Barb Hendee - Dhampir

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?

Leesil slowly became aware that he was standing up against the wall beyond the foot of the bed, Brenden pinning him in place. One of his own hands was pushing feebly against the large man's chest, trying to drive him off. The other, its wrist smeared with his own blood and Magiere's saliva, was outstretched toward the bed. Magiere, now crouched on the bed, snarled once at the blacksmith, but her eyes were on Leesil. As he looked at her, he felt a sudden wave of anguish for abandoning her there. Everything around him was blurred and faint but her.

She looked at him with hunger, then her mouth slowly closed. Black irises shrank, and Leesil noticed their color for the first time that he could remember. They were a deep brown, as rich as the soil of his homeland. Her gaze shifted to his outstretched hand and its bleeding wrist.

"Leesil?" Magiere pulled back, shrinking away from him across the bed into the corner against the wall. She huddled there, trembling, and could not take her gaze off his wrist until he finally lowered his arm.

"Good," another voice said. "Good lad."

Leesil rolled his head toward the sound of that voice, and found Welstiel still standing in the cottage doorway. The man pulled a small jar from the pocket of his cloak and tossed it to Brenden. The blacksmith released one grip on Leesil's shoulders and caught the jar with his large hand.

"Put this salve on his face and wrist, and on the majay-hi's wounds," Welstiel told Brenden. "They will both heal faster. Have them eat as much meat, cheese, and fruit as you can get over the next few days, and make sure the half-elf has no wine or ale. It will only thin his blood, and the dhampir may need him."

Leesil suddenly felt tired and ill. What had he just done? The sensation of Magiere's mouth on his arm still lingered and he tried to speak.

"What's a majay-hi ?" he managed to whisper.

Welstiel watched Magiere for a long moment, and then looked at Leesil.

"The dog. It's the elven name for your dog."

Leesil realized he was now sitting on the floor, Brenden having lowered him. He turned his head toward the bed again.

"Magiere sat up in confusion now. Her hands came up to her throat, and when she felt the bandages there, she began pulling them off. Her fingers moved slowly over the exposed skin. Though there was blood still caked around her neck, Leesil could see no sign of the wound except a thin red line across her skin.

She looked at Leesil, then down at his wrist where Brenden was smearing the salve from the jar. Her fingers touched the side of her mouth, feeling a wet smear. Again, her expression changed to fear.

"What did you do?" she asked. "Leesil, what have you done?"

Leesil turned to Brenden. "Food. Go. Get us some food. I'll see to Chap."

As if unable to endure any more of the scene, Brenden let go of Leesil, and stormed out the door. Welstiel was already gone. No one had noticed him leave.

Using his hands to push himself up, Leesil stood and tottered once but remained on his feet. With the exception of Chap, he and Magiere were alone.

"What did you do?" she repeated.

"You were dying. I did what he told me to."

She took in the sight of his face and wrist with greater comprehension. "You're hurt."

"It's nothing. I can bandage myself."

Memories seemed to be returning, and she touched her throat again. "I was fighting. He cut me and then… what happened?"