make millions operating a sex hotline. Before she could stop herself, she said as much. Laszlo sputtered his indignation at the same time Alastair barked out a laugh. Oddly, it was the rusty sound, as if he rarely released his humor, that snapped her back to reality.

“Oh, uh, sorry.” The skin of her face felt like it had been seared by the noon-day sun for five days running. “Yeah, Lo is hurt and wanted me to call you, Mr. Thorne.”

“Please send me the address and a picture of your apartment, my dear.”

Confused but willing, she did as requested. Before she’d finished speaking, a blond-haired man, who appeared to be in his mid-to-late forties, was standing in her living room. There was no time to appreciate his chiseled features or Old Hollywood flare. Her mind was still trying to process how he’d materialized from thin air.

“What the actual fuck?”

For someone who rarely swore, her exclamations that day were as emphatic as it got.

Laszlo sputtered a laugh. His head ached like a bitch, but Ebba’s mind had to be scrambled at this point, especially if she was reduced to swearing. Although she tended to be freer with those close to her, she usually retained the small niceties and refused to utter expletives around those she wasn’t acquainted with. At least until she encountered a trying situation like the one they were currently dealing with. Between learning of the Thorne family’s magical status and that her soul had split, likely from her recent accident, she was experiencing information overload. There were exceptions to her extreme-situation swearing rule—calling him a “dick” had been one. She couldn’t hang with the Thornes and not pick up a few bad habits.

“What happened?” Alastair’s forbidding tone jerked Lo from his musing.

“I tripped.”

His cousin’s blond brows shot upward, and disbelief was heavy in his tone when he said, “You?”

Stifling another laugh, Lo nodded and immediately regretted it when his pain transitioned from throbbing to migraine intensity. Hissing in a breath, he gripped his head between his hands.

Ebba released a distressed meep and returned to apply pressure to his wound.

“Who helped you along on this trip ?” Al asked dryly, making a point not to glance at the scantily clad Ebba’s chest.

“A mountain of a man, but he’s been dealt with.” Lo sucked in a breath as he eased to a sitting position, wishing like hell he hadn’t, as sharp, shooting pain pierced his temple. Ignoring Alastair’s penetrating gaze, he said, “Go ahead and get that look of promised retribution off your face, cuz. There will be no revenge today.”

“How about tomorrow?” asked another voice he didn’t recognize.

Leaning slightly sideways, Laszlo sought the source behind Alastair’s pristine-suited form. The man was big, much bigger than Lo’s six-foot frame, and possessed a shoulder-length mane of white-blond hair. His eyes were an icy blue but, oddly, contained a wealth of warmth, as evidenced by the crinkles beside those disconcerting peepers.

“Thanks for the backup, Castor, but I believe your services won’t be needed after all.” An engaging grin threatened to transform Alastair’s visage to friendly instead of imposing.

Castor’s gaze swept Ebba’s form, and an unidentifiable look flashed in his eyes before a spark of interest flared to life. “Speak for yourself, Al. The lady has a mind and tongue of her own. I’m dearly hoping she’s in dire need of my services ,” he said with a roguish grin.

Irritated by the man’s high-handed attitude, Laszlo tapped Ebba’s sagging jaw shut and growled, “You’re catching flies.” Lowering his voice, he added, “And you might want to put on a shirt, Sweet.”

“Nonsense.” She swatted his hand and scowled but never took her shining eyes from Castor. How had she gone from flashing cow eyes at him to watching another man like a starving puppy eyeing a burger? “This covers more than my bikini, and I have company.”

“You’re a fickle woman, Ebba James,” he accused, hiding his grin when she responded with a breathy laugh and a pat on his cheek.

“Fickle? Please tell me you’re not spoken for, love,” Castor replied in her stead. Placing a hand over his heart, he pasted on a woe-is-me expression. “I’ll never recover from the blow.”

“Read the room, Alex,” Alastair said wryly.

“I thought I was. She seems as enamored with me as I am with her.”

Laszlo took exception to Castor’s statement. “She’s not enamored. Likely, she’s never seen a baboon up close and personal.”

The wide grin and laughing eyes Ebba turned on Lo were all the reward he needed. “Hush, you big baby. Even with your new head wound, you’re still as gorgeous as ever.”

“Right.” Alastair leaned forward and eased back the edge of the wadded shirt. “About that, I can fix you right up, son.”

Holding up a hand to pause his cousin, Laszlo met Ebba’s curious stare. “For my sanity, please put on a shirt. I’m not sure your furniture can take the soaking from the drool pouring out of that guy’s mouth.” The quick shift of his head in Castor’s direction was a mistake, and Lo sucked in another breath. He’d be lucky he didn’t end up with brain damage after all was said and done.

“Be right back.” Ebba patted his shoulder and jumped to her feet. As she hurried toward her bedroom, Castor shifted to watch her luscious moneymaker swish from side to side.

“Jesus, she’s something.”

“I suppose we should get one thing straight, buddy.” Lo’s tone was pure steel. “Ebba’s not a good-time girl, and if you don’t keep your smarmy comments to yourself, I’ll rip your tongue from your head.”

The bastard had the nerve to laugh, and Alastair looked equally amused.

“Try me,” Lo growled.

“Is now a good time to tell him what I can do, Al?” Castor asked, crossing his arms over his burly chest.

Alastair’s dark-blond brows drew together as he examined Lo’s head injury. “He’s a Traveler, my boy. If he wants your girl, he’ll alter time to before you were sweet on each other and take her for himself.”

“He’d have to go back to when I was a teenager,” Ebba’s spirit piped in from her perch on the counter behind the men. “One glimpse of those abs at Liz’s pool party, and I was done for.”

A slow smile curled his mouth, and he closed his eyes against the sweet victory he felt. “Good to know.”

Only she knew he was speaking to her and not Alastair.