Page 19 of Bought By the Revenant (Monsters’ Bride Market #1)

I locate a good vein in Amity’s uninjured arm and slide the needle into place, then secure it with a strip of clean cloth tied around her arm.

Next, I do the same with my own arm. Dark blood wells up around the insertion point, so dark it’s almost black in the lamplight.

I connect the two needles with the glass tube, making sure the seals are tight before positioning my arm above hers.

My blood begins to flow through the transparent cylinder, traveling from my body into hers in a steady stream.

I watch the dark fluid make its journey, both fascinated and terrified by what I’m doing.

“Is it working?” Tomas asks in a hushed voice.

“We’ll know soon. Keep watching her color.”

Minutes pass. Then I see it – the faintest touch of pink returning to her lips.

“There,” Nell whispers. “She looks better already.”

I continue the transfusion until I judge she’s received enough blood to stabilize her, then carefully disconnect the apparatus from both our arms. Tomas presses a clean cloth to the puncture on my arm while I prepare for the next step.

“Now for the wound.”

I select a needle and a special thread I’ve created for my own use – fine silk infused with herbs that promote healing, and a touch of magic, too.

As I thread the needle, I begin to hum. The melody rises from somewhere deep within me, from memories that precede my physical existence.

The language of the cosmos flows from my lips, though I’m sure I’m pronouncing many of the words wrong.

I don’t know their meaning, but I know they’re powerful.

When I make the first stitch, the thread glows faintly where it touches Amity’s skin.

The light pulses in time with my heartbeat, spreading outward from the suture in soft ripples.

Nell makes a small sound of surprise but doesn’t interrupt my work.

I continue stitching the wound closed while the ancient words pour from me in a half-remembered song.

Each suture seems to become part of Amity’s flesh rather than just holding the edges together.

The magic will do more than close the wound, it will prevent infection, speed the healing process, and minimize scarring.

It will also change her in small ways, most likely too subtle to notice.

I’m not stitching her whole body, just her left arm, so she won’t lose any of her humanity.

I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t think it was necessary.

When she got cut in the fence, I did a simple stitch and didn’t use any magic. But her life is at stake now.

When I tie off the final stitch, I go silent. The glow fades, leaving behind a neat line of black thread that looks decorative rather than medical. The wound is perfectly closed, and there’s no more bleeding.

Nell begins cleaning the dried blood. “Will she recover, Master?”

“I believe so. The next few hours will tell.”

I run a hand through my hair and wince at the pain in my side.

I was so focused on Amity that I forgot I was stabbed.

I pull off my ruined shirt to examine the wound.

The edges have already begun to knit together on their own, but it still needs proper cleaning.

One of the perks of being a revenant is that we heal quickly.

It takes me ten minutes to wash and bandage my own injury, then I pull a chair close to the table where Amity is sleeping.

Nell drapes a blanket over her. Tomas has already gone with the instruments I used, and I know he’s sterilizing them.

“You should rest, master,” Nell says. “I can watch over her.”

“No.” I take Amity’s hand in mine, grateful for the warmth that has returned to her skin. “I’ll stay with her. You may go.”

She hesitates but then bows slightly and shuffles out of the room, taking all the bloodied cloths with her.

Now that Amity and I are alone, I let myself feel all the terror I’ve been pushing aside.

The thought of losing her is so painful that it leaves me breathless.

If she’d died on that altar, or in the carriage, or here on my table, I would’ve followed her.

I would’ve released my soul from this stitched-up body and returned to the void rather than live without her for a single day.

After losing one bride to horror and fear, I couldn’t survive losing another who actually chose me, who looked at my monstrous form and saw something worth loving.

I lift her hand to my lips and kiss her fingers.

“I will never let you out of my sight again,” I promise her. “When you’re well, we’ll have our wedding by the lake. We’ll say our vows. Everything will be as we planned.”

She doesn’t respond, but her breathing has steadied into a normal rhythm, and her pulse feels stronger under my fingertips. The magic in the thread is working. She will heal. She will survive this. I settle into the chair, holding her hand, prepared to watch her all day, and then through the night.

“Everything will be all right,” I whisper. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”