"Over there," Leesil said, pointing across the cavern.
"What?" Brenden asked.
Leesil moved forward, holding the torch out. He glanced back.
"Coffins."
* * *
Edwan hovered invisibly over Rashed's coffin, torn between joy and frustration. He'd failed in his one chance to make the hunters kill themselves, and now he believed that appearing to them again would only decrease his chance at future shock tactics.
But they had seen the warrior and Ratboy's coffins first, not Teesha's. Let the two of them fight these hunters; he cared nothing for them. For the moment, his Teesha was safe.
He focused on his own form again and transported to his beloved's tiny cavern.
"Wake up, my sweet," he whispered. "Please."
This time, she stirred.
Chapter Thirteen
Some vampires rest more deeply than others in their dormant state. Rashed never admitted it to anyone, even Teesha, but he always struggled not to collapse immediately after sunrise, and he remembered little until dusk. Perhaps it was a condition singular to him, having nothing to do with all undeads. He considered this tendency a weakness, but as yet had discovered no remedy.
This time, still lost in sleep, something not unlike a mortal dream touched the edge of his awareness. He felt as if something unseen watched him in the dark. He could see at night better than a mortal, but sight still required some form of light. This was blackness even his gaze couldn't pierce. But he felt that presence in the dark just the same, always moving and shifting, trying to catch him from behind.
So many years had passed since he had thought of dreams. Such visions and concerns were for the living, not the undead. What pulled at him? With a sudden rush of anxiety, the presence in the dark moved inward toward him, and his eyes opened.
Before he could act, his coffin's lid was jerked open from the outside.
Torchlight illuminated the chamber behind a shadowed figure above him, but he could see easily in such light. The hunter stood over him holding a sharpened stake. Her eyes widened slightly. Both of them froze in surprise, and then she thrust downward with the stake.
Snarling more in rage than fear, he grabbed her wrist, the stake's point halting above his chest. Her sleeve and arm were wet, and his hand began to smoke.
Half shouting in pain, Rashed released his grip as he kicked out. His foot struck her lower chest, and she stumbled back. He instantly rolled over the coffin's side to his feet. What had she done?
A pungent smell reached his nose and stung his eyes. Garlic.
He remembered Ratboy's whining about what the old woman in the tavern had done to him. The hunter had doused herself in garlic water.
He could move his left arm a bit, but not enough to use it in fighting, and now his right hand was badly burned as well. The hunter flipped the stake to her left hand and drew her falchion with her right. Rashed reacted immediately, teeth clenching as he pulled his own sword with his burned hand.
She was dusty and grimy, with strands of loose hair sticking to her pale face as if she'd been crawling through dirt, but her expression was hard and angry. She was a hunter, indeed—cold and pitiless, an invader who'd entered his home to kill him and those he cared for. He had not felt true and full hatred since the night he'd taken Corische's head, but it filled him now.
A silver-furred dog howled and snarled wildly from across the cavern, where a red-bearded man held it at bay. Beside them knelt the light-haired half-elf, loading a crossbow.
"Ratboy," Rashed called. "Get up!"
The hunter rushed him, swinging the falchion. To his own surprise, he dodged instead of parrying, instinct acting for him. He could not allow that blade to touch him. If he were seriously injured again, he was finished, and there would be no one to protect Teesha. Disarming the hunter was his first and only real priority. He needed to back her into the tunnel where she couldn't swing and his strength might give him an advantage. But the wound in his shoulder from their last battle still burned. Feeling slightly off-balance by his near useless left arm, he gained good footing and charged back at her.
* * *
"Yes, my dear," Edwan said, peering down at Teesha's fluttering eyelids, his head merged through the coffin lid. "Wake up. We have to flee."
She wore her velvet gown of deepest red, like rich wine, and her thick curls of chocolate