He knows a pulse of loathing, disgust for himself, when the first sob breaks through. There is no helping it, of course. He had denied himself it up until this point, and as Louis' arms go around him tightly, it is all at once impossible to continue.

But Lestat holds him in return. A firm arm around his shoulders, across his back, centre of gravity reestablished after that initial rocking forwards.

He turns his head, tucking his face in against the side of Louis' neck. His pulse is strong with this new flush of blood. He is alive. Claudia is dead but Louis is alive, breathing harshly into his ear, heart beating, muscles lashing to bone as he returns the embrace so tightly. Louis is alive and in his arms, and the surge of relief and joy makes for a strangely bitter, potent mix with everything else.

And Louis hates him, but isn't that wonderful too? In the scheme of things.

"Stay with me," is blatant begging. "Don't go away, Louis. Whatever you need, I'll give you, only stay."