Thompson entered the System Security office complex and approached the desk sergeant, ready to introduce himself, but she stood. "Captain Thompson?" "Yes." "Chief Kaufman is waiting for you, sir. To your right, third door on the left." She smiled. "You made a good choice, Captain. She's the best I've ever Donated to." "How did you know I chose her, rather than the other way around?" "It's always the Donor's choice, sir. The Kin can ask someone, or pass on a volunteer, but one will never feed on an unwilling Donor." The desk sergeant grinned. "Besides, her Ladyship said you had." Thompson chuckled. "Thanks, Sergeant. Third on my left, you said." He went to the door she'd described, still amused. Now that the danger of becoming one himself was past, he discovered he was beginning to like these blood-drinkers, and to hope the Count would find a good, sympathetic Liaison Officer. He didn't have to knock; the door opened as he neared it, and Kaufman invited him in with a flourish. "Nice to see you again, Captain," she said, smiling--and this time Thompson let himself respond to her hunger and her gleaming fangs. He went into her open arms, leaning his head to one side. She brushed his throat with her lips, and he felt amusement mixed with her hunger. "May I assume that your Corporal Nkomo won't pull you away from me this time, my dear Captain?" she murmured. "You may, my dear Chief." Thompson relaxed completely, feeling the assurance she projected. "This may be my only chance, so drink as much as you want." "As much as I'd take for a Change, yes. You'll go into a deep sleep, and wake up hungry enough to eat a hellbeast." "That's what my socio spec told me." Thompson's earlier desire was back in full force, stronger than ever; he licked his lips, wishing she'd get on with it. Warmth on his throat, the sensation of hunger, hard sharpness-- He cried out at the sudden intense pleasure of fangs in his throat, his blood filling the Kin's eager mouth, satisfying her driving hunger . . . * * * * * He woke with that memory, his hand going to his throat and caressing the wounds there. It was comfortable lying in bed--he knew, somehow, that he was back in the apartment he'd been assigned--and he'd like to stay there, holding on to the memory of Kaufman's feeding, but he was much too hungry. He got up and used the 'fresher, then dressed, intending to go to the dining room. It wasn't necessary; a covered serving tray sat on the coffee table in his apartment's living room, with a note beside it. He uncovered the tray and began eating, curious about the note but not willing to interrupt until he'd taken the edge off his appetite. Whoever had prepared the tray, he thought gratefully, had a pretty good idea what one of the "near-misses" like himself needed; by the time he emptied it, he was satisfied. He picked up the note and leaned back, chuckling as he read it. "Dear Jase,