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2022. Dubai.
“I told the father everything.”
Louis’ voice was steady, but something simmered beneath it, something Daniel recognized. An old wound, still bleeding.
“How I failed my brother. How I laid down with the devil. And then…” A breath, barely a pause. “There wasn’t a priest there anymore.”
The lamplight flickered, deepening the hollows of his face.
“Outside that booth, there was only him.” Louis’ fingers curled slightly where they rested. “Drinking. Indulgent. A creation not of God, but of the Devil.” He exhaled, slow, deliberate.
Like the weight of it all still sat heavy on his ribs. “And when I looked up, I thought…” A hesitation. A swallowed breath. Contemplation. Then, quieter, “No. I didn’t think at all. I just knew.”
Daniel didn’t speak.
“A glorious monster.” Louis exhaled the words like a confession, though there was no absolution waiting for him. “The epitome of all that was right, and all that was wrong.” His eyes flickered shut. “And I knew, then. I would be damned.”
Daniel let the silence stretch before tilting his head. “And what did you do?” His voice was even, but something coiled tight in his chest. “When you saw him in that aisle, drinking from the man you saw as a path to redemption?”
Louis’ gaze stayed distant, as if he was speaking not to Daniel but to the memory itself.
“I watched him.” His voice was quieter now, the words dragging through something heavier, something deeper. “The candlelight caught in his hair, golden locks obscured by the deep crimson red of blood. His mouth…” A pause. “His mouth was drenched in it.” Louis swallowed. “It was the first thing I noticed — the blood. Not just the sight of it, but the smell – thick, cloying, alive. It coated his lips, stained his chin, ran down his wrists where it pooled in his palms.”
The lamplight flickered. A slow breath.
“And then I moved.”
There had been no hesitation that night. No thought. Only fury, only horror. A desperation so sharp it felt like something tearing loose from his ribs.
“I took out the dagger from my cane.” Louis’ voice was measured, but something ran beneath it, cold and certain. “And as I saw him, glutted, drunken, pupils swallowed in black, I decided to end the monster.”
The flickering light from the lamp caught the depths of his eyes, darkening them, hollowing them out.
"I fought, I stabbed. But he only…" Louis’ lips parted for half a breath before pressing together again. His fingers twitched slightly against his knee. "He smiled. Amused. Like I was a joke only he could hear."
And then, softer, the words still heavy with the weight of them:
“‘Did you think God heard you, Louis?’ he said to me, then.”
Daniel’s breath stilled.
Louis swallowed. “His voice was thick with it. A mocking, indulgent noise. He was taunting me, even as my blade sunk into his flesh over and over again.”
Louis’ fingers were still curled, tension ghosting through them as if the memory lived in his muscles. He exhaled, slow and deliberate.
“And then there was the other priest. A man in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Daniel almost asked if it mattered. If the priest changed anything. But the answer was obvious. The wet crack of splitting bone that Louis had described echoed in his mind like he’d been there to hear it. The force of it, the raw inevitability of it, settled into his chest like a weight. He flinched before he could stop himself.
Louis didn’t embellish. He didn’t need to. The truth sat heavy between them.
“And the priest?” Daniel asked, already knowing.
Louis nodded. His fingers slowly unfurled, like he was willing himself back into the present. “Died that same night. Can you imagine that? Seeing carnage of that caliber as a human man?”
Silence pressed in, thick and immobile.
Daniel should have said something. Should have responded. He should have pulled Louis back from wherever he was sinking. But there was a pressure building behind his ribs, something uncomfortable and clawing. A thought he didn’t want. A memory he refused to acknowledge.
Louis shifted, and for a moment, his gaze flicked to Daniel. Almost as if he had noticed.
Then, barely more than an exhale, he spoke.
“And when his eyes met mine, when he spoke his love song, it was over.”
Daniel swallowed. “Over?”
Louis blinked, slow. “I had never belonged to God. Paul was wrong.” A pause, heavier than anything before it. “I had never been anything but his.”
