Hunter sits hunched over the microscope. He pushes himself back from the desk and turns to Camille, “Find anything?”

“No.” She lowers her head as she pushes back from the computer, “There are absolutely no differences in our blood. I’m not finding anything in yours that’s out of the ordinary. Either I’ve also been infected, or this isn’t viral.”

Hunter pushes back his thirst, struggling to not feel the burning sensation in his throat, “I just don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Camille already knows how Hunter will respond to her hypothesis, but she tells him anyway, “Have you thought that maybe this is some sort of vampire psychosis from not having drank from a live donor…” Her cheeks redden at the thought, “Or being intimate with someone? It’s been thousands of years”

Hunter spears her with a look, “Of course I’ve thought about that being a possibility. But the solution is unacceptable and there has to be a different way.”

“You can only go a few hours without needing to feed or you’re in extreme agony. You can’t live like this,” she warns.

“I have to figure this out. This kind of thing doesn’t happen, or there are no documented occurrences of this.”

“How many vampires do you know that have lived thousands of years?” she counters.

“I know a few,” he defends.

“And how many of them refrain from some of the simplest pleasures in life?” She stands from the chair and crosses the lab to where he’s sitting, “Maybe this is your instinct rebelling against you. You are going against everything that you are and have been your whole life.”

“Not my whole life.” Memories of the savage vampire he once was crosses his mind.

“Still it’s been so long, maybe just try it,” she pleads with him.

Hunter’s eyes darken and turn red with anger, “No, I will not feed from a human.”

Camille stands from the chair with her hands up in surrender, “You’re going to have to figure something out. Owen said they were trying to get more blood, but they’re having some trouble getting more.” She glances nervously at the clock on the wall, “And feeding time is fast approaching.”

Hunter’s mind is racing a million miles an hour, he wants more than ever to find a cure to stop the intense pain running through his body. His lack of focus isn’t helping to find any solution long or short term. He stands from the workstation, picks up the monitor and throws it across the lab, smashing it into pieces.

Claire sucks in a sharp breath, trying not to feel afraid, this is not the man she knows. “We’re going to find the answer.” She tries to calm him, keeping her distance.

“But it seems the only solution presently is throwing away thousands of years of abstinence.” Grief riddles his expression, “Compromising everything I’ve worked so hard to become, for what? For survival? For sanity?”

“Yes, for survival, for living.” Camille’s voice feels small. “You can’t find a solution if you’re crazed...or dead.” Her voice trails off at the end.

“For me it wouldn’t be living. It would be giving in to the beast, allowing it take over and make me into something I don’t want to be.” He closes his eyes, trying to staunch the pain growing in the pit of his belly.

The elevator doors open, and Owen appears with another man. Hunter’s relieved to see Owen, but there’s no more blood, his throat is parched to the point of pain. “Did you bring more?” Hunter appears at the door in a flash.

“No, I’m working on it.” Owen’s full of apprehension at having to disappoint Hunter.

“Who’s this?” Hunter glares at the man.

“Well, well, Henry Grimes.” Camille comes to the door with a smile. “How the hell are you?”

“I’m doing well, Camille, been busy,” he says with a friendly smile.

“Who are you?” Hunter growls territorially.

Camille puts her hand on Hunter’s arm, “Calm down, he’s a friend.”

“Smells like Directive to me, we aren’t due for an inspection for months.” He never takes his eyes off of Henry.

Henry lowers his gaze, “Owen’s food request raised some red flags.”

“What kind of red flags? When did The Directive start tracking our eating habits?” Hunter growls, getting closer to the door.

“When a large laboratory known to be experimenting on vampire blood starts requesting large quantities.” Henry raises a brow, “But I’ve squelched it, I’m just here to see if I can help.”

“Did you bring more blood?” Hunter’s stomach twists with hunger. He’s trying to control his anger.

“We’re working on it,” Owen says. “I’m hoping to have something soon.”

