It is weird to be able to feel everything again so vividly, when Armand had so often pacified him to get him to cooperate. (You'd hurt yourself if you fought, the ancient vampire had hissed at him on one flight, sitting so close to him, like he was fucking worried.) He's glad he can feel it all, though, even if it's fucking him up. He'd rather just know.

The monster that lives inside of him now — that is him now — is starting to scream, ears ringing, near panic at the idea that blood is being offered and he's not taking it. Daniel's considerable experience with managing cravings and fits is the only thing keeping him lucid. The part of his brain that could say I know you want more heroin today but we're going to have to go to work and make himself cooperate has survived transformation.

But even that's hanging on by a bare fucking thread.

"Alright." Alright. God help him. "How the fuck do I .. fucking do this."