Daniel absorbed it, the weight of Louis’ words pressing deeper. Familiar, something in his mind whispered.
The fear. The inevitability. The surrender.
The blood.
The knowing.
Something itched at the edges of his mind, too sharp, too vivid.
Daniel had heard the words, but it took him a moment to process them. The room around him felt dim, lit only by the golden cast of lamps, the soft glow of the city beyond the windows. The weight of the night pressed in. Louis spoke again, his voice steady, deliberate.
“He was the devil. I knew it then, from the moment I saw him.” A pause. Louis’ fingers curled slightly where they rested against the arm of his chair. “And yet, he was everything I desired. He was my love, and he was the devil. And still, I let him take me.”
Daniel exhaled, a slow, controlled thing. Something about this moment felt… familiar. But the recognition was distant, slippery. His mind circled it, almost grasping it.
And then he was somewhere else. Some time else.
1983. New Orleans.
The air was thick with summer rain, or maybe it was just thick, heavy with something Daniel couldn’t name. He sat in the corner of a motel room, facing the window, watching the world below move on without him. It was the kind of place where floral bedding faded under years of cigarette smoke, where the walls held ghosts of every stranger who’d passed through. The AC rattled uselessly, its dying wheeze swallowed by the stillness pressing against him.
He should’ve felt alone. He almost had himself convinced he was.
But there was a presence.
Not loud. Not rushed. Just... inevitable.
“I let you have your fun.”
Daniel swallowed. His pulse kicked up, sharp behind his ribs. He curled his fingers around his wrist, grounding himself in the press of his own touch. He didn’t turn around.
He didn’t need to.
The voice was familiar in the way pain was. In the way a scar could ache long after the wound had closed.
He closed his eyes. The air shifted.
A step. Closer.
A sound like fabric moving. Or maybe it was nothing at all. Maybe it was just the pressure of being watched.
Daniel forced a breath. Forced a laugh. “You're making a habit of this.”
Silence. But it wasn’t empty. It was full. Waiting.
He still didn’t turn around.
“Of what?”
“Of following me.”
Nothing. Not at first. But the silence stretched, too thick, too knowing. And then… a flicker. A suggestion of motion at the edge of his vision. Like the air itself folded wrong for just a second.
But Daniel knew that even if he looked now, really looked, there would still be nothing to see.
But the presence remained. Armand remained.
And Daniel could guess that he was smiling.
2022. Dubai.
Louis kept speaking, unaware that Daniel wasn't there anymore.
“-and I told myself I was lost. That I was just another soul dragged to Hell in his hands. But I was the one who knelt.”
Daniel blinked, dragging himself back into the present. He swallowed against the dryness in his throat, cleared it with a quick, sharp breath.
“And did you?” His voice was steady, practiced. A journalist’s voice. “Go to Hell?”
Louis watched him. Just looked.
Rashid shifted slightly from where he stood, just a fraction, but Daniel felt the movement like a hook behind his ribs. He didn’t acknowledge it. Not directly.
Louis didn’t look away. “It felt like salvation. Until it didn’t. But we can get into that at a later time.”
Daniel’s stomach twisted. Not at the words. At least, not just at the words.
At something deeper. At the way Louis was talking about it. The way it echoed.
Louis exhaled, his eyes were far away, unfocused. “The blood makes liars of us all, Daniel.”
1983. New Orleans.
The motel room was too quiet. Too still.
Armand stepped closer. Slow. Measured. Daniel stayed facing the window, forcing himself to breathe past the pressure creeping up his spine. He could hear movement, could feel it.
But every time his eyes tried to track it, there was nothing. No outline. No shape. Just the space around him bending wrong.
The motel light flickered. His own reflection ghosted back at him in the glass, too pale, too strained. And behind him…
There was nothing.
But there was something. He knew it. He felt it in the way the air refused to settle.
Daniel squeezed his eyes shut.
Armand's voice, too close.
“You don’t have to run.”
Daniel barked out a laugh. “That’s funny. Because I’m pretty sure I do.”
His voice was full of amusement, quiet and knowing. “And has it helped? Running?”
