Captivating Magic (The Thorne Witches #14)

Chapter 5

5

L aszlo’s truth bomb caused shock, or something like it, to arrest the expressions of those around him.

Ebba, the last to recover, shifted to stare at Castor. “You were there? Why don’t I remember you?”

“You were barely conscious, love, and then you weren’t. I’d be surprised if you did remember me.”

“But…” She shook her head. “How? Where did you come from?”

Dipping his head toward Alastair, he said, “Those woods border his estate.”

“That doesn’t explain why you were there,” Lo stated in a hard voice. “Or why you didn’t say something before.”

“Calm down, Raging Ralph, and I’ll tell you.” Castor didn’t quite roll his eyes, but his annoyed vibe was a living thing.

Spirit Ebba laughed from her seat behind him, but other than giving her a narrow-eyed glare, Lo didn’t respond to her pointed amusement.

“Today, junior,” he growled at Castor.

Ignoring him, the other man met Alastair’s curious gaze. “You remember, Al. It was about five or six months ago now. What started out as an evening run turned into a rescue mission. I told you about the accident I’d witnessed that night when I returned.”

Alastair’s sapphire eyes turned solemn as they shifted to Ebba. “I do remember, and I’m sorry for your trials, Ms. James.”

When Lo would’ve bombarded Castor with questions, the other man held up a hand. “Like I said, I was out for a run. As I rounded a bend on the path, I heard tires squeal and the vehicle impact against the tree. The second I realized what happened, I rushed to help.”

“What did you do?” she asked.

“I could instantly see you were mortal, but you weren’t breathing. Normally, I’d let nature take its course, but I was caught by your loveliness and an overwhelming urgency to help you.”

“That was me egging him on,” Spirit Ebba said when Castor paused to smile at her physical self. “I had the oddest feeling I shouldn’t move on.”

Other than to send her an acknowledging nod, Lo didn’t reply.

“Why wouldn’t you help someone if you could?” Ebba asked, confusion clouding her eyes and her mouth dipping at the corners.

Call him petty, but Laszlo loved that she’d consider it a mark against Castor that he wasn’t inclined to help a person, regardless of status. Remaining quiet, he gave the other man enough room to hang himself.

“The Goddess. The Fates.” Castor shrugged and sent her a considering look. Seeing she didn’t understand his simple explanation, he elaborated. “As mortals, people follow their faith, whether that be the Almighty God from the Bible, Allah, Hindu Gods and Goddesses, or the like. If atheist, they don’t feel the need to be accountable to anyone but themselves. But as magical beings, we are subjected to a different set of rules.”

“And ye harm none, do what ye will,” Alastair said.

“I don’t know what that means.” Ebba glanced at Lo for an answer, and warmth spread through his chest that she trusted him enough to seek his counsel.

Lacing his fingers through hers, he said, “Do what you will as long as you don’t hurt another. It’s a witch’s creed. We’re brought up to respect and value life, but we’re also taught not to displease the Fates, Gods, or Goddesses. It has repercussions if we do.”

“Why would they be displeased if you save a… mortal?” She grimaced as she said it, likely still trying to wrap her mind around what she’d learned today.

“The Fates might have other plans for you or whomever you were with at that moment. By saving you, Castor may have put a target on his back,” Alastair said with a reproachful glance at his friend. The cheeky bastard simply grinned.

“So it’s why you left Spencer to die?” she snapped at Castor.

Compassion filled his visage, and he shook his head. “No, love. I stabilized him, too, before calling for an ambulance. However, like I said, you weren’t breathing, so you were the number-one priority. By the time I revived you, the ambulance had arrived and taken your friend away.”

A good amount of her anger died away, but she still squeezed Lo’s hand as if it were a lifeline.

“Thank you,” she said. “I should be more grateful, especially since you’ll likely get in trouble on my behalf.”

“I haven’t been called to task yet, but despite the severity of any punishment meted out, I’d do it again,” Castor assured her warmly. “You could pay me back by having dinner with me.”

“Not gonna happen,” Lo replied on her behalf.

“You really should let the lady speak for herself, boyo. No one likes to be told what to do.”

With dread, he shot Ebba a look of apology. “As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. I’m sorry.”

“Let it be known she’s speaking for herself.” Her shining eyes locked with Lo’s a second before she turned to Castor. “And she’s saying, thank you, but no.”

A small smile played around her mouth, and Lo had the sudden urge to kiss her until they were both mindless. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the time. They had company and the split-soul issue to take care of first.

“I can’t say I’m not brokenhearted.” Castor placed a hand on his chest in the vicinity of said destroyed organ. “But far be it from me to come between lovers.”

“Oh!” She recoiled, and her expression resembled an owl with its perpetual startled appearance. “We’re not—I don’t—we… Tell him, Lo.”

“We’re not lovers,” he dutifully replied. “Just old friends who intend to become lovers,” he added.

A flush darkened her cheeks, and in her flustered state, her hands flitted about as if they had a mind of their own. “You have to stop saying that!”

“Why? It’s true, isn’t it?”

“No!”

