When the next bottle is spent, part on the woman's arm and then a little on her side, William casts it aside. The emptied container goes thunk! thunk thunk along, rolls away. Hands empty, William moves instead to grasp her hand again, his fingers dry and warm on the slippery chill of her hand.

She feels the rush instantly. His power urging the blood to scab, the minute cells of her skin to knit, the layers to mount over layers. There's not so very much he can do in as little time as they have-- before the damn monsters might come again. But enough that he can stop the damage, take away the worst of the pain. It's a protracted minute or two before he lets go, looking slightly wearier for it.

It's taken some of the mania out of his eyes when he twists his head back, looks at the two interlopers. Some of it.