nder made it worse; Thompson's scratching
went deeper, beginning to draw blood. That helped a little, so he dug
in more.

"Sir, don't!"

Thompson paid no attention, needing that bit of relief, small as it
was, even when the desk sergeant hit the station alarm. Half a decade
troopers seemed to materialize around him, and he heard the sergeant
order 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 up
from combat techniques developed by a couple of decade cultures; he'd
decked three of his assailants before reinforcements arrived and took
him down, handcuffing him and confining him to a padded holding cell.

An indeterminate, almost painfully frustrating amount of time later, he
felt some relief and slumped to the padded floor; a Kin was
approaching. Whoever it was stopped, perhaps at the desk, then he
sensed anxiety, and the Kin started moving again. Not long after, Enna
Kaufman was at the door of his cell, opening it and entering. She
knelt 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 like
this when I wanted you to feed on me."

"Neither did I, or I wouldn't have." She removed the handcuffs, then
stroked the wounds on his throat; he relaxed. "I can feel what you
want, 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, not
long 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 went
into her living area to call Security. "Is anything wrong?" she
demanded as soon as the desk sergeant appeared on her screen.

"Not really, my Lady," the desk sergeant replied. "Captain Thompson
came in a few minutes ago looking for Chief Kaufman, but she's out on
patrol, 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's
t