Captivating Magic (The Thorne Witches #14)

Chapter 15

15

T hey were halted by the arrival of Alastair and Castor. Laszlo told himself the interruption was fortunate because crossing into necrophilia territory was frowned upon. Debating the pros and cons of feeling up a ghost or obsessing about how Ebba’s body—physical and spirit—was built for hot, monkey sex would find Lo in hot water. Fast! He was quickly becoming addicted to touching her, and it didn’t bode well for him.

“Did your friend have a suggestion for stopping Death, Al?”

“You can ask him yourself. He’ll be arriving momentarily.”

“This is becoming quite the party,” Castor said as he flopped on the couch. “Why are there no hors d’oeuvres? Isn’t that what you call those little finger sandwiches?”

“I’m a terrible hostess,” Spirit Ebba quipped as she jumped up to perch on the counter.

“Why does she do that?” he asked, nodding at the distance she’d placed between her and their group.

Lo was slow on the uptake, but when the truth dawned, he couldn’t believe he’d never seen it before. Looking back, he recalled Ebba had always kept to the outskirts of gatherings their entire lives. At every function of four or more, she’d drifted off to sit alone, and Laszlo was ashamed her crowd discomfort had never registered.

“I’m an asshole,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Castor grinned his agreement. “No argument here.”

Flipping him the bird, Lo joined Ebba.

“I owe you an apology, Sweet.”

“For what?” Her brows drew together in adorable confusion, and using his thumb, he smoothed the indention they created with light, caressing strokes.

“For being insensitive to your hatred of large groups.”

“Oh!” She laughed and batted his hand away. “You couldn’t have known. Besides, I don’t hate crowds. I just don’t fit in.”

“I believe it’s called social awkwardness,” he replied, toying with a corkscrew lock of her espresso-colored hair. He marveled at the silky feel beneath his fingers. How was it possible she felt so alive?

“I know what it’s called, Lo.”

“Don’t roll those gorgeous eyes at me, woman.” He grinned, appreciating the hell out of her sass. In all the years they’d been acquainted, she’d never backed down when teased and always gave it right back. Which was doubly impressive when he thought about it, considering many people became tongue-tied when addressing their crush.

Pitching his tone in the suggestive zone, he said, “When we’re alone again, I want to hear about all the ways you fantasized about the two of us.”

Her gasp was his reward for shocking her, but she recovered in a flash. “Who said I fantasized about you at all?”

“Didn’t you?”

The answer was there, in her smoldering gaze, and the horror he felt from his immediate arousal caused him to step away from her and into the kitchen to hide his body’s reaction.

Jesus!

He gave in to his urge to grab a beer, but not to the one to shove it down his pants and cool off his randy dick. Granted, it had been a while since his last sexual encounter, but growing hard from a direct look was downright humiliating.

Taking a few minutes to himself, he popped the lid off and guzzled a third of his drink. Lo blew out a breath and shook his head. What the hell was happening to him? How long had he lusted after Ebba without realizing it? It made him ill to entertain the notion he’d driven Charlotte to her jealousy. Had she seen something in the way he responded to Ebba’s adoration?

When he was in control, he circled the counter, placed his bottle next to Ebba’s hip, and scooped her into his arms.

“‘Nobody puts Baby in a corner,’” he said. “Not on my watch.”

Her effervescent giggles triggered his grin.

“I’m thrilled you got the reference,” he admitted. “I’d have been embarrassed if you didn’t know what the fuck I was referring to.”

“Who doesn’t know Dirty Dancing?” Her pretend horror tickled him.

“You get me.”

“I always did,” she assured him, love shining from those devastating eyes.

“I’m sorry if it feels like I overlooked you when we were young, Ebba.”

With a shrug, she ducked her head.

Jostling her to get her attention, he said, “I didn’t.”

“Huh?”

“I didn’t overlook you. Remember the day we snuck down and borrowed my uncle Hoyt’s boat?”

Frowning, she nodded.

Lo fought the uncomfortable heat traveling up his neck. “Liz and my brothers saw I was lusting over you in your baby-blue bikini. They pulled me aside and threatened to tear off both my arms and legs if I broke your heart.”

“What?”

