bloated,so irritable he had to get up and move around. For awhile he prowledaround his apartment, but that didn't help for long; eventually, he puton a robe and went out.
He prowled the Palace corridors, rubbing the fang marks on his throatfrom time to time, his unease and restless irritability growing. Hedidn't like being this way--it was nothing like his usual self--but hecouldn't seem to do fight his way out of it.
After what felt like decades, he found himself at the System Securityoffice complex. Something inside him seemed to say "That's it," so hewent inside.
The desk sergeant--the same one who had been there the day before--lookedat him in surprise. "Is there something I can do for you, Captain?"
"I . . . I don't know." Thompson rubbed at the fang marks, frustratedthat it didn't seem to help, then began scratching at them. "Is ChiefKaufman here?"
"No, sir, she's patrolling. You can wait here till she gets back, ifyou want to. Uh . . . you shouldn't be doing that."
"Doing what?" Thompson snapped.
"Scratching yourself like that. You could . . . well, hurt yourself."
"Dammit, they itch!" The reminder made it worse; Thompson's scratchingwent deeper, beginning to draw blood. That helped a little, so he dugin more.
"Sir, don't!"
Thompson paid no attention, needing that bit of relief, small as itwas, even when the desk sergeant hit the station alarm. Half a decadetroopers seemed to materialize around him, and he heard the sergeantorder him restrained.
When they grabbed him and tried to force his arms down behind his back,though, he started fighting. IntelDiv had some nasty moves picked upfrom combat techniques developed by a couple of decade cultures; he'ddecked three of his assailants before reinforcements arrived and tookhim down, handcuffing him and confining him to a padded holding cell.
An indeterminate, almost painfully frustrating amount of time later, hefelt some relief and slumped to the padded floor; a Kin wasapproaching. Whoever it was stopped, perhaps at the desk, then hesensed anxiety, and the Kin started moving again. Not long after, EnnaKaufman was at the door of his cell, opening it and entering. Sheknelt beside him.
"Jase, what's wrong?"
Her nearness calmed him; Thompson breathed deeply, his tension easing."I wish to Chaos I knew! I damnsure didn't bargain for anything likethis when I wanted you to feed on me."
"Neither did I, or I wouldn't have." She removed the handcuffs, thenstroked the wounds on his throat; he relaxed. "I can feel what youwant, Jase, but I can't do anything about it; I fed off you last night,so you have another nine days before any Kin will touch you again."
"I . . . don't think I'll last another nine hours, much less nine days.Chaos, Enna, what do I have to do?"
"I don't know. Prince knows, I'd help you if I could!"
* * * * *
The Count was having a night as restless as Thompson's. Finally, notlong after he'd been put in the holding cell, she got out of bed--carefully, so she wouldn't disturb the Donor she'd mated with--and wentinto her living area to call Security. "Is anything wrong?" shedemanded as soon as the desk sergeant appeared on her screen.
"Not really, my Lady," the desk sergeant replied. "Captain Thompsoncame in a few minutes ago looking for Chief Kaufman, but she's out onpatrol, so I told him he could wait. But he was scratching his throat,drawing blood, and he wouldn't stop--I had to order him restrained.He's handcuffed and in the holding cell till she gets back. He'strying to climb the walls, but at least he can't hurt himself."
The Count frowned. That was a peculiar reaction to an attemptedChange, even to one she and Kaufman had known would be unsuccessful--but it did explain the feeling of strain she sensed. Perhaps theattempt had had some effect after all; though it certainly hadn't madehim into a Kin, he was reacting as strongly as if it had. "Call mewhen Chief Kaufman arrives. I want to see for myself exactly what ishappening."
"Yes, my Lady."
The Count switched off and dressed, thinking. It had never seemedreasonable to her that ten percent of susceptibles didn't react exceptto become Donors of a class that was unusual, but didn't require mostto be susceptible or go through Change. There had never been evidenceof more than a difference in degree, however--or not until now,perhaps. Thompson's reaction might indicate a difference in kind, aChange to . . . what? Something that would complement the Kin Change?
