The swoon is the best part, mon ami. It's euphoria, utter and complete pleasure, contentedness in a way your mortal brain cannot comprehend. It forces anything you've ever felt before to pale completely; it's an extreme you cannot imagine until you have experienced it.

[ He watches Demyx closely, watching for the tick of his pulse to increase as he feels the fear of a vampire with intention... but as he sits and listens, he hears nothing. No flex of blood, of muscle being flooded from the heart -- ah yes, that makes sense, doesn't it? No pulse because there's no heart to beat in his chest. Lestat suddenly wants to press his hands to his chest and his throat to be sure for himself. He holds off though. For now. ]

You are right to be afraid, but not of me making you as I am. There are conditions to such a thing; I have to want to do it, and I must have your permission.

[ A pause, then he laughs a little, very low, almost like he's telling an inside joke. ]

But you know, there are ways to feel the swoon without becoming like I am. Just a taste, that's all.