Page 70 of Captured in Love
I narrow my eyes at him. Whatever is going on with these two, I’m going to find out. This has gone on long enough, and I hate that we’re not talking about it.
“Fine.” I stand and ignore the rush of blood that has my ears ringing. “I was going to suggest that Levi should call his father. He’s our coven’s healer, and he can either come here and help this woman, or call someone else in Europe, which would probably be faster. But I guess I’ll just call him myself.”
I reach for my backpack to pull out my phone. We’ve been here long enough, and any minute now, a nurse or a doctor could come in and catch us in the room.
But Raphaël catches my wrist and plucks my phone from my hand.
I start—I didn’t even see him move.
“What are you doing?” I demand, reaching for my phone.
He pockets it, his expression serious. “Better not. Levi’s relationship with his father isn’t good. He wouldn’t want you contacting him.”
I gape at him. When has he learned aboutthat? Levi never talks about his dad. That doesn’t mean Mr. Quinn isn’t the best healer we know.
“Fine,” I snap. “Then we’ll follow Levi and have him contact his father on his own.”
I pick up my backpack and carefully open the door. I have no idea how Levi got out without anyone calling the security on him, but he’s nowhere to be seen. I cloak Raphaël and myself in that same misdirection spell, and we head for the reception area, then out the door into the parking lot.
There is Levi, on the phone, his hand clutching the back of his neck.
And I don’t know what it is—some sixth sense, intuition, or the connection between us—but I know something is very, very wrong.
Twenty-Six
Levi
My phone stopped ringingas I carefully avoided hospital staff and patients, but it starts again now, buzzing in my palm because I’d silenced the ringer. My father’s name flashes from the screen. The phone signal has been shit in these parts of Iceland, and especially out on the sea, so I wasn’t surprised to see a bunch of missed calls when we arrived in town.
What threw me was that they were all from my father.
I glance over my shoulder to make sure I’m alone, brace myself for an unpleasant conversation, and hit the accept button.
“Where the hell have you been?” my father barks.
I straighten my shoulders before I consciously make the decision to do it. “I’m working.”
“Don’t give me that shit.”
The venom in his voice is familiar, the slight slur of his words is not. Has he been drinking? Magic doesn’t mix well with alcohol, and I can’t remember the last time I’d seen my father have more than a glass of wine at special occasions.
I sometimeswishedhe was a heavy drinker, because then I could blame his behavior on the alcohol. But he’d always been stone-cold sober when he mistreated my mother, my brother, and me.
I don’t reply now, waiting for him to show his cards. Whatever the reason for his series of calls, it must be serious.
“You entered the Ballendial Games,” he hisses. “With that Moss girl.”
That stops me in my tracks. “How did—?”
“Shut up,” he snaps. “And listen to me very carefully. You need to stop. Right now. Stop and come home, and we’ll see if we can smooth things over with the Scottish coven.”
What…?My brain works frantically to make sense of his words, to figure out how he’s connected to all of this.
“I can’t just—” I start to say.
“Stop fucking around!” he screams into the phone, loud enough that my speaker crackles with the noise. “Leave that bitch alone and come back before it’s too late.” He heaves a shuddering sigh, then adds, more quietly, “Or I won’t be able to protect you anymore.”
“Protect me?” I spit. “When have you ever protected me?”