Inside, he winced, but he maintained his careless grin. The pretense was killing him, but he’d be damned if he reacted to the egg on his face in front of the playboy.

Ebba clasped his hand again and stretched to kiss his cheek. “I’m sorry. But I need more time.”

“I’m an idiot,” her spirit self muttered. “My brains went by way of my soul, and nothing’s left in that empty-headed shell of mine.”

Meeting her gaze across the short distance, Lo bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. He desperately wanted to reply, but the others would buy him a one-way ticket for the loony bin.

“Get me back into that body, and we’ll definitely discuss this further,” she added.

Ebba barely suppressed the urge to hit her forehead with the heel of her hand. Why in the world was she putting on the brakes with Laszlo when she’d been infatuated with him forever and a day? Maybe because her earlier worries weren’t alleviated yet?

Perhaps.

Truthfully, she doubted he’d be a dud in bed. He was considerate and caring. Kind, too. Added to the mix was his unfailing honesty. Or at least it should’ve been added to the list of things in the pro column. But the one con, as she saw it, wasn’t his magic; it was the fact his family, the people she’d claimed as hers a long time ago and who she thought had claimed her, had lied to her for years. For her entire relationship with them, in fact.

Her phone rang, and she welcomed the opportunity to distance herself from the men.

Liz.

As soon as she saw the caller ID, she rejected the incoming call and placed it face down. For whatever reasons she couldn’t discern, she was less inclined to forgive Liz than Laszlo. Although, in fairness, she should be angry with him as well as the rest of the Thornes for their secret. Why couldn’t she be trusted? What was it about her that screamed, “Lie to me?”

Spencer hadn’t had a problem with that. They’d only went on a handful of dates when she discovered the man was a pathological liar. When she called him on his bullshit, he?—

A sharp, stabbing pain behind her eyes derailed her thought, and she sucked in a breath, pressing her fingertips to her brow bones.

Laszlo was there in an instant.

“What’s wrong?” Concern was heavy in his voice, and in an unexplainable way, his attentiveness bothered her.

“I’m fine,” she snapped, backing away and drawing the notice of the other men. With a tight smile, she entered the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. With her back to the men, she slowly sipped her drink, trying to gather her thoughts.

“Ebba, what’s going on?”

“I’m fine, Laszlo. Give me a minute.”

Why was she irritated with him? It didn’t make sense unless it was residual anger over the lies the Thornes had told her.

But had they truly lied?

Or was it simply a matter of omitting the truth?

She snorted. Yeah, Spencer was great at that.

Another blinding pain struck behind her eyes, and she closed them, concentrating on breathing and not throwing up.

The spontaneous headaches had been happening to her since the accident, and she assumed it was a side effect of injuring herself. But maybe it was something more. Maybe Castor could help her figure it out.

When she turned around, he was in a deep discussion with Alastair. Laszlo hadn’t returned to the living room but lingered at the bar with his head cocked in the slightest of manners as if he were listening to a different conversation. His amber-colored eyes weren’t focused on anything in particular that she could tell.

The sudden need to escape the oppressive atmosphere made her skin clammy, and Ebba wished she had their effortless ability to teleport away. What she wouldn’t give for a magical power like that!

After setting her glass on the counter, she smoothed her shirt down her stomach and hips, then returned to the couch, doing her damndest not to interrupt the men debating the merits of saving mortals.

“Oh, give over, Al,” Castor said with a snort and a wink at Ebba. “Tell me you wouldn’t have saved her.”

Alastair straightened his tie before tugging his shirtsleeves and aligning his cuff links with the seams of his suit jacket.

Ebba frowned, realizing he’d never mussed his suit in the entire time he’d been at her apartment. No blood from Laszlo’s wound or wrinkle to be had. It was as if he’d stepped from a photo shoot for a men’s style magazine straight into her living room. How was that possible?

She met his sparkling sapphire gaze and noted his unholy gleam of amusement. It occurred to her that he enjoyed sparring with his friend. When he faced Castor, she studied his features. It seemed all Thorne men possessed strong jawlines, bodies to die for, and bright eyes regardless of color.

Was it a reflection of their magic?

She’d have to ask Lo later.

As if thinking about him recalled him to her side, he joined their small group and sank down on the cushion beside her. This time he was careful to keep a respectable distance, as if in deference to her earlier waspishness.

Relief swept through her, and she frowned at the conflicting feeling. Prior to five months ago, she’d have given anything for Lo to look at her with desire. To hold her hand and treat her with great care. Hell, anything to be noticed by him! But the second he’d suggested they become lovers, she was running scared.

Why?

What was with this conflict between what she always wanted and what she was now receiving from him?

“The question is, what do we do?”

Alastair’s voice caught her attention.

“Do?” she asked.

“About fusing your soul back into your body, child.”

Ebba balked at the word fusing. “Sounds painful. How about we shelve this discussion for another time? Thanks for coming out, fellas.”

Discordant and awkward, she sprung up like a Jack-in-the-box, knocking her knees against the coffee table and rattling the dishes. With a spastic wave, she rushed for her bedroom and locked herself in.

Under no circumstances was she prepared to be fused!