Page 14 of A Malicious Menagerie (Fangs & Fables #1)

The Needle and Thread

W hen I arrive at work the next night, I’m surprised to find Nathan and Colby waiting for me in the breakroom. Nathan greets me with a brief nod. “Ms. Carmichael.”

“Nathan,” I answer warily. “What’s going on?”

“During your interview, you mentioned that you have some basic veterinary experience.”

Oh, shit . “Some,” I hedge. Suddenly, the meaning behind his words hits, and my stomach drops. “Why? What happened? What’s wrong? Is it the wolf?”

Nathan blinks, the closest to surprise I’ve seen from the man. “No, it’s the kelpie.”

“Fionn?”

“Is that his name? The green one.”

“Yes, that’s Fionn. Is he okay?”

“Unfortunately, no. He appears to have a wound and is bleeding.”

Poor Fionn! “So, you want me to…?”

“Suture the laceration. You mentioned that was within your skillset, yes?”

Hmm. I did say that, didn’t I? And I even thought to myself that it didn’t seem that hard. Now that I’m presented with the opportunity, though, it suddenly seems on par with nuclear physics. “Oh, but… we don’t have suture, do we? And how am I supposed to help him without going into the en closure?”

“There’s a stocked first-aid kit in one of the supply rooms,” Nathan answers. “And, unfortunately, you will have to enter the enclosure. But that’s why I’ve asked Colby to join us.” Nathan nods to the guard, who only glares impassively forward. “He’ll escort you.”

“Still, that seems… risky,” I note, my heart accelerating at the thought of coming face-to-face with the predator with no bars between us.

Nathan frowns slightly. “The only other option is to leave him as he is, but I’d hate to see him hurting when we can do something to help him. I can imagine you feel the same.”

Well, shit. He’s right. There’s no way I can go about my night knowing that Fionn is hurt and I could have done something about it.

Plus, the kelpie was kind to me at our first meeting and has been friendly the couple of times I’ve seen him since.

He seems to like me. That has to count for something, right?

* * *

As Colby and I make our way through the woods to the kelpie enclosure, I eye the gun in the holster at his hip like a Mongolian death worm about to strike. “Is that necessary?”

“I’m here to protect you,” he replies wryly. “What am I supposed to do: fight off a thousand-pound, fanged horse with my bare hands?”

“I just feel like bringing a gun makes the statement that we don’t trust him.”

“You bringing me makes the statement that we don’t trust him.”

Touché.

When we reach the back door to the kelpie cage, the water horses are nowhere to be seen. “Fionn?” I call tentatively, peering into the trees. “It’s Anna. I’m here to help you.”

“Well, isn’t this a lovely surprise?” a familiar voice calls back. A moment later, Fionn steps around a tree, his left hand holding tight around his opposite forearm .

I gasp. “Fionn! What happened?”

“What, this?” He peers down at the blood trickling from between his fingers. “Cut myself on my sharp wit. It’s a constant danger.”

I refrain from rolling my eyes, but only just. I should be nice. He’s hurt. “Well, lucky for you, I’m here to sew you up.” I lift the first-aid kit in my hand as proof.

Fionn’s gaze cuts to Colby like a silver dagger. “And you brought a nurse?”

That makes me snort. “Sure, you could call him that. Can we come in?”

The kelpie is still eyeing Colby with the unnerving stillness of an ambush predator. “I don’t like this one.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers. You get both of us or neither. We’re a package deal.”

Fionn raises a hand to his heart, pressing bloody fingerprints to his bare skin. “Anna, I’m hurt. You don’t trust me?”

“Trust, but verify,” I quip. “So, what’s it gonna be?”

He sighs. “Very well. I’ll be happy to be your pincushion.”

Fionn keeps his distance as we enter the enclosure, and I start to let myself believe that this will all go fine. “Where’s your sister?” Colby grumbles as he shuts the gate behind us.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Fionn snips.

“Children, please,” I sigh, letting the teasing cover my nerves. I remind myself that Colby is right behind me. As I approach Fionn, I hold out a hand. “Let me see.”

As Fionn uncurls his fingers, he stifles a wince.

He tries not to let me see it, but I know it hurts worse than his devil-may-care attitude would imply.

It’s easy to see why when I get my first good look at the laceration, which extends nearly the length of his inner forearm.

“Jesus,” I mumble as I take Fionn’s wrist in mine and turn his arm this way and that. “Okay, but really: what happened?”

“Shark attack,” he replies without missing a beat, one side of his lips tugging up in a lopsided smile. “I won, of course.”

“I find that hard to believe,” I mumble.

Still, as I scrutinize the deep, ragged wound, I become aware of how hot Fionn’s skin is.

