Page 9 of Captivating Magic

“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.

4

Assuming Laszlo was in good hands with another Thorne witch, Ebba took a few extra minutes to wash the blood from her hands. Despite all the teasing, the sight of him injured had triggered her. She’d always viewed him as so alive and strong. Of course, Lo had no way of knowing, but Spencer had been similarly injured, only he’d never recovered from his head wound.

After nearly scrubbing herself raw, Ebba inspected her hands and nails to assure herself not a trace of blood remained. She splashed frigid water on her hot face, hoping to cool herself down. Yes, she was overstimulated by recent events, but these random feverish moments had started well before today.

At strange periods throughout the day, her flesh felt too tight for her body, and her muscles would cramp. One would assume the injuries she sustained in the wreck had created lingering physical maladies. Still, it didn’t explain why her core temperature would spike and feel like the Chernobyl reactor in the hours prior to the nuclear disaster.

Ebba dried her face and sank onto the mattress’s edge as she recalled her recent accident. If what Lo had said was true, she was haunting herself, and the spirit riding her back wasn’tSpencer’s. How was that possible? For the most part, she felt normal. Sure, there were a few memory gaps, but she’d retained the ability to function and work. If the spirit had left her body, wouldn’t she be dead or in a coma?

And what about Spencer? Had he moved on after his eventual death? Should she ask Laszlo if he could find out?

“Ebba?”

His worried voice penetrated her chaotic thoughts, and when she shifted to face the door, she gasped. His wound was completely healed, and his clothes were returned to their standard pristine condition. No evidence of Niall’s attack remained.

“How is that possible?” she croaked. “Am I losing my mind?”

Lo sent a frowning glance down at his shirt before shaking his head and joining her on the bed. “No, you’re not losing it. It’s witchcraft.”

“Witchcraft,” she repeated, feeling inane and out of her depth. Was she dreaming? Had she never woken up after her car hit the tree? Perhaps she was in limbo, where oddball things were passed off as the norm.

Cupping her face, he caressed her jawline with his thumb. “Are you okay? You seemed to be fine earlier, but now you look pale.”

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