Tasty Policewomen

Havermouth, Present Time

As Sigrid coated Jules’ hand with her blood before splinting and bandaging it, Meguitte took samples from Jules and Leighton and collected them into little zip-locked plastic bags. Nail clippings from Jules’ good hand, a lock of his hair (which Harry started to protest until she ruffled the brunette curls and the part she’d snipped disappeared in the disarray, swabs from his mouth, venom from his teeth, and a bag of blood.

“Not too much,” Harry kept a sharp eye on the proceedings. “He needs blood, not to lose it.”

“I know, Harry,” she said soothingly. “I won’t take more than I need.” She exchanged a look with Leighton of weary patience. “We don’t want to run out and have to draw more.”

“He can feed from me,” Dan was watching from the ajar door. “Sigrid said that hybrid blood might help?”

“From the wrist,” Harry didn’t like the idea but accepted it as it was best for Jules. They seemed to remember their manners as they added a belated. “Thank you.”

Dan stood by