“Yep. Ask Liz.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “They were right to interfere. I was a horndog in those days. It’s why Charlotte and I… She…”

His skin felt tight and unbearable under her incredulous stare.

“She put out,” Ebba concluded with a scowl. “I’d have put out. For you .”

“I think we all knew that.” Lo winced when she pinched his nipple. “Ouch! I wasn’t being mean, Ebba. I’m saying your crush was evident, and the reality was you were too young for sex.”

“I was sixteen, and who were you to make that call?” she asked fiercely.

“The nineteen-year-old boy who wasn’t mature enough to keep your heart intact.”

Her expression softened. “But you did, didn’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“By maintaining your distance and keeping up the pretense of disinterest, you didn’t take advantage of the situation. Therefore, you were mature enough to keep my heart intact.”

He laughed at the dumb kid he’d been. “I never considered I was doing the right thing. Mainly I didn’t want my brothers to kick my ass.”

With an exasperated shake of her head, she peered over his shoulder, then leaned in to kiss him.

“The past can’t be erased, Lo. But I’m glad I didn’t make you so uncomfortable you couldn’t be my friend.”

“Never that, Sweet Ebba. Our friendship was the highlight of my life. Nothing could’ve kept me away from you for long.”

As Lo carried Ebba to her favorite armchair, she considered what he’d said.

Sweet Ebba.

He’d called her that since the day they spent at Lake Lure. From the moment those words left his lips, she’d cherished them, secretly believing in her heart of hearts he must care if he’d graced her with a nickname. Over the years, he’d shortened it to “Sweet” and only used it when Charlotte wasn’t present. Knowing his endearment was void of artifice and not intended to keep her pining for him, Ebba treasured the sentiment.

The atmosphere in her apartment turned heavy, and the air crackled with what she’d learned was an incoming witch. But she wasn’t expecting the jaw-dropping hottie who arrived.

Although dressed casually, he gave off a wealthy man vibe. With a single look at his duds, one could recognize the quality and guess at the cost. The jeans weren’t your average off-the-rack brand, or if they were, Ebba couldn’t afford to set foot in that store for fear she’d destroy something and spend the rest of her life paying the debt off. Hottie McHotterson’s sweater was black and fitted him like an overly friendly glove. With certainty, it wasn’t the type to pill or pull, and it was likely to last a lifetime if he cared to keep it that long.

Yet it wasn’t his attire that drew the notice. It was the pure perfection of his symmetrical features. His hair was stylish and on the longer side but nothing like Castor’s shoulder-length tresses. None of that was the distraction. No, it was his eyes that drew and held one’s attention. Almost black, they had the merest hint of a silver starburst, keeping them from blending with his pupils.

With skin a similar shade to Lo’s olive-like tones yet not as dark as Rafe’s Mediterranean coloring, the man was striking and positively delicious.

Sensual and hypnotic.

Ebba could’ve stared at him forever and never grown bored.

Those obsidian eyes traveled over her with a thoroughness that would’ve left her breathless had she needed to breathe. The sweeping glance wasn’t sexual, instead leaving the impression he was cataloging everything about her, including her aura, temperament, and place in his magical world.

“Who is he?” she whispered in awe.

As if by some miracle he’d heard her, the left side of his mouth kicked up, and she stilled. He was what she imagined Death should’ve looked like. Souls would willingly go with him if beckoned. Hell, he’d be the Pied Piper of the dead.

“I’m Damian Dethridge, Ms. James.”

His tone was smooth, cultured, and seductive to the extreme. She wanted to crawl into his skin and never leave. It wasn’t a normal reaction, and she worried his true intent was to capture her soul. Did the others see him?

A look at Laszlo assured her they did.

“What are you?” she asked Damian.

“I’m the Aether and maintain the balance between good and evil.”

“ The Aether, as in only one?”

He dipped his head in acknowledgment. “There were others before me, and there will be others after. However, for now, I’m the reigning one.”

“And everyone calls me an attention whore,” Castor quipped.

Damian laughed, and Ebba was starstruck.

“Holy shit.”

“We all say that when he appears,” Castor said dryly, crossing the room to shake the other man’s hand. They shared one of those brief bro hugs, indicating familiarity, and as they stepped apart, the room lit again.

