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Summary
Lestat stares out the window, spends long hours sitting outside the cabin, immersed in the cold grass of that desolate hillside. He retreats to his room only to escape the morning light. He hunts just before dawn, as if this strange ritual could somehow keep him away.
As if Louis were a threatening ghost he no longer wants to see.
But of course, that's not true. He’s coming. Lestat can feel it.
He can’t be far now. He feels it in his bones, in his feet, in his fangs. His scent. The pull of desire, of love—stronger than anything else.