It was half an hour before the desk sergeant called to report thatKaufman had come in, but when she did, the Count lost no time gettingto Security and the holding cell. She arrived as Kaufman was using adamp cloth to gently wipe blood from scratches on Thompson's neck.
She felt immediate sympathy for the Marine; reading him told her thathe was in pain, as well as under the terrible strain she'd felt in himearlier. She had sensed that strain before, she realized now, thoughfar less intensely: in some of the others who hadn't--or apparentlyhadn't--Changed, near the end of the ten days that separated theirallowable Donations. That irritability and anxiety had been attributedto a natural desire to Donate as often as they could, but now the Countwas beginning to think it might be a physiological need as real as aKin's need for blood. Thompson certainly hadn't had time to missDonating to that degree, not with Kaufman having taken him the daybefore. "Captain," she said gently.
The face that turned to her held desperation and sudden hope. "Y . . .yes, my Lady?"
"Did you dream tonight?"
"Huh?" Thompson was startled at the question, but he nodded. "Yes--adragon wearing a crown. An Oriental dragon. He . . . approves of me."
"The Dragon Prince," Kaufman said softly. "The one who used the virusto make us what we are. He always appears to a new Kin."
"But never, to the best of anyone's knowledge, to anyone else." TheCount swore briefly, though only to herself. They had never thought toask the supposedly-unChanged ones about their dreams, and they--or atleast she!--should have. It was stupid to think Change had to bringabout a visible change; she could only excuse herself by pleading thepress of other problems that had claimed her attention since Kins beganappearing. "Your desire to feed Kins is more than simple desire now,Captain; I can tell that. It is a physical requirement." She turned toher Chief of Detectives. "He needs you."
"But it's only been a day," Kaufman said.
The detective chief's heart wasn't in her objection; the Count nodded."The law will have to be changed to accommodate Captain Thompson andthe other . . ." What was a good word for them? They weren't Kins,though they were of the--the Kindred, yes.
Thompson chuckled harshly. "Call me a Bloodmate, my Lady. I giveblood, and I damnsure feel like Enna's mate."
The Count nodded, raising an eyebrow. "Appropriate; very well. Carefor your Bloodmate, Enna."
Kaufman didn't have to be told twice; she took Thompson into her armsand nuzzled his throat, breaking the skin to sip but not piercing hiscarotid. Thompson relaxed, his irritable frustration easing, and hefelt his consort's satisfaction at that. There was far more to hisneed than her gentle sipping; he was responding to her physically aswell, knew she felt it, and luxuriated in her answering caress. Therewas no such thing, he realized dreamily, as a casual liaison betweenKin and Bloodmate; he was free to accept her love-making, as well asher feeding.
"But not in a detention cell," Kaufman murmured against her Bloodmate'sthroat. He might be too far gone to care, but she had no intention oftaking him on the floor, no matter how well padded it might be. Shepicked him up, sensing the Count's approval, and carried him to theduty officer's apartment.
Thompson was content to wait; for now, the promise of her delicatefangs, the strength of the body he would nourish, were enough. Shewould make love to him, and when he peaked, she would sate her fiercehunger in their shared ecstasy. She would care for him, yes . . .
The Count watched them leave, pleased. She had hoped for an ex-E-Teamleader turned Kin as Liaison Officer, though she would have settled forwhatever benefit a team-full of Dono
rs might bring; now she hadsomething beyond her most optimistic hopes. She would give Kaufman andThompson time for--she grinned to herself--a honeymoon. While theywere indulging in each other, she would name the Kindred--Kins andBloodmates alike--as the System's local nobility. And then she woulddesignate the pair of them as Liaison. Thompson had lost his team,yes, but he had gained at least as much in the way of companionship andmore in physical satisfaction; he would be fine. And what a team thosetwo would make!
END
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