"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 sit and watch her perish. I believe you said you would do anything."

Leesil looked down at Magiere. The bandages were soaked through and the pillow was already damp with her blood. If only she would open her eyes and laugh at him, curse him, berate him as a fool for wanting to believe Welstiel. But her eyes remained closed, and he could no longer hear her breathing.

"I hate you for making me do this," Leesil said to Welstiel in a low, clear voice. "She'll hate you even more." And he jerked a stiletto from his sleeve.

"Leesil, don't!" Brenden cried out. "Don't listen to him. This cannot help her."

"Get back!" Leesil warned the blacksmith.

"You must do one more thing," Welstiel said, as if Brenden were not there. "Pull out the bone and tin amulet and place the bone side against her skin. The bone must have contact with her skin."

"Why?" Leesil asked.

"You don't have time. Do as I instruct."

The half-elf lifted his leg across Magiere's stomach and straddled her body. The straw mattress shifted slightly and sagged as he moved, but he was careful not to put any of his weight on her. He pulled the amulet out from inside her shut and turned it over, placing the bone side against the hollow of her throat. He noticed the topaz stone was still glowing. Then he leaned near her face.

In one motion, he sliced across the inside of his wrist, dropped the blade, and used his good hand to cradle her head. Even tainted by smoke and dirt, her hair felt oddly soft.

Blood spilled down the side of her face as he used the hand with the slit wrist to pull her mouth open. He forgot about Welstiel and Brenden's presence and pressed his slashed wrist between her teeth.

"Try," he whispered. "Just try."

At first his blood just trickled into her limp mouth, some of it spilling to the side and down her jaw and then down her neck. It soaked into the linen bandage to mix with her own.

She stirred once, and then without warning, one of her hands latched on to his arm, forcing his wrist deeper into her mouth. He hadn't anticipated the prospect of pain, and her sudden flash of great strength caught him off guard.

A too-hot sensation, like being burned from the inside out, caused him to instinctively want to jerk his arm away, but he held fast and let her continue feeding on him. It was disturbing, but enthralling-the wet softness of her mouth around the sharpness of her teeth connecting with his flesh. Her body shuddered and tightened beneath him. He experienced fear, anger, pain, and sorrow all at once, but couldn't be sure the feelings were all his own. She was so close, right beneath him, so near that everything he felt could have risen from her right into him.

Her breathing became stronger and deeper, and he felt suddenly tired and warm at the same time.

The pain began to fade, and all he sensed now was how close she was, the feel of her mouth on his arm and his hand in her hair, her breath warm on his face. His head dropped until their brows touched.

Magiere's dark eyes opened wide, the irises fully black without color, and she did not appear to recognize him. Her other hand grasped his shoulder and drew him down until his body pressed against hers. He wanted her to keep feeding, until he knew for certain she would live.

To keep feeding.

Her face grew dim in front of him-shadows darker-fading.

Then she was holding him up, with both hands gripping his shoulders. His bleeding wrist dropped limp across her chest. In her open mouth he could see blood-smeared fangs, but her eyes-still all-black irises-were wide with sudden fear and confusion. The amulet fell from the hollow of her throat and dangled against the pillow on its chain.

"No… keep feeding," Leesil whispered. He felt so tired that it was hard to speak. "You need my blood."

From somewhere distant he heard shouting, someone shouting at him, but it didn't matter.

"Stop it! Enough."

Leesil felt himself pulled from Magiere's embrace, saw her face seem to fall away from him. There was rage in her eyes, as she pulled at his shirt, trying to bring him back to her. He raised one hand and tried to reach for her.

Then she was gone from his sight.

Brenden was in front of him now, shaking him. "That's enough! Do you hear me?"

Even in Leesil's current state, he could see Brenden's red face turning pale. The fear in his expression was followed by disgust, then by horror, and then sorrow. Why should he be sorry?