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I give blood, and I damnsure feel like Enna's mate." The Count nodded, raising an eyebrow. "Appropriate; very well. Care for your Bloodmate, Enna." Kaufman didn't have to be told twice; she took Thompson into her arms and nuzzled his throat, breaking the skin to sip but not piercing his carotid. Thompson relaxed, his irritable frustration easing, and he felt his consort's satisfaction at that.
There was far more to his need than her gentle sipping; he was responding to her physically as well, knew she felt it, and luxuriated in her answering caress. There was no such thing, he realized dreamily, as a casual liaison between Kin and Bloodmate; he was free to accept her love-making, as well as her feeding. "But not in a detention cell," Kaufman murmured against her Bloodmate's throat.
"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 and the 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.
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