His glasses would be a lifesaver but there were other changes that he knew he wouldn't be able to hide from her. He should turn away and leave, pretending that he hadn't seen her and just merge into the crowds of people in Paris. There were enough of them, he could do it easily, but he just couldn't look away. He also couldn't stop his feet from carrying him closer to her even though his instincts screamed at him to move away, to go and leave. This would do nothing but bring him great pain and he knew it but it was unavoidable.

"Bonsoir mon amour. It has been a long time, no?"

Dracula holding her as he drained her.

She suddenly found it hard to breathe, her heart started racing

No, it couldn't be.

Mina slowly pulled back and felt dread as she took in his hands, and his eyes through the dark specticles.

Mina felt her hands shaking as she went to remove them and saw his changed eyes.

A sob left her, "No...no, no, no....not to you, Lestat.....Anyone but you."

And then she found it very hard to breathe, and started clawing at her dress.

There was the slightest flinch when her hands moved to take hold of his glasses and remove them. It was over. She knew and yet he still wanted to protect her from what had happened to him. That desire was still there and he didn't believe it would ever really disappear. Her sob broke more of his heart again and he wanted desperately to hold her hand and tell her that all would be okay, but he couldn't lie to her. It was not okay. It would never be okay again, not as if it had ever really been to begin with. Magnus had destroyed his future and his former life, and Lestat could only regret one of those.

"I'm sorry." Lestat didn't even known exactly why he was apologising. He hadn't done anything wrong that had resulted in his fate. The only mistake had been to be excellent, to be that shining light he had always longed to be after the cloud of the Auvergne had been removed from the sky above his head. If he had been smaller, more diminished, quieter and less like the sun itself, then Magnus would not have chosen him. That was perhaps indeed his fault, that was the wrong he had committed, and yet he could not have gone back and changed that even if he had been given the opportunity. He could not have made different decisions because that would still have been a death.

Then, she was clawing at her dress and he wouldn't let that happen. He reached out and took hold of her hands then, holding them as gently as he could, keenly aware of how easily he could shatter the bones in her hands.

she'd felt the distance between them when eh stepped back, took in his nails and his eyes, and struggled to breathe as she remembered Dracula's own inhumanity as he'd held her down and tried to force the change.

There was only one solution that she could think of and she didn't like it. That thing that had done this to her and done it to Lucy and killed Jonathan, he'd had to have gone after Lestat.

Him apologizing didn't even make sense to her. Had it changed Lestat and seen her in the memories and come after her? Did Lestat bear that burden that he'd inadvertently told Dracula where she was? Because how could that be his fault?

She flinched when he took her hands, feeling shock at the coldness in his strong hands. It'd been years since she'd seen him, since she felt his hands as they hugged her, as they held her....but it was till him....but with the chill and her understanding of why they were so cold, it wasn't.

She was being dreadfully emotional right now and people were starting to look. She closed her eyes at the pouring tears and the ragged breathing and gathered herself so she could. The gulping gasps of air finally eased and her body finally pulled in air, her mind cleared of the panic though the blood rushed in her ears

"We must talk then," she said weakly. And in some means of comfort to show she didn't blame him for Dracula coming for her if that was the case, rested one of her seized hands on his, "It's clear something has happened."

Firm grasp of the obvious, she had.

"You must believe me, I will never hurt you intentionally." There was a fierce current of strength to the admission. He could control himself enough that if he craved the blood, he would be able to remove himself and find it from someone else. He could modulate his strength, if she let him touch her. It could work for the short period of time they would be together before he had to leave. It would ruin him to leave her, but he knew it needed to be done. She had to be safe, she had to be as happy as she could, and he had never been meant to share in that happiness. He knew that now. There had once been dreams and wishes, and now there was nothing. He knew and that knowledge settled like an iron weight in his stomach.

She cried and Lestat could have cried with her, but he had to stop it. He could not let her see him cry, could not let her see that even his tears had changed and were now blood. She had flinched at his touch but that had not compelled Lestat to let go of her hands. No, he held them still and squeezed gently, just as he had done to comfort her before and just as she had gone to comfort him. His body had changed, his entire life had changed, but he was still the core personality he had been before. He was still Lestat and he always would be. Nothing would change that.

An expression of sheer, devastating hope crossed his features when she told him that they needed to talk. It was so selfish of him to continue to desire her company, and to feel the surge of positive emotions at the fact that she was at least willing to speak further with him. He let go of her hands and nodded his head. He replaced his glasses and gestured with a hand for her to go ahead of him and guide him. Unsurprisingly, she had already figured out where they needed to go and, as ever, Lestat was content to follow.

"I know this isn't the time or the place but you are still so beautiful Mina."

The Lord has chastened me severely,     but he has not given me over to death. (Psalm 118:18)

Lestat was no stranger to Nicolas' peculiarities and he appreciated them as being part of the wonderful man that he loved. He would do anything he could to support Nicolas. There was little that his lover could ask him for that he would deny. So, when Nicolas had woken from a fitful sleep, pale and shaking, Lestat was there and wrapping his arms around him. He held Nicolas tight to him and pressed soft kisses to his temples, his cheeks, his nose and then his lips.

