rying to climb the walls, but at least he can't hurt himself."

The Count frowned. That was a peculiar reaction to an attempted
Change, even to one she and Kaufman had known would be unsuccessful--
but it did explain the feeling of strain she sensed. Perhaps the
attempt had had some effect after all; though it certainly hadn't made
him into a Kin, he was reacting as strongly as if it had. "Call me
when Chief Kaufman arrives. I want to see for myself exactly what is
happening."

"Yes, my Lady."

The Count switched off and dressed, thinking. It had never seemed
reasonable to her that ten percent of susceptibles didn't react except
to become Donors of a class that was unusual, but didn't require most
to be susceptible or go through Change. There had never been evidence
of more than a difference in degree, however--or not until now,
perhaps. Thompson's reaction might indicate a difference in kind, a
Change to . . . what? Something that would complement the Kin Change?

It was half an hour before the desk sergeant called to report that
Kaufman had come in, but when she did, the Count lost no time getting
to Security and the holding cell. She arrived as Kaufman was using a
damp cloth to gently wipe blood from scratches on Thompson's neck.

She felt immediate sympathy for the Marine; reading him told her that
he was in pain, as well as under the terrible strain she'd felt in him
earlier. She had sensed that strain before, she realized now, though
far less intensely: in some of the others who hadn't--or apparently
hadn't--Changed, near the end of the ten days that separated their
allowable Donations. That irritability and anxiety had been attributed
to a natural desire to Donate as often as they could, but now the Count
was beginning to think it might be a physiological need as real as a
Kin's need for blood. Thompson certainly hadn't had time to miss
Donating to that degree, not with Kaufman having taken him the day
before. "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--a
dragon wearing a crown. An Oriental dragon. He . . . approves of me."

"The Dragon Prince," Kaufman said softly. "The one who used the virus
to make us what we are. He always appears to a new Kin."

"But never, to the best of anyone's knowledge, to anyone else." The
Coun