[ Lestat's shoulders shake in laughter, the memory of her frustrated ire enough to send him back to sensations of that time, and obviously with what he knows now he's wondering just how far they could have pushed each other if Lestat hadn't been so quick and so hungry to get what he wanted out of it. A lesson in that kind of self-restraint wouldn't go amiss if there were such sweet rewards available... ]

Ah, I'm afraid not. [ He's a little surprised by her question, but he can estimate why she might be asking. ] It's all in the connection between the beat of your heart and I; the pull of life into myself. I don't have to bite you, it could be a cut on your arm, a tear at your wrist... but it has to be something that will flow and not drip, something I can draw from you in mouthfuls. A cut to your finger wouldn't produce enough blood to do any more than tease me.

[ Which. Isn't a bad idea. ]

Are you worried about me seeing something else in your mind?