Barb Hendee: Dhampir

A twinge inside her answered the growing cold.

It didn't come from the life fading from her body, but instead wormed out of some hidden place inside her, moving through her restlessly. It stirred a rising fever that slipped from bone to muscle to nerve, leaving tingling heat behind wherever it passed. Finally settling in her stomach, heat turned into a knot of growing ache even the cold couldn't blot out, then spread up her throat. A hollow opened inside of her, waiting to be filled.

It made her… hungry.

Magiere felt starved. A desire built on mounting rage sought a way to end the hunger. Crushing the life from her attacker would end that hunger.

She pushed against the man's head. This time, it gave just a little.

Hunger spread out from her stomach, worming its way through her limbs until it seared away fatigue and fear, consuming the chill from the man's touch. She tried to lift her weapon arm and felt her wrist slowly leave the ground against the pressure of the white man's grip. In her darkness, she heard a frenzied hiss escape her assailant's lips as he released her throat to pull at her grip on his face. Magiere gasped in air, filling her lungs.

"No… no… no!" he screeched. "You are no match for Parko."

Straining against his grip, she could neither swing the blade, nor force her other hand back to his head. His body began to jerk forward, accompanied by a strange snapping sound. As her vision began to return, she made out the blurred oval of his head surging toward her face- click -then back and in again- crack -straining against her own pushing force. The sound was an animal's jaws snapping closed.

She realized what he was doing. With their grips meshed, he was desperately trying the only thing left to break the deadlock. He was trying to bite her.

Magiere arched her back, pushing her face up and away out of reach, then shoved hard with both arms. A vicious snarl came from her left, and her body was suddenly dragged along the ground for half a foot. The white man let out a wail of anger as his grip on her wrists faltered, and Magiere lost her concentration in trying to understand what had just happened.

She caught sight of Chap flying in from her left, striking the man and rebounding away. The man's body jerked hard to the right, and again Magiere felt herself dragged across the ground with him. The snarling blur came again, and Chap struck the white man in the side. Both dog and man tumbled off Magiere and across the ground into the darker night shadows of the trees, their snarls and growls indistinguishable one from the other.

Magiere hurried to get off the ground and between the two of them, worried that Chap was no match for this opponent. She stumbled, catching herself against the limbless trunk of a tree. The strange hunger gnawing in her belly was still there, but had grown weaker. Lightheaded and dizzy, she found her footing unsteady as she stepped toward the scuffle, trying to distinguish man from dog.

The white man spun toward her, but he was still out of her reach. Chap lunged at the man's leg, and the man swung his hand back at the animal. The dog was too quick, and a squeal of pain stabbed Magiere's ears as Chap bit down on the man's wrist.

In that moment, sound and feeling and sight flickered from Magiere's mind. Dog and man seemed far away, too great a distance for her to reach. Her throat still felt half constricted and her breath came hard.

The squeal of pain had barely ended when she gripped the falchion with both hands and slashed out sideways, throwing her whole body behind the blow. She aimed high but blindly, unsure of her target but knowing the man would likely rise up to pull his arm out of Chap's jaws. The swing overbalanced her and forest shadows blurred together, spinning.

Magiere's head thumped off the soft mulch of the forest floor when she fell. All the hunger washed out of her in a sudden flood. Trying in panic to find which way was up, she rolled before the man could descend again to finish her. But he didn't come.

She gave up and lay still, unable yet to sit up, let alone stand. As the spinning night settled into a heavy pain inside her skull, she heard the sounds around her. There was the gurgle of the river moving across its rocky bed, and the light chatter of tree branches in the breeze. She heard the rasp of her own desperate breathing, and the crackle of fallen pine needles and leaves beneath her as she shifted her body, trying again to get up.

And that was all. All the tiny sounds, the night sounds, slipped from her attention and between them was only silence. When the shadows above her started to focus again, changing from muted blurs into branches and stars in the sky just above the treetops, she rolled heavily to her side.

Two glistening eyes stared at her.

Breath caught in her throat until she made out the shape of the stained muzzle and canine ears. Chap looked at her expectantly.

On the ground at his feet lay a tumbled form of white flesh and tattered clothes. Chap looked down at it, and his jowls wrinkled with a low growl that ended in a whine of discomfort. He hung his head, panting.

Magiere crawled across the ground on all fours. Her body felt as though she had run a league without pause. As she drew near the man's body, she lifted the falchion, barely keeping it up in the air, ready to strike. There was no movement from the man.

"Chap, get back," she said, her voice cracked and dry.

She reached out to poke the man with her blade, but still there was no movement. When she crept closer, it became obvious why he hadn't moved.

Where his head should have been was only the stump of his neck. She slumped back, her sword dropping heavily to the ground.

So many villages had come and gone that she couldn't remember them all. But each time there had always seemed to be a rational reason for the villagers' deaths. This village was no different. The man's cold skin and white complexion were obvious signs of illness, and it would not be the first time that was the real reason why mothers and fathers, spouses and siblings gathered by their dead to pray for lost spirits. Illness often brought madness, as it had done in this man. And she had killed him.

The burning hunger was gone. The madman's cold in her flesh was gone. Remembering those alien sensations made her skin quiver and stomach lurch, but there was no time to puzzle over it. She'd killed one of the villagers, and that was as bad as things could get. She slumped, head dropping in exhausted despair, when a small, pale light caught her attention.

To her bewilderment, she looked down and saw her topaz amulet. She thought she'd remembered tucking it away, but there it dangled loose on top of her studded leather vestment. It glowed so softly, it might have gone unnoticed had she not been looking directly at it. She watched until it faded and then wondered if the odd light were merely an illusion-another result of fatigue and lack of air.

She looked at the dog sitting nearby, watching her expectantly. She had to push the words past her constricted throat.

"Come here, Chap."

Chap trotted across the short distance and sat in front of her. It was an effort to lift her hands to inspect him. The dog didn't seem to have any serious injuries, just a few small gashes on his shoulders and sides. The blood matting his throat came from a shallow cut of no serious concern. Relief washed through her. He'd be stiff and sore tomorrow, but she'd expected worse after such a fight.

Rubbing at her neck, it felt as if the bruises were already developing. Chap made a sudden lunge at her, and his tongue shot out to slap wetly across her chin and cheek.

"Stop it," she snapped. "You can save that for your drunken master."

Chap darted away and paced back and forth near the fallen body. He let out a short, low bark, then darted through the trees toward the river.