Daniel clenched his jaw. He hated that Armand sounded genuinely curious. Like he wanted an answer. Like he didn’t already know.
The silence stretched. The AC hummed uselessly in the background.
And then, another shift. The faintest whisper of movement, and a heat at his wrist. Not a grip. Not yet. Just the ghost of contact.
Daniel, and the world outside, held its breath.
2022. Dubai.
Louis was still speaking. Daniel heard him, but the words were too far away, muffled under the weight of something else. Of something remembered.
Rashid had not moved. But Daniel knew that he was watching. He was a curious thing. Louis’ human servant, human protector, maybe? He decided to make a mental note for later.
Daniel inhaled. Exhaled. Closed his eyes for just a moment.
Then he opened them, and looked at Louis.
He exhaled, slow, deliberate, and leaned back slightly in his chair. “The blood makes liars of us all, huh? That’s poetic, Louis. But it sounds like you still want to believe it means something.”
Louis held his gaze, unreadable. “It does mean something.”
Daniel hummed, tilting his head. “Right. And yet, you’re here, without Lestat, I may add, talking about damnation like you weren’t made for it. Like you didn’t choose it.”
Louis’ jaw tensed slightly. “You think I chose this?”
Daniel shrugged. “I think you knelt. You kissed him on that altar, did you not? You just told me that yourself.”
A flicker of something passed through Louis’ expression. Perhaps recognition, or perhaps something darker. Rashid shifted slightly in the background, but Daniel ignored him. He had no patience for Rashid’s silent presence, the ever-watchful, youthful thing that stood between Louis and the rest of the world.
“You act like it was inevitable,” Daniel continued. “Like it was written before you even had a chance to resist. But tell me something, Louis, who was it that turned to salvation? Who ran to the priests? Who tried to be better? I mean, if Lestat was the Devil,” He said with a laugh, “what does that make you?”
Louis didn't answer immediately. The lamplight flickered again, casting long shadows across his face. “I was a man who thought he could defy the world and win.”
“And?”
Louis exhaled through his nose. “And I was wrong.”
Daniel let the silence stretch. Something cold curled at the base of his spine, but he ignored it. He had spent too many years running from memories only to have them find him in moments like this. But, the weight behind Louis’ words pressed against something in his own chest, something he didn’t want to name.
His fingers brushed over his wrist before he caught himself.
The touch lingered, though. The ghost of something older. Another conversation. Another choice. Another devil.
1983. New Orleans.
Daniel should have left. Should have walked right out the motel door and never looked back. But his limbs felt heavy, weighted with something more than exhaustion.
“You’re seeking salvation in the wrong places.” Armand had said, wryly.
Daniel’s breath was steady, but his pulse wasn’t. He knew better than to let Armand’s words take root. And yet, they burrowed under his skin anyway, sinking in like his teeth, taking hold of him like a leash.
He huffed, shifting in his spot, facing him now, finally seeing him. "Oh, right. And you’re the right place? That it?"
Armand didn’t answer right away. He watched him, orange eyes peering into Daniel’s soul, his very essence. His hair was tousled, unnaturally so, like he had been fiddling with it intentionally. He continued to watch him, and Daniel felt a hand at the back of his neck.
“There is no right place,” Armand murmured, gently caressing the side of his neck, just as he had a decade prior. His voice was just on the edge of patronizing. “But if there was, I imagine it would look something like this.”
Daniel’s jaw tightened, but he refused to look away. “This? A shitty motel room off the freeway? C’mon.”
A quiet sigh. Armand’s lips parted like he might laugh, but he didn’t. “You’ve spent years chasing something you won’t name. And every time you find it, you run.”
Daniel scoffed, shaking his head. "Oh, come on." He snapped his fingers, gesturing vaguely between them. “You can't be serious. This? Armand, I follow you. I run. You follow me, you run. It's how it works, and don't tell me otherwise.”
Armand tilted his head, gaze steady. “Then why are you still fighting me?”
