A crueller and pettier person than Armand -- Lestat, say -- might wonder why it's taken an interview with an old man for Louis to be reminded of what matters. Armand himself keeps his mouth and mind closed from that line of thinking, concentrating instead on the gentle slide of Louis' hand on his cock, the taste of his skin beneath his tongue.

You think I would remain asleep for that? He asks, his mouth otherwise occupied. With a low pleased noise, he lets slip his fangs and sinks them deep into Louis' neck, precisely over the point where his major artery lies closest to the surface. Blood flows; he begins to suck it down with practised swallows, tasting Louis, tasting the young man he fed from the day before, smoke and iron and the deep richness of the life that sustains their dark gift.