A vein pulsed in Nikhail’s jaw, and he nodded tersely.
Moving as quickly as she dared, River unwrapped the pre-sanitized needle from the first-aid kit and threaded it. It didn’t escape her notice that the safe house was far more equipped than most houses, both with weapons and medical equipment.
Dyna, be with me, she prayed in her mind, beseeching the fae goddess of life and healing for strength.
Holding the needle in her right hand, River pressed the broken edges of Nikhail’s skin together with her left.
He hissed through his teeth.
“I’m sorry, I’m working as fast as I can.”
“Don’t worry about me,” he ground out. “I’ll be fine.”
His definition of fine was extremely different from River’s, but this didn’t seem like the right moment to argue.
“Okay,” River mumbled. Then she repeated, surer of herself, “Okay.”
She could do this. She had to be strong for Nikhail.
Focusing on her breathing, she inhaled for four counts. Held it for four. Exhaled for four. Held it again.
She cycled through her breaths until she felt grounded, then she brought the needle to the wound.
Her hand hovered an inch from Nikhail’s skin.
I can do this, she told herself.
She was a competent doctor, for the gods’ sakes. She’d graduated at the top of her class, and she’d taken care of hundreds of people. This wasn’t even that big of a deal.
Except that it was Nikhail.
Still, she couldn’t wait any longer.
Exhaling, she pierced Nikhail’s skin. He grunted, his fingers tightening around the armrest, but otherwise he remained silent.
River didn’t dare look at his face. She focused on the wound, drawing her needle through his flesh and carefully bringing the ends together. Her hand never wavered.
This was something River had always excelled at. She’d been taught to embroider as a young girl—it was an essential life skill for every well-to-do lady, according to the mistresses at Highmountain’s School for Young Fae—and it had transferred well to her medical training. From the moment River had first picked up a needle and thread in medical school and practiced suturing an orange, her teachers had remarked on her ability.
“A natural,”Doctor Vandrawn had commented. “Born to heal.”
“The tightest stitches I’ve ever seen,” Doctor Thorndale praised.
“Good,” Doctor Winters, the most stoic of all her teachers, had said. The small bit of praise from the pragmatic Death Elf had meant the world to River.
She’d never imagined she’d have to use those skills on Nikhail, though. Especially outside the safety of a sterile operating room.
Reaching the end of the laceration, River tied off the thread. Keeping one hand on Nikhail’s chest, the steady thump of his heart assuring her he was alive, she grabbed the scissors from the first aid kit. She cut the thread and placed her tools to the side before looking up.
A pair of amber eyes watched her intently.
Nikhail tracked her movements as she cleaned the wound on his forehead next. River was intensely aware of how close they were. They weren’t touching, save for her hand, yet every part of her felt like it was buzzing from their nearness.
River opened several butterfly bandages, applying them to Nikhail’s forehead, and rolled her lip between her teeth. “So, I take it you didn’t find the man you were looking for?”
Nikhail groaned. “No. He… got away.”
“I’m sorry.”