Chapter 7
Fevered dreams took the Traveler’s child from pale and knocking on death’s door to scarlet and raging about something called a carabiner.
And no amount of medical knowledge, human or otherwise, could cure her.
Jonas had appealed to the Witches’ Council on the woman’s behalf, pleading for a Healer from The Authority’s ranks, but he was continually denied.
“Red sent me to check on you,” Draven spoke from the foot of the bed, startling him.
“Christ alive! You walk as soft as a cat.”
Other than a twist of his lips, his friend said nothing.
“If I’m being honest, I’m exhausted. It’s been five days, and I’m worried the fever is cooking her brain. She’s been rambling something fierce.” Jonas met Draven’s gaze. “I think the Witches’ Council is holding back to force your hand, but I have to do something.”
“Why do you care so much, cher? It’s one woman, and no one’s come lookin’.”
“Perhaps that’s why. No one should be helpless or alone in the world. It doesn’t seem right.”
“I’ve lent my magie to yours, Thorne, but I’ll not accept the anchor of Guardian, not even for you or your need to save the world.”
“I’m not asking you to,” Jonas snapped.
“Aren’t you?”
Maybe he was, but he wouldn’t admit it aloud. Draven could do so much good if he’d get over his rage at being manipulated by his mother, one of the three sisters of Fate. But perhaps betrayals like theirs didn’t allow for forgiveness or acceptance.
“I’m going for the Aether,” Jonas decided aloud. “Damian will help her. He must. And if not him, Uncle Nate won’t let her suffer.”
“We will pray to the Goddess you are right. I wouldn’t bet my last coin on her chances after tomorrow.”
Leaving Draven in charge of her welfare, Jonas teleported to the Thorne estate in Leiper’s Fork, Tennessee, to confer with his uncle. He swore as he stepped into the dining room, having failed to note the hour.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Evie,” he apologized, Stetson in hand. “You know I’d never interrupt your supper if it wasn’t important.”
“Think nothing of it, dear boy. Are you hungry? Darling, dish Jonas up a plate,” she directed, smiling at Uncle Nate down the length of the table. “No, not the cornbread, dear. He loathes the stuff.”
If Jonas weren’t so damned tired, he’d have laughed. Though tiny, Evelyn Flemming-Thorne was a force to be reckoned with, and her husband did her bidding with zero complaints.
“I don’t really have time, Aunt Evie. I need to find Damian.”
“He’s not here, dear. The last I heard, he was watching the Enchantress’s tomb from Ravenswood until the next Guardian took his place.”
“Does he never leave his estate these days?” Jonas asked, desperation creeping in.
“What’s all this about, my boy?” Uncle Nate asked, handing him a full plate, having ignored Jonas’s refusal. “Sit and tell me what’s happening.”
So he did. Between mouthfuls of Evie’s delicious stew and freshly conjured biscuits, he explained his current circumstances.
“Oh, the poor woman!” Evie rose in one fluid motion and snapped her fingers. In a blink, she was wearing a traveling costume and had a small satchel in hand. “I’ll go back with you while Nathanial finds Damian.”
“Evie—”
“No, darling. I’ll not hear another word about it. Bring Damian to… where is it you live now, Jonas?”
He bit back a grin. “Perdition Ridge. Arizona.”
“Right, well, that sounds like a dreary place, doesn’t it?” she mused. “Nothing for it. That sweet woman needs our help.”
“Evie—”
“I won’t be gainsaid, Nathanial.”
Uncle Nate blew out a breath, rose to his feet, and swept her into a one-armed embrace, using his other hand to remove the bag from her grasp.
He dropped the satchel at her feet and proceeded to kiss her senseless.
Though brief, the kiss was pure seduction, and when he straightened, there were stars in her eyes.
“I have no intention of gainsaying you, my love,” he said huskily. “But we need a plan of action before going off half-cocked.”
“I’d say you’re more than half cocked, darling,” she purred, letting her fingers wander with blatant appreciation.
Jonas choked on a carrot. There were certain things he didn’t need to witness. Foreplay between his older married relatives was at the top of the list, only second to his parents going at it.
Uncle Nate’s deep laughter rang out.
“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?”
“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.
“It’s not so simple,” Jonas replied grimly. “She has a protective shield. Magic won’t touch her, so we can’t.”
Interest sparked in Damian’s eyes, and his mouth curled slightly, taking his handsome visage to a dangerous new level.
Not that she cared. She hurt too damned bad to think about anything but her discomfort. Yet even her pain-numbed mind couldn’t completely ignore his appeal.
She shifted her attention to his companion, and a name surfaced. “Alastair?”
Everyone froze, and tension rippled through the group.
Damian recovered first. “His name is Nathanial. Nathanial Alastair Thorne.”
“Not right,” she whispered to herself.
“What’s not?” Nathanial asked softly, stepping closer.
“Your name. You’re Alastair.” Emotion caused her throat to ache worse than it already did. “Must be.”
“You’re not the first person to mistake me for another, my dear.” He crouched beside the bed and tenderly brushed the hair away from her throbbing temple. “But I’m not the person you believe me to be.” He smiled. “I’m Nate to friends.”
She winced as she swallowed hard, and Jonas was quick to offer the tin cup. After sipping a bit of water, she returned it and met Damian’s thoughtful gaze.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
Mutely, she shook her head.
“I see.” His gaze sharpened. For a moment, it felt as if he peered straight into her mind.
The sensation was similar to a thousand bugs crawling across her skin, and she desperately tried to shove it away.
A raw, unseen force surged up in defiance.
Her body reacted with a furious jolt, primal energy lashing outward in defense.
A blue glow filled the small space, crackling as loud as a lightning strike as it gathered into a sphere around her.
“Get down!” Jonas shouted, pulling Evie to the floor as the bolts exploded in every direction.
Drained, she slipped into sleep.