“How the hell can we be having a blood shortage?” Hunter paces the lab, hoping to maintain control. He considers Camille and doesn’t want to do anything to hurt or frighten her.

“We’re not having a shortage, it’s just that no one wants to give up what they have,” Owen explains.

“I have to eat,” Hunter says simply.

“Or we have to figure out what’s causing this,” Henry answers. “I have a few theories, but I want to talk about what’s been happening. When this started...”

Hunter’s losing it, he drags his fingers through his blond hair, he can barely hear what Henry is saying through the distraction.

“Hunter!” Camille snaps. “Henry asked you a question.”

Hunter shakes his head, “I... need…”

“Tell me exactly what you’re feeling,” Henry says.

“An insatiable thirst that feels like it’s ripping my insides apart.” Sweat forms on Hunter’s brow.

“What else?” Henry asks.

Hunter is reticent to speak of the other effects he’s feeling. He looks to Camille as though the details are too personal to reveal.

“Heightened sexual urges,” Camille blurts out. “I’ve not ever seen him like this.”

Henry nods, “Interesting.”

The need becomes so compelling, Hunter goes on the hunt for even a small drop of blood. Anything to quench the thirst he’s feeling.

Henry addresses Camille directly, “Are you feeling anything like this?”

Camille shakes her head, “No, I fed two days ago, I’m fine. But if we don’t know when he was exposed, we don’t know the incubation period if this is some sort of virus.”

“When did it start?”

“This morning,” she answers.

“Go through the motions this morning.” Henry glances back at Hunter who’s looking around wildly for blood.

“When I got here, he seemed to be in a better mood. We thought he had a breakthrough yesterday that turned out to be a big bust. He went home, fed, got some rest, but was here before I got here today,” she recalls.

“Okay, then what?” Henry queries for her to go on.

“I got to work. I got the batch of new samples and we started processing them.”

A knowing smile crosses Henry’s lips, “I’ll be damned. I’m assuming you mean blood samples?”

“Yes, human donors,” Camille says. “They are all paid donors.”

“I think I know what’s happening,” Henry says with hesitation. “I need you to get the samples.”

“And do what with them?” she asks.

“Just get them and bring them out, let’s see how he reacts to them,” Henry orders.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Camille says.

“Are the samples hermetically sealed?” Henry asks.

“Of course. They’re in the clean room.” She shrugs.

“Just go get them.” Henry and Camille both watch Hunter pacing like an animal at the back of the lab. “And be careful, if I’m right, he’s going to have a reaction.”

“What kind of reaction?” Worry rides in Camille’s tone.

“Not sure, but it may calm him.” Henry looks to Owen, “We’re going to need to know where those samples came from. Do you have the names and addresses of the donors?”

Owen shakes his head, “No, only where they’re from. Everything’s anonymous and the donors are paid in cash.”

“If we have the location, we’ll be okay.” Henry’s working out a plan in head.

Camille goes to the clean room and brings out the box of samples. Hunter immediately appears at Camille’s side, lurching forward toward the samples. “My God that smells good. I need to…” Hunter snatches the box out of her hand and starts breaking open the tubes of blood and drinking them.”

“Hunter!” Camille snaps at his behavior. “You can’t drink those.”

Hunter glares at her with a tiny drop of blood in the corner of his mouth, “Why?”

“Because we need them.” Camille widens her eyes.

“No, let him,” Henry says with a knowing smile. He turns to Owen, “We’re going to need to know the location where those came from and enough bags of blood to get him there.”

“What’s going on, Henry?” Camille demands.

“Let’s just watch. If my theory is correct, we’re about to see him calm down real fast.” They both watch as Hunter gulps down vial after vial.

He breaks one open and stops. He takes the time to smell the blood and let the aroma fill all of his senses, thirst railing against his insides. But he wants to savor the scent, this one’s different. It’s taken hold of him, sending a calming sensation through him.

“What is it?” Camille asks.

