'What do you know about love, Lestat de Lioncourt?'

Crunch. Right into Armand's face. Front teeth jam loose of gums, his nose crumples, blood rushes out of splits in his skin, out of gored cuts inside of his mouth, it forces red up and out of one eye, the pressure is so great. The back of his skull cracks where it's smashed so solidly into the asphalt beneath it.

His eyes stay open.

Armand yanks the blond vampire away from him. Up, a hundred invisible iron hands, heaving him into the air and then flinging him. Where, who knows. Aimless. Armand will heal, he is fine, technically, and he pushes the mangled ruins of his tongue up against misplaced teeth to help them back into place, lifts shaking hands to guide his nose back together. He'll need to sleep to to fix it entirely. Unpleasant, but interesting. It is so difficult to feel, sometimes.

'Love is devotion. No one has been more devoted to Louis than I have. You can chase after him for the next century, and the century after that, and you won't match it. You won't know him like I've known him. You never will. I can call him right now. He won't turn me away.'