Page 22 of Discovered Magic
“But I do have a plan,” Aunt Evie countered, returning to the main topic. “I’ll nurse Jonas’s young woman?—”
“Not mine. I only found her.”
“—while you bring Damian to Predilection Ridge,” she said, as if he’d never spoken.
“Perdition,” he said, waving his fork. It earned him a tap to the back of his head.
“Manners, Jonas Thorne!” Uncle Nate scolded.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, ducking his head to hide a grin.
His uncle was a proper British viscount by birth, despite making America his home. His stately Tennessee residence had once been a scaled-down version of the massive family estate, Thornewyck Castle, nestled in the misty hills of Wiltshire, before burning down and being rebuilt in the modern, High Victorian style it currently was.
Although Uncle Nate was lax about most things, manners weren’t one of them.
Having been born and raised in the United States, Jonas tended to be less formal in his dealings with others. His persona as an amiable sheriff—unless crossed—saved a lot of lives and headaches.
He finished his stew, drained the last of the beer Uncle Nate had so kindly poured for him, and pushed back his chair to stand. “I’ll see Aunt Evie is well taken care of. You have my word, no harm will come to her.”
“That’s good enough for me.” His uncle tucked one of Evie’s stray blonde locks behind her ear. “I know you’re prone to trouble, my love, but please, stay safe. Life would be dismal without you.”
She patted his chest. “Charmer.”
Bending, he whispered into her ear, causing her cheeks to pinken prettily.
His chuckle lingered after he’d teleported away.
“Don’t tell me what he said. I don’t want to know,” Jonas said with an exaggerated shudder.
“Good, because it was private,” she replied pertly. “Now, take me to your young woman.”
“Not mine, Aunt Evie. I told you, she’s merely a lost lamb I found. Or who found us.”
“If she’s out of her time, I’m surprised The Authority isn’t trying to rectify the situation.” She tucked her arm through his. “Transport us to your home, dear.”
Fire raged through her veins, licking beneath her skin with every breath. Only the cool press of a washcloth against her brow brought the tiniest sliver of relief. Her caretaker placed wrapped ice compresses beneath her arms and along the sides of her neck. The moment was pure heaven.
“Her fever is breaking. But it’s vexing that she won’t allow anyone to heal her wounds. It’s almost as if she possesses a built-in defense mechanism,” a woman said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“We encountered the same issue when we tried to repair the damage to her face and treat the skull fracture,” replied a deep-voiced male. “She only accepts mortal medicine and rejects all supernatural intervention, but at least we were able to set her broken bones.”
“Damian should be here soon, dear. He’ll know what to do.”
“It looks like she may be coming around, Aunt Evie.” The man perched on the edge of the bed and gently clasped her hand. “Hey. Are you with us, ma’am?”
Her lids felt weighted, but she managed to open them long enough to search his face. Although his sharply chiseled features teased her brain, she couldn’t say she knew him. Next, she studied the female. The same sense of familiarity, but no true recognition.
“Wilder?” she rasped, hoping one of them knew the person whose name was prevalent in her mind.
They looked as confused as she felt.
She closed her eyes, unable to contain her disappointment.
God, her body ached. And fatigue pulled at her like a riptide, dragging her back under. She frowned, but her burning cheek stopped the motion cold. Reaching up, she touched the side of her face, fingers skimming the eight-inch gash from temple to jaw.
She recoiled in horror.
“Mirror?”
