Louis doesn't break free of him. All the fury and panic and hunger, it doesn't vanish. It only smolders, banked and heavy in his chest. His head falls forward, blood-smeared mouth pressed in against Lestat's throat. Hungry like digging claws in his belly, fangs sharp in his mouth but kept free of Lestat's neck.

Claudia is dead. A constant, endless refrain. Louis' thoughts snag, stuck, coming endlessly back to her screams.

Slowly, like rising smoke, guilt. Deepening even as he takes this small comfort, hand closing slowly in the back of Lestat's vest.

"Should've left me in there."