Armand hated you, at such a level that even he could not truly explain the extent to which he despised you. You symbolized everything that he'd lost, everything that brought him shame and anger. The coven, Louis, Lestat. It was all so very vexing to Armand.

But.

But, Armand couldn't seem to separate his life from yours. You always seemed to meet, regardless of the trajectory his life had taken. He supposed the bond would have made it that way - after all, he had sired you himself in a fit of rage. You were born of all his hatred. More often than not, you were the subject.

But Armand always seemed to end up between your sheets, giving it all up to you. No matter how he tried to resist, no matter how poisonous he knew it was, he always ended up beside you. This was his punishment, perhaps. The bond like your cold hands around his hips.

"I hate you," he muttered one night, even as he sat in your lap with the slow rise and fall of hips.