The heady splash of Armand's blood against his tongue, the way it soothes as it goes down, feels as much like a reward as anything else. It probably was, he guesses distantly, when he was young and human.

He'll take all the care and coddling Armand wants to offer right now, and after a few mouthfuls of blood, he pulls his mouth back just enough to press a lazy kiss to the wrist wound. "I love you," he says, the words tumbling out free and easy.