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Summary
The blood on his body is dry and crusted, tracing paths like rivers climbing mountains, from his abdomen to his throat. It then splatters—like sparse, fervent, melting snow—across his face, up to the bridge of his nose.
Lestat flinches, then freezes.
His breath is so heavy it becomes audible, and then seems to turn into a serene sigh.
“It’s not your blood,” he concludes, relieved.
“No, it isn’t, baby," Louis agrees. “Can I come over there?”OR
After dealing with Bruce, Louis cannot help himself, but go to Lestat.
