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Lestat was livid. Rage burned through his veins, freshly filled as they were with the boy’s blood. He would find another way to keep Louis, he had to. There was simply no way that his lover -he should really stop calling Louis that, the last time they had relations was back in the 19th century- would still despise him enough to let the boy die in order to avoid him, that was simply preposterous!
He knew deep down, too, that he would have to change as well in order for Louis to want to stay, but he ignored that fact for the time being.
For the time being, he had to keep the boy alive for just long enough for him to force Louis into a dilemma, one that would force him to turn the boy himself. Once turned, Louis’ bleeding heart would almost certainly give in and he would be compelled to help the fledgeling he had spawned himself, Lestat was certain. They would raise the new spawn as their own, -there was no way this one was fully grown, he still carried that telltale spindly-limbed look of adolescence- and show him the ways of the dark gift in ways they did not with Claudia. This time, Lestat would ensure that there would be no reason for the boy to stab him in the back.
As he waited for Louis to arrive to the carefully set trap in the dilapidated house, he regarded the boy’s face. He was young, clearly, just past his majority at most, probably younger. Perhaps he was a young journalist, a dropout from mandated education, who had minutes before been striking gold with his interview with a vampire. He was smaller, too, than Lestat had noticed at first glance, and possessed a shock of dark hair that seemed to be the sort that never complies with the way that one combs it.
It was a necessary evil, really, that he had drained the boy first. Whether his reasoning had been for his own strength or to subdue the -at the moment clearly terrified- journalist, Lestat wasn’t quite sure, but it was certainly doing him favours now. He would certainly be stronger than Louis, if push came to shove, given his superior age.
Not that he wanted to harm Louis, really, but it would certainly make things a lot safer for him.
Lestat laughed, a sound hauntingly similar to the ringing of funeral bells, and curled a lock of his golden hair around a finger. This was truly like the disaster that Claudia turned out to be, only this time he knew how to conduct the entire thing. This time, he would not be overcome by a fledgeling, would not have so little control over his pawns. He would make sure of it.
His eyes traced the bite mark on the boy’s neck, following the little rivets of crimson running from the four distinct punctures. It wasn’t bleeding profusely enough to kindle concern yet, -the anticoagulant properties of his saliva weren’t quite back to their state when he was “alive”- but he admitted in hindsight that he may have taken too great of a drink from him to be entirely safe.
Lestat sighed and instinctively checked the long-dead grandfather clock that stood morosely in the far side of the room, wondering when on earth Louis would show up. Surely he had followed the boy after he expressed his wish for immortality (Lestat had cut short his totally-not-stalking expedition shortly after that topic was brought up)?
Lestat hated to think how foiled his plan would be if Louis hadn’t. If it never occurred that the boy had been tailed by Louis, then he would have been to far away to catch the scent of copper , which still notably carried the tantalisingly sweet scent and taste of children’s blood, Lestat noted. As much as he loathed to admit it, he detested to imagine another millennia without the melancholy bastard.
He spent what must have been a little over three hours waiting, and it almost worried him when the boy’s heart began to slow dangerously, to which he elevated the boy’s legs upon the chair, but his hardships paid off in the end. The first thing that told him of the younger vampire’s presence was the scent of brandy and bergamot that he , embarrassingly enough, had grown to love over the centuries that he had kept him by his side. No sound alerted his ears, he had taught Louis well after all. Not that he seemed to ever notice- sure, there were lots of things Lestat kept secret and to himself, but Louis had always had a thirst for knowledge and meaning beyond that which Lestat was logically able to give safely without him leaving.
“Lestat.”
It was a statement, and Louis’ tone was as cold and calculating as neutral went before it became cruel.
Lestat grinned a catlike smile, his sharpened teeth fully displayed.
“Louis. We meet again.” He paused, chuckling. “How long has it been? A decade?”
“I followed the smell of blood.” Louis half-answered. He cocked his head in curiosity. “He’s not dead?”
“I couldn’t kill one so young!” Lestat exclaimed, feigning remorse for all the good it did. Louis would probably not believe a word out of his mouth anyway.
“But he’s dying, Lestat. He had his whole life ahead of him, he’s still a lad!”
The older vampire repressed a satisfied smirk.
“Is he now? And I suppose you’ll let him die?”
Louis shifted on the spot, clearly uncomfortable.
“You led him to me, Louis, and I was truly famished, I could not help myself but indulge in the temptation of such fresh blood!” Lestat continued tauntingly. It was clearly working- Louis’ eyes kept flitting to the boy’s bleeding neck, his shoulders tensed.
After a few moments of anticipation so thick you could cut it like butter, he finally acted, moving to kneel next to the boy in one fell swoop. His fingers flew to the pulse point of the jugular, and Lestat had to refrain from sneering at Louis’ mortal coil holding him back so. Of course he would be frightened of the boy dying, only he would be capable of such a meaningless and weak-hearted act towards saving the life of a mere human. It would have made Lestat want to be sick, if that could even happen anymore.
“You have a choice, my little fledgeling.” That was a name that Lestat hadn’t used in centuries, and it stirred up a lot of things neither most certainly weren’t ready to address.
Louis too stiffened at the nickname, but it was clear to Lestat that he was listening. Of course he was, the gullible bastard. How stupidly trusting.
“You can let him die. He has but moments left. Or…” Lestat drawled, “you may turn him, and teach him the ways of his dark gift.”
Lestat pretended that he didn’t see the tear running down the younger vampire’s anguished face. The sight disgusted him.
“Cruel are you, Lestat de Lioncourt.”