Henry draws closer to the glass, watching Hunter. “Drink it.”

Hunter presses the vial against his lips and lets the liquid flow freely down his throat. His thirst momentarily sated, his sexual desire heightened, but targeted. He doesn’t want Camille or any other woman, he wants the woman this blood belongs to. “I have to have her,” he whispers.

“What’s that?” Camille asks, unable to hear what he said.

Hunter’s eyes gloss over in a trance, he’s unable to speak or move.

Henry lets out a laugh from the other side of the door, “We’re going to need to know where that blood came from.”

“What’s going on?” Camille demands.

“He’s not sick, he’s got the Thirst and the good news is, it’s not contagious.” Henry pins her with a look, “Now, where’s the blood from?”

Camille looks at the label on the packaging, “New Orleans.”

“Looks like we’re going to New Orleans.”

Hunter lets out a cry of agony as his body seizes.

Camille catches him as he’s about to fall to the floor. She rests his head on her lap, “What’s wrong?”

Hunter can’t answer. His skin is taking on a greyish hue and his eyes become unresponsive. “What's Happening?” Camille cries out.

“Let me in there.” Henry looks to Owen with alarm.

Owen mashes the button, opening the door to the lab. They both rush in. Henry examines Hunter, “I don’t know what’s happening.”

He picks up the vial and sniffs it. He hands it to Owen, “Smell that.”

Owen sniffs at the empty vial. “I don’t smell anything.”

Henry takes the vial and hands it to Camille, “Can you smell anything?”

She takes in a deep whiff and shakes her head, astounded, “No, I can’t even smell blood.”

“This is going to be interesting,” Henry says, cocking his head to the side and kneeling beside Hunter. “His bloodmate is a rook.”

“What do you mean by bloodmate? And what the hell is a rook?” Camille fights against the tears threatening at the corner of her eyes.

She watches as Hunter becomes more lost in whatever trance he’s in.

“Hunter has a bloodmate. Now that he’s caught her scent, he has to be with her.” Henry pulls his lips to the side.

“I’ve heard of bloodmates, but I thought it was a myth.” Camille wraps her arms around Hunter tighter. “But what do you mean that she’s a rook?”

Henry’s expression is full of worry, “We’ve never seen a documented case of a rook being a bloodmate. A rook is a human whose blood is toxic to supernaturals.”

“What?” Camille gasps and can no longer maintain her composure. Tears flow freely down her cheeks, “What’s going to happen to him?”

“I don’t know,” Henry’s trying to work out a solution. “Rooks are almost as rare as bloodmates.”

“You’re a witch, do something magic.” She sobs, watching more of his skin turning grey.

“I don’t know if there’s anything I can do.” Henry’s at a loss, he feels Camille’s sadness.

Camille takes Hunter’s face in her hands, “Don’t you dare fucking die on me, not like this.” Her sorrow blankets the room, her sobs echoing. The lost look in her eyes is haunting. “You can’t leave me, you can’t die, you won’t go to Valhalla and you’ll never find Runa.”

Hunter doesn’t move, his eyes are glossed over. “Fuck you, Hunter, don’t leave me.” She kneels beside him, “Wake up!”

Camille balls his shirt in her hands and shakes him, “Hunter!”

Owen puts his hands on her shoulders, “It’s going to be okay.”

“Get off me, wolf,” she snaps at him uncharacteristically. “Look at him, this is not okay.”

Camille feels a hand on her cheek, “Shh.”

She turns to Hunter cupping her cheek. His hand slides back down to his chest, some of the color returning to his face, his eyes becoming more responsive.

Camille’s tears intensify with the relief of his response, “Don’t you dare ever do this to me again.”

“I’ll do my best.” Hunter is weak, and his speech is slurred.

“You’d better.” She looks up to Henry, “What do we do?”

“We need to get to New Orleans,” he says.

“Is he going to be okay?” Her voice trembles with worry.

“I don’t know.”