Why the hell did they imagine he'd fallen? But the jingle of keys pushed the thought from Lucifer's mind. The lady had won; she was coming to his aid. A lock clanked, then a heavy door scraped. Quick footsteps briskly crossed stone, heading his way.
A small hand touched his shoulder. A warm, feminine-soft presence leaned near.
"Everything will be all right in a moment." Her tone was low and soothing. "Just let me check your head."
She was hovering over him; his senses had returned enough to tell him she wasn't as old as he'd thought. The realization gave him the strength to lift his lids, albeit only a fraction.
She saw and smiled encouragingly, brushing back the lock of hair that had fallen across his brow.
The pain in his head evaporated. Opening his eyes further, Lucifer drank in the details of her face. She was not a girl, but she would still qualify as a young lady. Somewhere in her early twenties, yet her face held more character, more strength and blatant determination than was common for her years. He noted it, but it was not that that held him, that captured his awareness to the exclusion of the debilitating pain in his head.
Her brown eyes were large, wide, and filled with concern-with an open empathy that reached past his cynical shields and touched him. Those lovely eyes were framed by a wide forehead and delicately arched brows, by dark hair, almost as dark as his, cut short to curve about her head like a sleek helmet. Her nose was straight, her chin tapered, her lips…
The sudden surge of sensual thoughts and impulses for once didn't sit well: Horatio was dead. He let his lids fall.
"You'll feel much better directly," she promised, "once we move you to a more comfortable bed."
Behind her, Juggs snorted. "Aye-he's that sort of gentleman, I'd wager. A murderer and the other, too."
Lucifer ignored Juggs. The lady knew he was no murderer, and she now had the upper hand. Her fingers slid through his hair, carefully feeling around his wound. He tensed, then bit back a groan when she gingerly probed.