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,
"By the time you get to this, you'll have eaten and I'll be asleep. I want you to know: you were delicious, and I have never had a better meal. I hope I was able to give you as much pleasure as you gave me, and if you are going to be here long enough, I'd appreciate the opportunity to feed from you again.
"Affectionately, "Enna"
It was odd thinking of himself as a delicious meal, but Thompson found it tickled him; sure, he'd feed her again if he and his team were here long enough. In the meantime, until he got orders, he and his team were on leave, and as he'd told Audra, they might as well take advantage of their stay in a System Palace.
For the rest of the day, they did just that. Their status as the Count's guests let them enjoy the prerogatives only local nobility or above usually got, and they took advantage of it in the ways their various interests dictated. For Thompson, that meant a run through the Count's target range, a hearty lunch, a trip through the planetary zoo—he'd need a week to do justice to the whole thing, but this was a good start—a four-course supper, and an evening at the local classics theater to see Last Starfighter for perhaps the twentieth time.
He went to bed feeling comfortably tired, and for several hours slept well, if with increasing unease, but about 0200 he woke and couldn't get back to sleep. His throat itched, and he felt restless, bloated, so irritable he had to get up and move around. For awhile he prowled around his apartment, but that didn't help for long; eventually, he put on a robe and went out.