For a moment, it seems as if Louis will not disengage. That these minor, unmistakable means to dislodge him only strengthen the force of the bite, jaws bearing down harder. Blood drools down his chin. There is nothing behind his eyes, just blown pupils and Louis himself gone away with his pain.

And then, with a wet gasp, Louis' jaw goes slack.

Lestat is permitted to draw his arm back.

The hunger is not sated, only quieted. The pebbles shift as he begins the process of struggling free.

One thing at a time, Lestat had cautioned. Here is the next: get out of his coffin. He is alive. Claudia is dead.

The anger coalescing in his chest leaps higher, unencumbered by hunger.