Page 67 of Pints & Potions

“You don’t have to, child. You’re a Thorne, and someone in this godforsaken country recognized you right away.” Alastair ran a practiced eye around the estate. “We’re sitting ducks out here in the dark. Let’s—”

Piper felt a hard punch to her chest and cried out. Instinctively, she lifted her hands to the place where the pain was beginning to worsen. Thick, sticky fluid seeped through her fingers and oozed down her arms. She pulled her hands away to see what it could be, when her father’s shout penetrated.

She’d been shot.

Hoyt caughtPiper before she dropped. The movement saved his life. A second bullet missed him and hit the wall behind his head.

“Get to the house!” Alastair shouted the order.

Hoyt wasted no time and envisioned the dining room of the inn. He arrived alone, and realized he hadn’t given Alastair time to grab his arm to join the teleport to safety.

He laid Piper on the table and went to work, praying to the Goddess, Alastair could take care of himself.

“You hang in there, Pip. You hear me, girl? You hang in there for your old dad.” He cut away her shirt and saw the bullet’s entry point. Turning her on her side, he checked for an exit wound. There wasn’t one. “Pip, you’re going to need surgery, but I’ve got you covered. Your job is to stay with me, you got it?”

Hoyt applied pressure to the wound with one hand as he frantically fumbled for his phone with the other. “Rebecca? I need you to prep a room for surgery. Pip’s been shot.”

“Piper?” his wife gasped. “Piper’s been shot?”

“I don’t have time to talk. It’s bad, honey. Chest wound and the bullet’s still inside.”

“Get here. I’ll be ready.”

A commotion at the door drew Hoyt’s notice, and he dropped the phone in preparation to fight.

Cian entered, white-faced and frantic. “Piper?”

“She’s been shot, son. I’m taking her to my wife. She’s a surgeon. She’ll know what to do.” Hoyt promptly went back to saving his daughter’s life. Visualizing what he needed, he conjured a weighted compress and placed it on her chest with a quickly worded chant to maintain constant pressure, then he hefted her into his arms.

“My family… I… Piper…”

It wasn’t hard to see Cian was torn.

“Stay. I’ll be back for you when she’s out of the woods, Cian.”

Wasting no more time, he transported Piper to his wife’s surgery center.

Rebecca had already prepared the operating room and was there to greet him. Her dark hair was tucked under a cap, and she wore a pair of scrubs with dancing unicorns.

Hoyt almost smiled. Those damned unicorns were for Piper’s benefit. They were the only magical thing their daughter had ever embraced.

“Bec?” His met his wife’s worried mocha eyes. “Save her,” he said in a choked voice. “Don’t let our baby die.”

She gave him a brisk nod, already in competent-surgeon mode, and went to work.

Cian was losing his mind.He had no idea what was happening with Piper and no way of contacting Hoyt to find out.

The second Piper was gone from the premises, the flames disappeared as if they’d never existed. Only the scorched property lines told the tale.

His exhausted family had all been bundled into the main living room of the inn, and there they stayed under Alastair Thorne’s watchful eye. The warlock was once again pristine in a blue suit and gleaming white shirt. The only indication he’d been involved tonight was his tight expression and grim mouth. Every so often, he’d sip his scotch, but he never glanced up from the book he was reading.

“What do you hope to find there?” Cian finally ground out. “What’s that fecking book going to tell you that we don’t already know?”

One of Alastair’s dark-blond brows shot up, and he shut down Cian’s rant with a look.

After a long moment, Alastair sighed, placed a finger between the pages, and closed the cover. He finished his drink, set the tumbler down on the table, then addressed Cian’s question.

“This is an accounting of all the bloodlines in the witch community, boy. So far, you’ve been unable to identify the threat to Piper. I’m searching for someone who has something to gain by her death.”

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