At first her open-mouthed surprise made him wish he'd kept his mouth shut. But she just as quickly seemed to process it and take it in stride. "No, no, it's-" Peter stopped. He couldn't very well say it was alright, because it wasn't. But that wasn't Henley's fault by any stretch. He sighed and shook his head. "My parents were killed by a vampire. I was about nine. Same one showed up back home a few months ago." He looked up at her, his gaze still guarded, but relaxing a little. He could trust Henley, surely.
Laying the alcohol-soaked rag against the wound, he busied himself with wetting a second cloth with holy water, then switched the two. Even if its sacred properties were ineffective on wounds from this type of undead thing, the water might help flush the stinging alcohol away somewhat. The metal canteen, he handed over to her. "Go on and have a sip," he murmured.