Page 23 of Discovered Magic
“Not yet, honey. Not until we get you stitched up good and proper. All right?”
The woman’s tone was firm, conveying authority and making her seem older than she appeared, given her clothing and hairstyle. Yet she couldn’t have been much past forty.
In trying to recall her own age, she hit a brick wall. Again, she frowned, but like before, the pain stopped the motion.
“It’s okay, ma’am. No need to fret. If you give us your name, we’ll contact your people,” the man offered with a smile.
Her brain stalled, and her throat tightened as panic struck in earnest.
What the hell was her name?
A jagged bolt of dread pierced her chest. She shrank from his touch, clutching her head and willing the answer to surface.
Nothing but a yawning, black void.
“No…” Her voice trembled. “I don’t know. Oh God! I don’t know my name.”
Her caregivers exchanged an apprehensive glance, but then the woman squared her shoulders and smiled.
“These things happen, and you’re not to worry, honey,” she soothed. “I’m Evie, and this is my nephew Jonas. He’s the sheriff here in Perdition Ridge.”
Breathing labored, she shook her head before admitting, “I don’t know this place.”
“I don’t expect you do.”
More questions arose, but every word uttered was sandpaper scratching the inside of her throat. She pressed a hand to her neck, swallowing hard. “Water, please.”
“Sure thing.” Jonas poured some, then went a step further, supporting her upper back and head as she greedily gulped the cool liquid.
“Easy now, ma’am.” He touched her wrist. “We’ve barely been able to get anything inside you. Too much and you might get sick.”
Although she wanted to keep the tin cup, she recognized the wisdom of his words. Mid-handoff, her fingers tightened on the cool metal.
Tin? What an odd choice for drinkware! Why not plastic or glass?
Her gaze drifted around the small space. It was rudimentary: a bed, a dresser with a washbowl, and wooden walls of a log cabin.
Perdition Ridge, Evie had said.
Not a place she recalled.
“Ma’am, we?—”
The door burst open.
Two men entered, both familiar to her, but not. Their clothing was all wrong.
One was light-haired with sapphire eyes, damned near angelic in appearance; the other was dark, creating a perfect foil. With his black hair, obsidian eyes, and carved angles, the intense stranger was beyond compelling.
He was fucking beautiful!
Exactly as she imagined Lucifer would look.
“Oh, Damian! I’m so happy you’ve come.” Evie greeted him with a welcoming smile and a hug. “This poor dear needs your help.”
His assessing gaze missed nothing as it swept over her, leaving her feeling exposed despite the covers.
“Why was I called for a simple healing, Evie?” he asked. His voice was cultured, laced with the hint of a British accent, as if America wasn’t his homeland.
