Dhampir - By Barb Hendee & J. C. Hendee Page 0,135

her life blotting out her past as thoroughly as she could. As it was, there was so little of it worth remembering. Her father abandoned her and her mother was dead. Both gone from her life before she was old enough to even remember their faces. At times, she had even envied Leesil for knowing who he was and who he came from, even if he was reluctant to speak of it. Now this arrogant madman believed she was born of the same kind of creature as the ones she'd been trying to destroy ever since arriving in this town.

She didn't want to share such thoughts with Welstiel, but he seemed to know more of her than anyone. If he was right, or even partially so, then somewhere in this world her father might still… exist.

"You think my father was turned against his will, and he made me as some kind of weapon?"

"It is possible."

"Then why would he leave me? He left me in a village of superstitious peasants who hated the sight of me." She would never cry, had never cried, but her voice broke slightly. "Why would he do that?"

"I do not know," Welstiel answered. "Perhaps to make you strong."

She studied his face and the intelligence in his eyes. "How do you know any of these things? Tell me, please."

He paused. "I study and I observe, and I've traveled many places. I heard a hunter of the dead was coming to live in Miiska, and I had to see for myself. The first time I saw you, I knew. Do you remember? You were in the tavern, wearing that dress, although it was in much better condition, and you tucked those amulets out of sight."

"Yes," she said. "I remember."

"Sit." He gestured to the end of the small bed.

This time she obeyed. He pointed again at the neckline of her dress.

"Have you figured these out yet?" he asked.

She looked down, but did not pull her amulets into view.

"I'm not sure. The topaz seems to glow when I'm near a vampire."

He nodded. "Yes, like the dog, it is an alarm, of sorts. It senses the presence of negative existence. The bone amulet is different. I've read of this, but yours is the first one I have seen. Undeads who feed on blood are actually feeding on the life force. They are an empty vessel that constantly needs to be refilled. A negative life force, if you will. Consuming life maintains their existence and causes them to heal so easily.

"However, you are still a living being," he went on. "This bone was endowed, enchanted, so that contact with a living being allows that mortal being to also absorb the life force and use it in the same way as the Noble Dead. The only living creature I know of who can consume blood the way you have already done is a dhampir. That amulet allows such an act to become more than feeding on blood; it allows that feeding to become the consuming of life energies directly."

"Where would something like that come from?" she asked.

He frowned. "You said your father left it for you. I don't have all the answers. But if I could do what you can, I would not be sitting here chatting with me. I would be preparing to fight."

"I'm still losing every time I fight Rashed. How do I win?" she asked.

"Don't resist yourself. Become one of them. That is why they fear you, because you can use all of their strengths against them. Fight without conscience or morality. Use every one of your gifts."

His advice was not what she wanted to hear. And she suddenly felt some anger toward him for being honest, as if blaming the messenger would bring comfort. She knew she should not blame him. But being in the same room with him was difficult now. She stood up and walked to the door.

"I won't see you again," she said. "After tonight there won't be a need."

Chapter Nineteen

Wearing black breeches, a white shirt, and a snug-fitting leather vest that Loni had provided, Magiere found movement easier without her heavy skirt. When he offered, she'd allowed him to call the housemaid to comb out her hair and bind it back with a leather thong into a long tail. She found this was actually more comfortable than a braid.

His offer did not seem familiar but rather a contribution to what he either knew or suspected she was doing for his town—the act of an ally