The sound of a dwindling heart beat, the deep gulping down of blood, weak breathing. Lestat, standing, waiting, nails digging into his palms.

Then, a step forwards, and another.

"Chéri."

The endearment comes without thought, pure reflex, as if its been no time at all since the last time he said it. When he follows the next instinct, it's with more trepidation, a hand going out to touch high on Louis' back, to go and take his shoulder in hand and encourage him away from his prey.