Dhampir - By Barb Hendee & J. C. Hendee Page 0,106

could see her wound had already stopped bleeding.

"Ratboy needs to feed as well," he said, wiping red away from her mouth and laying her head down slowly.

Realization dawned on her face, and she nodded. "Yes, of course. I'll be all right now."

He dragged the still-breathing sailor over to Ratboy, whose expression had resumed its usual caustic, angry set.

"Your kindness is touching," he whispered hoarsely. "But take care, or the gods of mercy might get jealous."

"Feed yourself," Rashed answered, "so you can help us plan."

Mild surprise flickered across Ratboy's features. Then he attacked the sailor's throat ravenously.

Rashed turned back to Teesha, who now sat up and surveyed her own state. Her color had returned to its usual shade of pale cream.

"This dress is ruined," she said. "It's my favorite."

He walked over and dropped to the sand beside her.

"Why did you try to jump that hunter from behind? Of all the foolish attacks."

"I thought to break her neck," she answered. "How was I to know she was covered in garlic water?"

Anger began welling up inside him again. "They burned our home."

"I wanted to finish her here," she answered softly, "but now I think we should all leave this place."

He couldn't believe her words. "No, that hunter dies. She began this battle. We won't crawl away in the night."

"Teesha's right," Ratboy said. The sailor lay dead at his side. "We can't stay here. The town probably believes us dead anyway. Let us remain dead. Or perhaps you'd rather add resurrection from the ashes to your accomplishments."

Rashed jumped to his feet. These two did not fully grasp the situation.

"We have nowhere to sleep tonight. The earth from our homelands was in our coffins."

A glowing light appeared before him, and its colors solidified into the tragic form of Edwan.

"Undead superstitions!" he said in open contempt.

Rashed always sensed dislike, even distrust, from Edwan, but something was different now. There was something harder in the ghost's hollow voice.

"What do you mean, my love?" Teesha asked.

Rashed heard discomfort and coolness in her tone. What had happened between the two of them?

Edwan turned. "I mean, my dear, that you do not need to sleep in the earth from your homeland. That is a peasants' tale spun so many times even your kind believes in it. I am not the only disembodied in this world. I talk to the dead. With the little I can grasp I know this, trust me."

Ratboy crawled to his feet. His burns weren't completely healed, but he seemed a good deal improved.

"You're certain?" he asked earnestly.

"Yes," Edwan answered without looking at him.

Rashed leaned over and pulled Teesha to her feet. The thought of sleeping anywhere besides his own coffin unnerved him, but he hid his feelings for the others' sake.

"I know a safe place then, somewhere I go to think." He looked at Edwan. "I cut that hunter's throat deeply. She may be dead, but we have no way of knowing. Can you find out?"

Edwan hovered, glowering at him. "Whatever you ask, my lord."

He vanished.

"We have to rest and feed again—and heal," Rashed said to his companions. "If the hunter lives, next time she'll be the one caught sleeping."

* * *

Welstiel remained standing in the doorway of Brenden's home, and Leesil decided not to ask him to come closer. Whatever he had to say, he could say it from a distance.

As he took in the man's calm, cold stare, Leesil began to hate his own ignorance even more. Magiere's breathing was broken, shallow, and irregular, and her flesh was whiter than sun-bleached parchment. He didn't know how to save her and yet loathed the prospect of letting Welstiel even this near Magiere. The strange man's striking countenance and elegant clothes did not fool Leesil. Welstiel was not to be trusted.

"What do I do?" Leesil asked finally. "Feed her your blood," Welstiel answered simply. Of all the instructions Leesil expected, this was not one of them, and he found himself stunned speechless.

"What are you talking about?" the blacksmith asked, and his face reddened with anger.

"She is a dhampir, the child of a vampire, born to hunt and destroy the undead. She shares some of their weaknesses and their strengths. Though she is mortal, and from such a wound she will die without the blood of another mortal." Welstiel gazed at Leesil. "And who cares for her but you?"

"You're mad!" the half-elf spit out angrily. "Mad as the warlord of my homeland."

"Then you have nothing to lose by feeding her your blood and, if not, you can