A mini female replica of the Aether stepped through a rift in space. His muttered curse was immediate, and his chin dropped to his chest, the picture of a harried father.

The girl’s chin jerked upward, and she wore an expression of faux superiority. Ebba had to wonder if the child’s brave face came from knowing she was about to be scolded.

She had vast experience in the defiance department, too.

“Don’t yell at me, Papa. I’ve never met a real, live ghost before,” the girl said, her eyes darting toward Ebba, still held by Lo.

“I’m almost certain that’s a lie.” With a pained air, Damian pressed his fingers to his temples and sighed. “But please tell me, when have I ever truly yelled at you, Beastie?”

The girl grinned, and Ebba blinked at the sudden transformation. Her elfin face was pure mischief and adorable. Feeling the similar draw to the child as she had to the father, but without the sexual magnetism, Ebba tapped Lo’s shoulder to indicate she wanted down.

“I’m Sabrina.” Gesturing to Damian with her thumb, she added, “But Papa calls me Beastie.”

“Mm, yes. I expect it’s fitting,” Ebba replied with a warm smile, fighting the desire to hug the child. “I’m Ebba.”

“I know. I’m an Oracle.”

Frowning, Ebba wrinkled her nose. “Not a witch, so I’m afraid I don’t know what that is.”

“I see all future outcomes for everyone and every situation.”

Awash with hope, she met the girl’s knowing gaze. “Even mine?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me?—”

“No,” Damian said succinctly, with a meaningful look at his daughter. “She isn’t supposed to be here, and she certainly isn’t supposed to reveal the future. Her interference could alter the course of the Fates’ design.”

“Papa’s right.” Sabrina grimaced and, extending one foot, swung it from side to side, scraping the toe of her shoe along the rug. “The Fates became cross with me and tried to make me disappear.”

“What?!” Outraged, Ebba looked at Damian. “They can do that?”

“In the literal sense of the word, yes. They were thwarted, however.”

“Thank Christ,” she muttered. Although diminutive, the child appeared mature for one as young as her. No kid should be subjected to the whims of fickle deities.

“Actually, it was thanks to a Guardian,” Sabrina said, grinning widely.

“A Guardian?”

“They are almost as powerful as my papa and me, but they aren’t born with their powers like us. Only the Goddess can choose them.”

“I see.”

But she didn’t. The crazy world of the Thorne witches was beyond Ebba’s comprehension, especially when fatigued as she was. She’d expended too much energy in the previous hours and was fading quickly. Soon enough, her strength would wane, and then it would be a literal disappearance.

“I can boost your energy, Ms. James,” Damian said, plucking her concerns from the air.

She frowned.

“Can you read my mind?” she asked him silently, testing her theory.

He winked.

“So, like, before, when I, um…”

Don’t think about it, Ebba! Don’t think about how sexy he is!

“Yes, and thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment,” he replied aloud.

She almost told Laszlo she was ready to cross over—if only to escape the humiliation.

But Damian’s frown made her question what had him perturbed.

“You’re a spirit, Ms. James. You shouldn’t be experiencing deeper emotions.”

“Why did you say that? Is there something I’m missing?” Lo asked. “Is there a private communication between you that we don’t know about?”

“With Damian?” Castor snorted. “Always.”

Ebba waved them off and shifted closer to the Aether. “Will you explain what you mean, please?”

“Certainly. Your recent emotional responses, the anger on my daughter’s behalf, the lustful thoughts?—”

Lo swore. “Him, too? Is there anyone you haven’t drooled over today?”

She glared. “Really? You’re going to rat me out like that?”

“— And your justified irritation with Laszlo are all unique for your current state,” Damian continued after casting an amused glance his way.

“Unique in what way? Spirits don’t feel anything?” Ebba faced Lo. “You’re the resident expert. What have you encountered in the past?”

“I can’t believe I missed it, but Damian’s right. The only thing you should be feeling this close to the transition is peace.” Laszlo’s eyes widened, and he looked as if he’d taken a blow to the head. “How is this possible?”

Damian’s smile was confident. “That’s what I’m here to find out.”