Much hotter than a human. Is that a kelpie thing, or does he have a fever?

Regardless, the heat reminds me of his lack of clothing, and a burst of nerves has me peeking back to check for Colby.

He’s not far away, though he appears distracted, his gaze focused on the trees.

Is he even paying attention? Then again, maybe it’s for the best. Fionn might be less prickly if Colby doesn’t antagonize him.

Turning back to the task at hand, I drop the first-aid kit at my feet. Digging up some false bravado, I order, “Have a seat. I’ll clean it up and close it.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He gives a sloppy salute before following my instructions.

I try to look confident as I dig through the contents of the kit. The picture of competence and experience. I must not be doing a very good job because, after a couple of minutes, Fionn asks, “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

“Of course,” I bluster even as I squint at some packaging and puzzle over the two types of suture. What the hell is poliglecaprone?

“Listen,” Fionn says jovially. “This probably isn’t even necessary. I heal fast. If you can’t figure it out—”

“Fionn.” I glare up at him as I snap on some disposable gloves. “Hush. I can do this. I am doing this. Now hold out your damn arm.”

“Spicy,” Fionn comments with a grin. Still, he does as I ask, and I carefully cradle his forearm in my lap. With him this unnervingly close, I notice he smells a lot like horse and a little like rain. Odd, but not unpleasant.

“This is going to hurt,” I warn him as I rip open a disinfectant wipe with my teeth.

“That’s alright. You can kiss it better when you’re done.” That comment earns him the stinging disinfectant directly into the center of his cut, and he hisses through his teeth. “Or not, if this is your bedside manner.”

The wound is deep and long, and as I clean, more blood begins to well up. I’m not squeamish, never have been, but nausea curdles my belly anyway. What if I mess up? What if I make it worse or can’t stop the bleeding? Can he bleed out from something like this? What if it gets infected?

“Anna.” The sound of my name snaps me from my panic, and I look up into Fionn’s uncharacteristically serious gray eyes. “Do you wanna know how I cut my arm? ”

I clear my throat so I don’t squeak. “Yes.”

Suddenly, his face lights with mirth. “Knife fight. You should see the other lad.”

His delivery makes me laugh, and some of my anxiety eases. “You know what, Fionn? You’re a pretty good guy.”

“Oi, don’t go telling anyone. I have a reputation to protect.”

Soon, the wound is clean, and whatever poliglecaprone is, it’s going in this arm.

The tendons in Fionn’s wrist tense as I sink the needle in for the first time, but he otherwise remains still and relaxed as I begin my uneven, clumsy sutures.

“Bet when you offered to be my pincushion, you didn’t mean it literally,” I joke apologetically as I accidentally pull the suture through and have to poke him a second time.

“You’re just letting the evil spirits out,” Fionn replies, stifling a wince as my hand slips.

“Are there wendigos in there?” I tease. Halfway there.

He gives me an odd look. “What’s a wendigo?”

“Best you don’t know.”

“Can’t be any more evil than John,” he says with a fanged grin.

“Might be a tie.”

The banter helps, though it still feels like dawn by the time I finish even though probably only an hour has passed. “There,” I say proudly, looking down at my row of crooked stitches. “You look like Frankenstein, but the bleeding has mostly stopped.”

“That’s alright. Is it true girls dig scars?”

“Only if they’re well-earned. Maybe from saving a kitten from a tree?”

“Funny, since that’s just what happened.”

I smile as I dab the last of the blood from his arm. “Are you ever gonna tell me what really happened?”

His smile is half mischief and half mystery. “Now, where’s the fun in that?”

As I start to repack the first-aid kit, my gaze drifts involuntarily back to Fionn where he’s scrutinizing his new stitches, his brow furrowed thoughtfully. Before I can swallow the words back, I find myself saying, “ Fionn, can I ask you a question?”

He quirks a smile. “After what you just did for me, I think I owe you at least that much.”

Still, I hesitate. I cast a look back at Colby where he still has his intent gaze turned away from us and toward the woods. Leaning in a bit, I murmur, “Where are you from?”

Now, his smile is pained. Bittersweet and nostalgic. “Killarney National Park in Ireland. It’s where they captured us.”

“Do you think about going back?” I ask, even though it seems an asinine question.

Sure enough: “All the time. Me and Ciara, it’s all we talk about. We miss our herd, though they likely had to move on after what happened to us.” His expression darkens. “I don’t know if we’ll ever see them again, even if we do manage to cross an entire ocean to get back there.”

The thought of never seeing my family again—of never seeing Nan again—pulls at my heartstrings until they threaten to snap. “I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I’d free you, if I could. I would.”