“Cruel is a but a perspective, Dear Louis.” Lestat responded, brushing aside the none too gentle accusation. Louis would be by his side forever, he had all the time in the world for him to come to love Lestat. He just had to be patient.
“You want me to turn him.” Louis spoke with hatred, jaw tensed.
“No, Louis- always must you assume my malevolence! I have nothing to do with this,” he gestured lazily to the bloodless boy on the floor, “you want to turn him.”
Louis shook his head in disbelief, his deathlike, porcelain features contorted in a horrified expression most unbecoming of his status.
“Do you want him to die because of you?” Lestat snapped, his expression suddenly cold and hard and bitingly cruel. After a few moments of tense silence, his features softened into that akin of someone who had just become privy to juicy gossip, a perfectly feigned knowing look in his eye.
“Oh Louis,” he drawled mockingly, a laugh skirting his voice like a breeze, “you’ve overcome your mortal coil! You’ve rid yourself of that laughable love of the living which I hated so!”
He pouted, the spitting image of a hunter whose hounds have made an exceptionally good kill.
“I’m proud, my little fledgling.”
Louis grimaced, whether at the ultimatum-type predicament or at the use of his old nickname, Lestat couldn’t tell. The younger vampire watched guiltily as the boy began to stir, his eyelids fluttering barely open enough to see.
“Louis?” The boy whispered weakly, his voice broken and cracked like that of a person on the brink of dying from consumption.
Louis froze for a second, and it appeared that his brain had temporarily disconnected. Lestat would have even worried he was having a stroke, if that weren’t impossible for a vampire.
“Louis…” he spoke again, but was cut off by said vampire.
“Listen to me and listen closely, do you wish to receive the kiss of immortality?” He was frantic and trembling barely noticeably, and he gripped the boy’s shirt at the collar as if it would help.
Tears moistened the boy’s eyes, a pearlescent sheen over their unfocused expression. It would have been barely perceivable to a human, -it was subtly even to the both of them- but the boy shook his head with great difficulty, croaking a strained “No.”
Louis swore softly and Lestat grinned gleefully to himself, watching him tear himself apart over this decision. He clearly had a soft spot for the odd little human, and Lestat was greatly enjoying every moment of his nearly tangible anguish.
What must have finally pushed him over the edge was when the boy’s laboured breathing became a ragged rattling sound and his eyes drifted to a thousand yard stare.
“NO!” Louis cried out in horror as soon as he detected the change, and he swooped over the boy even further than he had been standing before. He muttered a quick prayer, an old habit, and then followed with something about begging forgiveness, before creating a neat tear in his wrist.
Lestat couldn’t help but feel a rush of joy at the sight. Louis let it bleed in deep crimson onto the floor for a moment before he did anything, as if to check for an impurity in his blood, before he pressed the cut to the boy’s parted lips.
It took a moment for it to take effect, the boy’s seemingly dead pallor and stillness remaining for dangerously long, long enough for Louis to grow antsy about a nonexistent mistake during the process. However, as soon as the blood had taken effect, the boy’s eyes flew open from their half-mast state, and his hands clamped tight around Louis’ wrist, drinking deeply like a man finding water after a month in the desert.
Louis gritted his teeth against the sharp pain, trying in vain to pry the boy’s fingers from around his wrist, but to no avail. It grew to a point where Lestat nearly became worried, sitting up in the armchair he had found in his wait for Louis’ arrival. At the moment where Louis’ knees buckled, Lestat sprang forth to claim the position of saviour, gripping tight around the back of the boy’s neck.
His reaction was instantaneous, ducking his head into his shoulders, his arms flying up to protect the delicate muscle of his neck. Louis scrambled back, gasping for breath and applying pressure to the cut until the skin knitted itself back together, eyes wide but not with fear.
Lestat relinquished his pinching grip on the boy’s neck, letting him fall to the floor. He writhed in agony as his mortal body began to die, his thrashing limbs clearing the thick layer of dust in a remarkably accurate mockery of a child creating a snow angel, if the child were a little Victorian ghost in a rotting manor having an epileptic fit.
Finally he went still and his eyes opened. They seemed sharper now, and he took in the ceiling first, with his vampire eyes, before he sat up, and then the walls, Lestat, and finally Louis. His eyes filled with recognition and then hurt as he gazed at the younger vampire.
“Why, Louis?” He asked softly, his voice thick with betrayal.
“Why?! Why did you do it?!” He was shouting now.
Louis simply bent his head in guilt and shame, ignoring the burning stab of pain through his motionless heart. A single tear dripped down his deathlike face. That was the third time he had cried in only the past half-day, and he could not remember the last time he had before that, for how long ago it was.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I did this to you, it was selfish and cruel of me to keep you alive for the sake of my conscience. If it even counts as alive.”
Lestat chose that moment to swoop in behind the boy, and take his shoulders in hand, his touch gentle and calming in nature.
“I’m sure this is all rather terrifying, but we can help you. We will teach you the ways, and you will come to love your immortality.” He reassured the boy, who was still breathing. He could learn later that it wasn’t necessary to breathe anymore, Lestat figured, and made a mental note to teach that at a better time.
“We will show the boy how to live, won’t we, Louis?” He reiterated, placing heavy emphasis on the ‘won’t we’ to pressure Louis, who nodded numbly, still in shock at what he had just committed. He was now, effectively, worse than Lestat, and he despised himself for it. Lestat given him the choice, yet he on the other hand had simply torn away the boy’s mortality on his own whim, his own selfish desire for a clear conscience. He nodded sullenly.
It was just like they had done to Claudia oh so long ago, but nothing would ever be the same as it was, and the boy would hate him forever and ever yet still bind him to Lestat like the the devil to a contract.
And here it was, and he hated the world all the more.