Formosus stood at the corner of the bed, his body completely still, hands at his sides. For a moment Lestat merely stared at him in mute wonder. The beauty confused the issue. He decided to raise things up a notch. His life had become so boring of late - why not stir things up? In any case, he was feeling slightly annoyed to have his usual place in the spotlight usurped.

"Answer me, dear little man!"

Finally Formosus spoke: "You decide, Lestat."

"Decide what?"

"Seduction or battle," replied Formosus flatly.

"All right then, let me try the latter. And I do this because you obviously have taken my Louis somehow, brought him to you. I return and he is changed and -"

"Lestat," Formosus interrupted, "I really wish you could understand. I do not take anyone 'away,' I give them a gift, a feeling of happiness of -"

This time it was Lestat's turn to interrupt, but there were no words. Using the power of his mind, he struck Formosus and threw his body across the room, into the brick and plaster wall. Formosus' head hit with a crack and he crumpled to the floor, a great swipe of blood trailing on the wall above him.

Out in the yard, Louis flew towards the door. Marius caught him and held him still. Like the younger vampire, he had felt the power of Lestat's blow and the accompanying wave of pain.

"Let them be, young one," Marius said firmly, trying to be strong, as he knew he must.

"But he is being hurt!" Louis cried between his tears. "Lestat could kill him!"

Marius shook his head. "No, Louis, I do not believe that is so. Formosus is powerful and not in one way only."

Louis stopped struggling in Marius' arms. "Yes, I experienced that earlier tonight," Louis said softly. "He has a gift."

"Indeed he has. And believe me, Louis, that gift will save him."

Marius took Louis in his arms, hoping that this was true.

Meanwhile Formosus lay on the floor. The wound in his head had already healed and now his face and hair were covered with sticky, drying blood. He did not move, nor did he defend himself when Lestat continued his attack, kicking his sides, stomping on his hands. Formosus did not stir, even when blood tears were escaping down his cheeks by the dozen, mixing with the blood from his head.

All at once Lestat stopped and moved back with faltering steps. Looking at the scene before him, his mind went back to that awful night so long ago in Paris, at the Palais Royale, when Armand had seduced him, tried to draw his blood, betrayed him. That night he had beaten Armand to a pulp. Armand had been the stronger of the two, and yet he had allowed it. Afterward Armand lay broken on the ground like a smashed china doll. There had been no protest, no fight, only resignation. He had been beaten. Was this what had happened now? Was this one beaten? Lestat realized that the wounds were already closed but in a deeper sense, had he wounded this creature?

A silent voice startled him. No, you have not. The voice was beautiful, musical. Again he remembered Armand, this time the songs he had sung to him in those early days, songs across the miles, summons of the heart and soul. I have let you wound me, only to show you that I cannot be hurt. And to show you how much I love you.

Lestat grew dizzy. Was Formosus creating a spell? No, that couldn't be, he was too strong to be controlled against his will, without his knowledge. Yet looking down at Formosus, something in that expression, covered in blood, was turning his heart. Speak to me again, he said in his own silent voice.

Ask and you shall receive, sighed the voice in its timeless beauty. Lestat thought suddenly of Magnus, who had said the very same thing, just before he brought him into this life of darkness. When he had received that blood, he had no idea what it would mean. Or that the giver of that blood would perish that very night.

"Lestat," broke in the voice, now spoken with lips and not the mind, "I understand how you feel about Magnus."

"You do?" asked Lestat, unperturbed that his thoughts had been read.

Truly I do, replied Formosus.

"And not just from the books?"

"No, Lestat, I mean I understand what it was like, to be made like that, without the companionship of one's maker, alone in the world."

"I hadn't thought of that. You, Marius and I, all made my powerful, dying vampires needing heirs."

"Yes," Formosus said heavily. "I envy the likes of Louis, Armand, Benji, Sybelle... Made in love, brought in consciously, living to know their makers..." His words trailed off. He shook his head violently. "Not that I would have wanted to know my maker," he sighed. "It was only the idea I wanted to share... of being without a maker."

"But you must have made up for this later. Tell me about your children, Formosus," Lestat said soothingly, unprepared for the look of pure pain he saw in the visage of the young man before him, suddenly so stricken, as if he had received a fatal shot to the heart. What had he said? His thoughts raced. Akasha! She had killed his children! And he had forgotten this and had -

"No, Lestat," Formosus said quietly. He reached out and grasped Lestat's hand. Lestat slipped down to the floor and rested beside the by now healed body. "No, Lestat, they were not killed during the catastrophe." He paused. "I have no children and never have."

Now Lestat was truly sorry. How could he have brought this up so casually? He had simply thought it a given that a 2,000-year-old vampire would had to have given the world at least a few more vampires, if not dozens. Even Armand had made one. And Louis had made Madeleine, if only against his will. But to be completely alone, without companions, for that long? For Lestat this seemed an impossibility.

"You are fortunate, Lestat," Formosus said, obviously reading his thoughts again. "Not all of your immortal companions have lived on and certainly you have been through a great deal of pain on their account, but all the same, they were there for you when the mortal world pressed on you. And then of course you had the others, people like Marius, Armand, and finally after the catastrophe, a whole coven of vampires. Despite the fights, cruelties, conflict, you knew what it was to be with others of your kind. You shared the silent voice with them, you experienced the night together.

"For me, it was one lonely night after another. Either that or a night cavorting among humans, pretending that they could sustain me for eternity when in fact I knew what I needed most in the world was the company of equals. People with whom I could share my love, truly and deeply and forever."

Lestat watched as yet another tear trailed down Formosus' cheek. Leaning forward, his kissed the tear, tasted the blood. Powerful blood. Lestat kissed Formosus full on the lips. "Not anymore, Formosus, not anymore will you be alone. Not like that." He took the delicate hands in his own and kissed them. He gathered the smaller body in his arms and rising slowly, set him down on the bed.

He understood everything. Marius' unabashed love for this creature. When he had first seen it he had thought it was purely a matter of Formosus being from the time of Rome. Now he saw the perfection of the union, how Marius was getting the fledgling he was never able to have, and how Formosus was gaining the maker, the lover, he had not had since he was mortal.

And Louis, this one had come to Louis purely to love him and to experience another of his kind. To share his soul, his body, and make up for his years of empty longing, not to mention the centuries of dying under the ground. He had come to Louis and loosed his chains. Lestat wondered what surprises Louis would have in store for him and he smiled.

"He is a wondrous creature, your Louis," Formosus said quietly. "He makes me happy."

"He makes me happy, too," replied Lestat. Shifting gears: "And is there a way for me to make you happy, lonely little Formosus?"

Formosus nodded and smiled. "Yes, let me draw you close." Before Lestat knew what was happening, he felt himself pulled down onto the bed, not by hands but by the force of a powerful will. "Lestat, I want us to be together now. I will take you and you will take me."

But of course, sighed Lestat inwardly as he felt the first kiss.