The warm press of Lalo's palm is enticing still, despite everything else. In some other context, he might venture a lingering touch, one of those glances of fingertips on the release easily put down to his European manners.

But the invitation to go with him reminds Lestat of why he can't, for the time being. He releases Lalo with nothing more than a slightly rueful smile, waving his other hand in a flutter of regret.

"I have more condolences to give," he demurs, as if he's given any condolences at all, "So the spoils are yours tonight."