Leesil finished his bandaging and then put his fingers inside Magiere's mouth.

"Her teeth are normal," he said.

Brenden was confused by the comment. What did that mean?

"She's dying, Leesil. She should have been dead before we left the warehouse."

The half-elf's head jerked up. "Are you going to find us some help or not?"

"This is beyond Miiska's healers."

Leesil sucked in an angry breath. The long scratches on his face hadn't completely stopped bleeding yet.

"She's not going to die. Think! Someone must be able to help her."

"I can," a quiet voice said from across the room.

Brenden turned in surprise, fist clenched, expecting to find something had escaped the burning warehouse and tracked them to his home. Instead, an elegant, middle-aged man with white temples stood in the open doorway. The fine fabric of his long cloak suggested wealth and culture.

"Welstiel?" Leesil asked, more a statement than a question. "Can you help?"

"If you'll do as I say."

"Anything," Leesil answered quickly. "I'll do anything."

Somewhere outside in the distance, Brenden heard shouts and ringing bells. The townsfolk had been roused with the alarm and would now be scurrying to put out the warehouse fire. He experienced a stab of guilt. Although he agreed with Leesil's decision, many people's lives would be affected for the worse.

Down on the beach, past moonrise, one smooth side of the seashore bank exploded outward, shattering any illusions of peace the night still contained.

Rashed crawled out of the narrow hole, more earth breaking away from its edges as he carefully pulled Teesha after him. Years ago, he'd arranged for this secret tunnel that reached from the caves below the warehouse all the way into one of the caves along the bottom of the sea cliffs. The entrance was quite small and almost completely covered by sand. No one had ever tried entering the cave from the outside, so he'd pushed through the sand barrier from the inside and emerged into open air.

The beach was only a short drop below, but he was injured and nearly exhausted. He held Teesha tightly with his good arm and jumped down, landing on his feet.

"It's all right," he said, laying her in the sand. "I'll find blood soon."

She nodded and even smiled at him, but he knew the slash from Magiere's falchion had frozen Teesha's body from the waist down. A frightening prospect.

He left her there and climbed back up the wall.

"Ratboy, do you need help?"

Only the sound of crawling and digging answered him, and he began pushing more sand out of the way.

Ratboy appeared in the opening, looking so burned, bitten, and pitiful that Rashed assisted him without anger or rebuke. They had both failed to evade or destroy the hunter. Ratboy was not to blame this time.

"Climb onto my back," Rashed said. "I'll carry you down."

Forgoing the usual sarcastic comment, Ratboy quietly grasped Rashed's shoulders with blackened hands, and Rashed descended as quickly as he could to lay his thin comrade beside Teesha.

The sight of Teesha filled him with emotions he could not recognize or explain. Although only her hands and one shoulder were badly burned, the slash on her stomach looked deep and her life-force was leaking away into the sand. Yet she did not complain nor curse him.

"Stay here and be silent," he said. "I will return." He unsheathed his sword and dropped it beside Ratboy. "For protection."

Then he headed down the beach toward a mass of ships in the harbor. He no longer cared about sparing the lives of these Miiska mortals and hiding his identity. Such sentiment had gained him nothing in the end. As Rashed approached the harbor, he saw two sailors sitting on a small encrusted log, passing a bottle back and forth. They both looked young and healthy. There was no one else in sight.

Without a sound, Rashed rushed them from the side. Their eyes widened, and he knew himself to appear like some unearthed monster emerged from the depths, with his blood-soaked tunic, useless arm hanging limp, and smoke-streaked face. He struck out with his right fist.

He caught the nearest sailor across the jaw so hard the man fell unconscious, barely breathing. The second one only had time to cry out once and crabstep backward before Rashed grabbed him by the hair and drove both fangs straight into his throat.

Rashed didn't feed like this. He'd never fed like this.

As he held the sailor effortlessly, draining every bit of life he could, strength and power and euphoria filled his being. In a flash of clarity, he felt a glimmer of understanding for Ratboy… for Parko. Perhaps feeding could involve more than simply replenishing necessary energies.

He finished and dropped the corpse onto the dune, leaving it where it lay. Why should he be concerned now? A little fear, a little truth might warn these mortals to leave him and his alone. How many years had he fought, struggled for absolute secrecy, anonymity? This cold woman hunter had destroyed his carefully constructed world. Well, so be it.

He remained still a moment, feeling the life of the sailor washing through his body. Then he focused the flow of life, directed it where it was needed most. The wound on his shoulder began to close, pieces of bone settling together. The burn on his hand lost its sting. Other small injuries would disappear soon, all healed by the life of one insignificant mortal. He grabbed the other, unconscious sailor by the shirt collar and dragged him down the beach. The dead weight of the sailor was nothing to him now.

Fear hit him when he reached Teesha and saw that her eyes were closed. She lay so still. He moved to her side and dropped his burden. Corische once told him that in rare cases vampires could be injured severely enough to slip away into a kind of sleeping undeath. Rashed did not know if this was true, and he did not wish to find out.

"Look at me," he ordered.

When she didn't respond, he grabbed the sailor's wrist and tore it open with his teeth. Cradling Teesha's head, he pushed the ragged wound into her mouth and let liquid drip across her tongue.

"Drink," he whispered.

At first she didn't stir, but then strength from the blood must have reached her. The corners of her mouth begin to move, clamping on, drawing down. Forgetting himself, he stroked her hair without thinking, murmuring, "Good, good," over and over.

He sat there for a long while, letting her feed, and then his gaze rose to meet with Ratboy's icy stare. Shame touched him. He had two companions and yet only thought of Teesha.

"Wait," he said to Ratboy. "I'm coming."

Gently, he disengaged Teesha's mouth. Her eyes opened in protest, but he 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."