Dhampir - By Barb Hendee & J. C. Hendee Page 0,122

near-black streets toward Brenden's shop until her lungs threatened to burst. Her long dress kept catching at her legs, but she pulled it up with her free hand and kept running.

What if Welstiel were right?

Truth hurt more than the exerted ache in her chest. How could she simply assume all danger had passed because Leesil and Brenden believed the burning warehouse had caved in the tunnels? She ignored the pain in her legs and ran on, falchion in hand.

As the smith's shop came into sight, she called out, "Leesil!" not caring whom she woke up.

The front door was closed. She pounded on it.

"Leesil! Brenden?"

No one answered, and she tried to open it. The door was unlocked.

Magiere shoved it open and stepped inside, but there was no one at home in the small one-room cottage. Maybe Leesil and Brenden hadn't gone directly to the blacksmith's house. What if Leesil had tried to cheer his friend by hunting up a late game of cards somewhere else?

Yes, she comforted herself. Leesil had taken Brenden somewhere else, and they were probably both sitting in some decrepit little inn playing faro. But her hopes were hysterical attempts to create personal security, and she knew it. Aunt Bieja always said, "We mustn't worry until we have something to be worried about."

No, Leesil had said he wouldn't be long.

When she walked past the back window, a flash of white caught her eye. She turned and saw Brenden's shirt. He was lying near the woodpile, not far from the fading stains of Eliza's blood.

"No!"

She rushed out the back door and into the yard, dropping to the ground at the blacksmith's side. His flesh was alabaster, contrasting with the dark red of his torn throat. She crouched down in front of him. His expression was not horrible, but more peaceful than any she'd ever seen on his face. Bright red hair stood out starkly against wan skin.

There was little blood on the ground, as whatever had ripped his throat open had carefully consumed every drop. She tried to let the sight sink in, to allow it inside where she could properly absorb and deal with it. But she couldn't.

Brenden was the only truly brave member of this town, the only one to help her and Leesil. And what had his bravery purchased? What did standing by them bring him? It had brought him death.

She reached out with her free hand and touched his beard. Her hand moved down to his throat, where her fingertips pressed against the side as if to feel the blood pumping. Nothing. She already knew he was dead, and her actions futile, but now she was one of the desperate, and she was paying a price.

Magiere remembered him standing in front of the tavern door that morning, blocking Ellinwood's entrance, protecting her home.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to him. "I'm so sorry for everything."

Welstiel was right. She should have made sure. She should have searched for the bodies and never stopped until she made sure those vampires were truly dead. She had let Leesil and Brenden just walk out into the night air. This was her fault.

She dropped her falchion and gripped her own knees, rocking back and forth. It was too much.

Too much.

In the distance, an eerie keening wail broke through her inaction.

Magiere grabbed her falchion off the ground and ran out into the street near the front of Brenden's stables and forge.

Chap's cry sounded out again. Chap was hunting.

"Leesil."

Chapter Seventeen

After Leesil left Brenden, he started for The Sea Lion, then changed his mind. Sounds of the sea called him, and he wanted a bit more time to himself before going home, so he walked toward Miiska's waterfront instead of taking the streets back to the tavern.

Pity for Brenden occupied his thoughts, but he was also troubled by the realization that he wanted to tell his friend the truth—well, maybe not the entire truth, just the part about how he and Magiere had earned a living for several years. How would Brenden react when he realized he'd risked his life hunting undeads with two people who probably knew less about it than he did?

Then again, they had been successful and everyone in their group survived. Perhaps the truth didn't matter.

Before him, gravelly sand and water stretched up along the forested shore and to the docks farther down. The sea lapping gently in and out on the beach was strangely comforting in moonlight.

Leesil tried to push aside any troubles that did not require immediate attention and