Merrick by Anne Rice

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    How much easier it was to spend hours in the company of Lestat, who never spoke anymore, who lay still in a half sleep, listening to music, having been waked by it and now lulled by it, a vampire who craved nothing more?
    How much easier to roam the city in the company of Louis, my weaker and ever charming companion, seeking out victims and perfecting the “little drink” so that we left our prey dazzled and unharmed? How much easier to remain within the sanctuary of the French Quarter town house, reading with a vampire’s speed all the volumes of history or art history over which I’d labored so slowly when a mortal man?
    Merrick merely looked at me with obvious sympathy, and then she reached out for my hand.
    I avoided her touch because I wanted it so much.
    “Don’t back away from me, old friend,” she said.
    I was too confused to speak.
    “What you want me to know,” she said, “is that neither you nor Louis de Pointe du Lac will ever give me the blood, not even if I beg you for it; that it can’t be part of any bargain between us.”
    “Bargain. It would be no bargain!” I whispered.
    She took another drink. “And you’ll never take my life,” she said. “That’s what makes it a bargain, I suppose. You won’t ever hurt me as you might some other mortal woman who crossed your path.”
    The question of those who crossed my path was too troubling to me for any good response. For the first time since we had come together, I truly tried to divine her thoughts, but I could read nothing. As a vampire, I had great power in this respect. Louis had almost none. Lestat was the master.
    I watched her drink the rum more slowly, and I saw her eyes become glazed with the pleasure of it, and her face soften wonderfully as the rum worked in her veins. Her cheeks were reddening slightly. Her complexion looked perfect.
    Chills ran through me again, through my arms and shoulders and up the side of my face.
    I had fed before I’d come here, or else the fragrance of her blood would have clouded my judgment even more than the excitement of this intimacy clouded it. I had not taken life, no, it was too simple to feed without doing it, attractive though it was. I prided myself on that. I felt clean for her, though it was becoming increasingly simple for me to “seek the evildoer,” as Lestat had once instructed—to find some unwholesome and cruel individual whom I could fancy to be worse than myself.
    “Oh, I wept so many tears for you,” she said, her voice more heated. “And then for Aaron, for all of your generation, leaving us suddenly and too soon, one after another.” She suddenly hunched her shoulders and leant forward as though she were in pain.
    “The young ones in the Talamasca don’t know me, David,” she said quickly. “And you don’t come to me just because Louis de Pointe du Lac asked you to do it. You don’t come to me just to raise the child vampire’s ghost. You want me, David, you want my witness, David, and I want yours.”
    “You’re right on all counts, Merrick,” I confessed. The words spilled from me. “I love you, Merrick, I love you the way I loved Aaron, and the way I love Louis and Lestat.”
    I saw the flash of acute suffering in her face, as though it were the flash of a light from within.
    “Don’t be sorry you came to me,” she said as I reached out to take hold of her. She caught my hands and held them in her own, her clasp moist and warm. “Don’t be sorry. I’m not. Only promise me you won’t lose heart and leave me without explanation. Don’t break away from me hurriedly. Don’t give in to some skewed sense of honor. If you did, my sanity might actually break.”
    “You mean I mustn’t leave you the way I left Aaron,” I said thickly. “No, I promise you, my precious darling. I won’t do it. It’s already much too late for such a thing.”
    “Then, I love you,” she announced in a whisper. “I love you as I always have. No, more than that, I think,