“You waste time, Lestat.”

“Oh, but for this, one must take time, David, it’s the very last time that time really matters.”

I drew closer to him, deliberately letting his scent fill my nostrils, deliberately letting the scent of his blood come to me, and awaken the desire in me which cared little who he was or what I was—the sharp hunger for him that wanted only his death. The thirst twisted and snapped inside me like a great whip.

He stepped backwards. I saw fear in his eyes.

“No, don’t be frightened. You think I would hurt you? How could I have beaten that stupid little Body Thief if it hadn’t been for you?”

His face stiffened all over, eyes becoming smaller, his mouth stretching in what seemed a grimace. Why, how dreadful and unlike himself he looked. What in God’s name was going on in his mind? Everything was wrong about this moment, this decision! There was no joy, no intimacy. It was wrong.

“Open to me!” I whispered.

He shook his head, eyes flashing as they narrowed again. “Won’t it happen when the blood flows?” Brittle, his voice!

“Give me an image, Lestat, to hold in mind. An image to hold against fear.”

I was confused. I wasn’t sure I knew what he meant.

“Shall I think of you and how beautiful you are,” he said tenderly, “and that we shall be together, companions always? Will that bring me through?”

“Think of India,” I whispered. “Think of the mangrove forest, and when you were most happy … ”

I wanted to say more, I wanted to say, no, not that, but I didn’t know why! And the hunger surged in me, and the burning loneliness mingled with it, and once again I saw Gretchen, saw the pure horror in her face. I moved closer to him. David, David at last … Do it! and be done with talking, what do the images matter, do it! What’s wrong with you that you fear to do it?

And this time I caught him firmly in my embrace.

There came his fear again, a spasm, but he did not truly struggle against me, and I savored it for one moment, this lush physical intimacy, the tall regal body in my arms. I let my lips move over his dark gray hair, breathing in the familiar fragrance, I let my fingers cradle his head. And then my teeth broke through the surface of the skin before I meant to do it and the hot salted blood flowed over my tongue and filled my mouth.

David, David at last.

In a torrent the images came—the great forests of India, and the great gray elephants thundering past, knees lifted awkwardly, giant heads wagging, tiny ears flapping like loose leaves. Sunlight striking the forest. Where is the tiger? Oh, dear God, Lestat, you are the tiger! You’ve done it to him! That’s why you didn’t want him to think of this! And in a flash I saw him staring at me in the sunlit glade, David of years ago in splendid youth, smiling, and suddenly, for a split second, superimposed upon the image, or springing from within it like an unfolding flower, there appeared another figure, another man. It was a thin, emaciated creature with white hair, and cunning eyes. And I knew, before it vanished once more into the faltering and lifeless image of David, that it had been James!