Daniel swallowed, throat tight. His fingers curled against the sheets. He wanted to say it. He wanted to say, I’m not fighting you. I’m begging you. But the words wouldn’t come out right, so instead, he exhaled sharply, shoving a hand through his hair.
“Jesus, Armand. You make it sound like I have a choice.” His voice wavered before he could stop it.
Armand watched him, unreadable, and then, “You do.”
Daniel let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. “No, I really don’t.” He looked at Armand now, really looked at him. The untouched skin, the agelessness, the quiet, infuriating patience. It was all Daniel ever desired. Everyday he found yet another grey hair, and the thing Daniel wanted more than anything, right in front of him, was just close enough to touch. Close enough to take if Armand would just…
“Turn me.” The words slipped out before he could bite them back. And God, they felt good to say, even if he knew they were useless.
Armand blinked, slow. “No.”
Daniel’s fingers twitched. His body ached with it. “Why not?”
“Because I do not turn people.”
Daniel let out a sharp breath through his nose, a humorless smile pulling at his lips. “That’s it? That’s your whole answer?”
“That is my whole answer.”
Daniel turned his head toward the ceiling, laughing like he might lose his mind. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, willing himself to breathe. “You’re so fucking full of it.”
Armand said nothing. Just watched him. Waiting.
Daniel forced himself to breathe evenly, but his chest still felt too tight, his skin too warm, like he was burning from the inside out.
Then, suddenly, Armand moved. A shift, barely more than a breath of motion, and he was closer. Close enough that Daniel could feel the absence of his breath, the coolness of his skin, the way his presence swallowed up the stale motel air.
"You want so many things you can't name," Armand murmured, fingers ghosting over Daniel's wrist, tracing the vein. "But this…" His touch lingered at Daniel’s pulse point. "This, you have always understood."
Daniel’s mouth felt dry. He hated how easy it was for Armand to unravel him. Hated how much of him Armand had already taken without a single drop of blood being spilled.
"I don’t need a fucking lecture," he bit out. "You want me to beg? Fine. I don’t care anymore. Just—"
Armand silenced him with a press of fingers against his throat, not hard, not threatening, just a reminder. A pulse against stillness. A mortal against something that would never be it again.
Daniel exhaled sharply, but he didn’t pull away.
Armand pulled his wrist slowly up to his mouth, and Daniel watched him as he moved unhurriedly.
Armand’s lips parted.
And then he sank down.
It wasn’t like the first time. It wasn't the lulling, horrific thing from a decade ago, not the slip into something too deep, too consuming that Daniel would have never came back from. This was intentional. Deliberate.
The sharp, sudden puncture sent a bolt of heat down Daniel’s spine. His fingers twisted in the motel sheets, knuckles white, breath catching on something between a gasp and a groan.
It was always like this. Always too much. Always not enough.
The pull of it, the slow, measured taking, wasn’t just pain. It was surrender. It was power, and it was loss, and it was something that made Daniel feel alive even as it drained him.
He barely noticed his own hands moving until they were at Armand’s shoulders, gripping too tight, nails pressing into silk. And then, before he could think better of it, before he could ask for permission or hesitate…
He bit down.
It didn't work, his teeth too blunt to actually slice into Armand's skin. Armand noticed this, and made a slice into his neck using his nail for Daniel to drink from. Daniel latched to it, craved its taste.
It was ruinous. It was messy.
It flooded his mouth, too rich, too much, too everything. He choked on it, on the sharp, metallic sweetness, on the way it spread through his limbs like heat curling at the edges of his nerves.
The blood spilled, catching in the moonlight, before landing on the bed. It was a carnage, and any normal man would have thought he was witnessing some unholy sacrament, the kind only monsters could understand.
But then again, wasn't it?
The sheets drank it up greedily, staining deep, a violent contrast against cheap motel linen. The air hung thick with copper, sharp and cloying, seeping into his skin, his breath, his very being. His hands twitched, fingers aching to grasp at something solid. Anything to tether himself back to reality. But reality had shifted. It slipped between the cracks like the blood now pooling in the creases of his palms.
