RILEY'S POV FIRST PERSON
I pressed the cloth into the green bowl, letting it soak up Eira's poultice until the herbs stained the linen dark and wet. The sharp, bitter smell of wolfsbane and moon-clover filled the small tent, mixing with the faint copper of Jax's blood and the low smoke drifting in from the fire outside. I squeezed the excess liquid out between my fingers slowly and carefully, then leaned in and pressed the cloth to the worst bruise on his ribs.
Jax flinched. Just a tiny jerk of muscle under the skin.
"Does it hurt?" I whispered.
He scoffed, the sound scraping out of his throat rough yet short. "Not so much."
I didn't believe him.
The bruise was ugly: deep purple-black, spreading across his side like spilled ink, the edges already yellowing at the corners. There were older marks too—faded lines from what looked like silver chains, fresh welts from whatever Kain's guards had used last.
