A sharper breath in, before he sinks down. Obeying without feelings of obedience, gladly fitting them back together as Armand kisses Daniel. The contact feels certain and sure of his own welcome, and like it is going to be one of many such instances, and like it is the first time again. His hand, smooth and warm against Daniel's cheek.

New ones are so fragile. Armand knows this better than most. The amount of times he has flicked a glance at one, focused in on the core of them, and set them ablaze like they were made of tinder and dry straw—scarcely effort on his part.

And now there is this one, immortal but fragile. He has never cared for one. He can't begin to fathom the idea of the true ancients waking, so he can at least take some comfort that by the standards of the active vampire populace, his presence is armor enough.