"I'm here. I'm here for you." His voice was tender, his love for Nicolas shining through the words and his actions. He had learned never to say that it would be okay because he couldn't guarantee it. There were demons who lurked beneath the surface of Nicolas' mins that Lestat couldn't destroy, much as he wanted to.

Nicolas stirred like someone waking from the bottom of a fever‑dream, breath catching in his throat as though the air itself had turned against him. The bedsit around them was a damp little coffin of a room—plaster peeling in long curls from the walls, the faint smell of mildew rising from the warped floorboards, rain tapping against the single cracked window as if Paris itself were trying to get in. The night’s chill seeped through everything: the thin mattress, the threadbare blanket, even Lestat’s shirt where Nicolas clutched it.

For a moment he didn’t speak. He only pressed his forehead to Lestat’s collarbone, trembling, letting the warmth of him anchor the pieces of his mind that had scattered in sleep. When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide with leftover terror.

“Don’t—” His voice broke, soft and hoarse. “Don’t let go yet.”

He swallowed, trying to steady himself, fingers curling in the fabric at Lestat’s shoulder as though it were the only solid thing left in the world.

“I woke in the dark and it felt like… like the walls were closing in again. Like the whole city was pressing its weight on my chest.” A shaky breath. “I know it’s foolish. I know it’s only my mind playing its cruel little tricks. But when I opened my eyes, I thought I was alone.”

He leaned in, brushing his nose against Lestat’s cheek, seeking reassurance in the smallest contact.The candle on the bedside table guttered, throwing a wavering glow over the water‑stained wallpaper and the two of them tangled together on the narrow bed. Nicolas exhaled slowly, letting the warmth of Lestat’s arms seep into him, letting the rhythm of his lover’s breathing drown out the remnants of nightmare.

He did not know what had brought such fear to Nicolas, but Lestat knew that he would do anything and everything to make it better. He understood well enough that the terrors of the night and of dreams, especially those that were memories, was powerful and it would take time to leave. Lestat would hold him till the earliest rays of the sun intruded on their happy little rat hole as Nicolas had called it several times.

His dream sounded terrible and Lestat could understand why it had been so distressing. It would have been like being buried alive in a coffin. Lestat lightly shuddered at the thought before he rallied himself together and sternly reminded himself that this was about Nicolas.

"You won't ever be alone. I'm not going to leave you, and the city isn't going to come down on your head. This roof, maybe? But we can always find somewhere else." Lestat had deliberately injected the lightest touch of a dark humour that Nicolas would be more likely to appreciate.

He moved just a fraction, enough that he could capture Nicolas' lips in a brief kiss. There was no heat to it or urgency or demand. It was simply a kiss intended to provide comfort and reassurance that Nicolas was not alone and he never would be alone, not as long as Lestat was breathing.

"And miss out on your cynical observations on the state of the world? Absolutely not."

@minaharkerdailymirror

He had not expected this from Mina. That was not why he had told her, confessed the truth of all that had happened on that night so many years ago. He did not like to manipulate others emotionally when he could avoid it. He wanted her to stay because she wished to, not because she felt compelled to do so. And yet, once the admission had been made, he had been unable to stop himself reaching out to her. He took hold of her hand and gently stroked it, the motion repetitive and soothing. He was trying to soothe himself. He couldn't look at her as he did so, fearing that the blood tears would well up and spill down his cheeks and she would be reminded of exactly the monster that he was. She should have killed him all that time ago and yet she hadn't been able to. For all they had been to each other before, it was impossible for either of them to contemplate truly striking the other down. He was a monster but he was still some semblance of Lestat, the boy she had played with in the orchard. He had suffered, and so had she, and yet they had found their way back to each other.

He’d known what she’d been through, she’d told him straight off. Because sometimes his touch or his weight on her had felt like Dracula and she froze or started crying…and Lestat comforted her.

but what he had been through was far worse, dear God.

When Lestat reached out and took her hand, Mina fought tears for him and watched been through. She rested one of her hands on his cheek when he began stroking her hand.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she told him quietly, “I’m staying because I want to. Who on earth has ever made me do what I never wished to do?”

Plenty. But that wasn’t the point.

That was one way of putting it.

Lestat knew what it was like to be haunted by memories of his past.

He was now being haunted by the very ghosts themselves.

His younger self, curled up and crying against the wall with blood trickling out of his nose and bruises blooming on his face.

Gabrielle coughing and spitting out blood, frail and yet still defiant.

Gabrielle leaving.

Nicolas, hair wild and eyes manic, smiling viciously with bloodied teeth.

The flames arcing higher and higher while the demon within pounded his malice with his feet against the floor and the laughter mingled with Lestat's own anguished cries.

He had felt so alone and he couldn't be alone anymore. He needed Mina.

"I don't know how to make it stop," she whispered. Well, she knew one way but she could never do that, not to him. He was the last good thing she had in this world.

Mina Went to prop herself up on the pillows and she becked for him to come lay on her, "Come here."

The show would go on.

When she had situated herself and told him to come to her, Lestat did exactly that. He curled up beside her, his head resting on her chest, and he matched his breaths to the reassuring, steady thump of her heart.