He drank with a newfound reverence.
Armand didn’t stop him.
He let him drink. Let him take. Let him understand.
Until, with a shudder, Daniel pulled away first, gasping, unsteady. The room tilted. His fingers clenched and unclenched against Armand’s shoulders as if trying to keep himself grounded.
Armand exhaled, slow, a flicker of something satisfied curling at the edges of his lips. He slowly pulled off Daniel's wrist, no blood to be found on his lips or clothes.
“See?” he murmured. “You have more of a choice than you think.”
Daniel’s pulse pounded. His lips felt numb, tinged red. He could still taste it. The copper, the fire. It was both warmth and hunger, something that made his heart beat like it didn’t know if it was supposed to keep going or stop entirely.
He swallowed.
And then, quietly, hoarsely, he said, “Fuck you.”
Armand only smiled.
2022. Dubai.
Daniel blinks, dragging himself back into the present. The weight of the past still sat on his ribs, but he forced himself to push it down, to lock it away. He rubbed his wrist, subconsciously, feeling the nearly non-existent marks there.
Louis was still watching him. Waiting with that insufferable patience.
Daniel forced another smile, but it felt thinner this time. “So that’s it, then? You’re damned? No takebacks?”
Louis tilted his head slightly. “And if I said there were?”
Daniel let out a breath, slow. He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake the weight of the memory pressing into them. “Then I’d say you’re still lying to yourself.”
A flicker of something appeared in Louis’ gaze. Interest. Or maybe recognition. Either way, Daniel didn’t let himself linger on it.
His fingers curled slightly against his knee, phantom warmth still lingering against his wrist. The memory was one he wasn’t ready to name.
The room tilts, not literally, but in his mind, in the space between then and now. His hands feel too warm, his skin too tight, the ghost of a touch still lingering at his wrist.
He swallows hard.
And then he sees it. He sees him, sitting there, behind Louis, basking in the quiet ascent of the sunrise.
He sees the angle of his head. The way his fingers brush over his hair, smoothing it back, effortless, practiced. The stillness, the patience. The quiet, knowing curve of his lips.
It’s the same. Exactly the same.
His breath catches in his throat.
For a second, all he can hear is the rustle of motel sheets, the way blood dripped onto cheap linen, soaking deep, staining beyond repair.
For a second, all he can feel is the pull of something sharp at his wrist, at his throat.
For a second, Armand is sitting across from him, moonlight catching on his cheekbones, eyes bright, watching him as if waiting for him to finally understand.
And then the moment snaps.
The man in front of him, Rashid, tilts his head, and the world shifts, settles, locks into place.
Daniel exhales shakily, his fingers curling into fists. His pulse hammers in his ears.
He knows who he’s looking at now.
Armand watches him.
And he smiles.
Louis, seemingly unaware of the realization that just slammed into Daniel like the force of a thousand tidal waves, continued on. “—I fell to my knees before him. Not out of worship, but ruin. I knew, even then, on that altar, surrounded by all the carnage, that there was no salvation left for me.”
Daniel barely heard him then. His pulse pounded against his ribs. His hands trembled at his sides.
Louis had fallen to his knees, exchanged blood with someone, created an unbreakable bond. And so had Daniel – more than once.
The unfortunate truth was that Daniel had spent years running from it, burying the memory beneath cheap whiskey, cocaine, heroin, and half-finished stories, pretending he hadn’t let himself be bound by something far older and far more patient than he would ever be.
The motel room in 1983 was just one of many. The blood was just another inevitability. But now, with Louis’ words hanging heavy in the air, the past wasn’t content to stay locked away. It was clawing its way back, demanding recognition.
His fingers twitched against his knee. His mouth felt dry.
Louis kept talking, unaware of the war raging behind Daniel’s eyes.
“You think you understand it,” Louis murmured. “But you don’t. Not yet.”
Daniel swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus, to listen, to push past the way his wrist still burned with something that wasn’t there.
And Daniel knew, with sickening certainty, that Armand had been waiting for this moment.
Waiting for him to remember.