"Not enough to reach out to me." An uncharacteristic slip of emotion, instinctive and hurt, in the heated regard of Lestat's gaze. Armand regrets it as soon as it's out of his mouth, the way it makes him sound like a pathetic child pining for an outstretched hand, a discarded lover who can't let go. He thins his mouth over it, disgusted at himself, but unable to call it back.

Lestat was always so good at unsettling him. At making him think and feel new things, dangerous things. Being older and more experienced had mattered little when it was Lestat's uncanny ability to enrapture him which held him in thrall. He holds Lestat's gaze, wanting him and hating him.

"You thought of me," he continues, as if it hadn't happened. "What did you think of?"