These Hollow Vows (These Hollow Vows 1)

I step forward to get a closer look at the wound. It’s deep, but yesterday I watched Riaan slice his arm open when he was training with Sebastian. It healed so quickly I could practically see the flesh knitting itself back together, but there’s no sign of that with Finn’s wound. “Why aren’t you healing?”

Finn ignores my question and lifts his chin in Jalek’s direction. “I have a med kit in the safe. Grab it for me.” His voice is rough with pain.

“Finn?” I wait for him to acknowledge me—my question—but he just closes his eyes and leans back.

Pretha chokes back a sob as she hovers a hand over the wound.

“Don’t waste your energy, Pretha,” Finn says softly. He gently touches her face, and something uncomfortable twists in my chest. I scowl. I shouldn’t care about their relationship beyond how it affects my training and my bargain with the king. “This isn’t a deathblow,” he whispers. “I will heal.”

Pretha swallows and nods. I can practically see her pulling herself together. “You’re losing too much blood.”

Jalek pulls a small table next to Finn’s chair and puts the med kit on top of it. “We need to enlist a human healer to teach us how to use this mortal shit,” he mutters, his eyes fixed on the ointments and salves.

Finn lifts his head and meets my gaze. “Do you have any experience stitching up wounds, Princess?”

“Some.” I’ve stitched myself up a few times, but never anything this big. “But it will hurt, and my stitches are more likely to leave an ugly scar than a neat one.”

Finn grunts. “You hear that, Tynan.” His words are breathy, and he winces as if it hurts to talk. “Maybe mine will be uglier than Kane’s, and he’ll stop his gloating.”

“I will never understand you males,” Pretha mutters, pushing to her feet before turning to me. “What do you need, Abriella?”

I sort through the pile of ointments and find a disinfecting salve, a healing salve, and a numbing salve. Unfortunately, with a wound like this, none of them can be applied until after I stitch him up.

“Can you do something for his pain?” I ask her. “After the Barghest attacked, Sebastian numbed my leg until the healer could get to me. Could you do something like that?”

Pretha purses her lips and shakes her head. “I could try, but it wouldn’t help.”

“Finn’s tough,” Jalek says, showing his first hint of a smile since he spotted Finn on the stairs. “He doesn’t need anything.”

“I’ll get you a drink,” Tynan says, and a decanter of amber liquid and a tumbler appear on the small table. He fills it with shaking hands and passes it to Finn, who doesn’t hesitate before draining the whole glass in two gulps.

“Do it, Princess.”

I gather the thread and needle from the kit, but when I look down at my hands, I see they’re shaking as badly as Tynan’s. “Can you spare a bit of that for me?” I ask him. “Just to calm the nerves.”

“Happily.” Tynan summons another glass. He pours half the amount he poured for Finn and hands it to me.

I take one large swallow and cough as the burning liquor hits my throat. “That’s enough for me,” I mutter. I nod to Finn. “We need to wash the area.”

Finn gingerly sits up, and Pretha returns to his side to help with the buttons and peel the shirt off him. His dark, muscular chest is covered with a smattering of rune tattoos. My mouth goes dry at the sight, and I turn away. Bad enough to gawk at him while he’s injured, but worse to do it in front of his . . . What is Pretha? His wife? His mate? Just a friend?

Am I jealous? Not of her for having him, but of the connection they have, of the trust and honesty between them that I can’t have with Sebastian even if I could trust him again. Thanks to my bargain with Mordeus, I can never have that.

Nevertheless, I turn away, using the time while Pretha cleans the area to prepare the needle and thread for stitching. My mother taught me to sew, but I never took to it the way Jas did. It was only through Jas’s persistence that I learned how to make strong, clean stitch lines.

When Pretha’s done prepping the area, I take her place and kneel at Finn’s side. Now that he’s cleaned up, the wound doesn’t look as gruesome as before, but it is deep, and I hesitate before plunging the needle into his skin.

“Do it,” Finn says. He flinches at the first slide of the needle, but he doesn’t move.

My stomach churns at the sight of the oozing blood, but I blow out a long breath and keep stitching. I can do this. “Will someone tell me about these camps of the queen’s?” I ask without looking away from my task.