"How did I find you?" Nicolas just repeated the question with justified incredulity. "About the same way I'd find the sun if I could find a way to bear it."

Burning him in the same way, but what was burning to him, who had been ash? What was pain other than a sign of being alive? He was laughing again, quietly under his breath. And just like a switch being flipped, he stopped. He let himself fall down on top of Lestat, useless hands burying in his hair and for the first time he wished he wasn't wearing the gloves, because years might have passed and he might have died, but he could still recall how Lestat's hair felt between his fingers.

"Bleed for me." It was a demand, not a question, followed by another vicious whisper, just before he sunk his teeth into his skin. "I hate you."