Page 19 of Caller of Crows

The pleasure was almost too much to bear, and when Altair's fangs sunk into the skin of his inner thigh, Sven couldn't help but cry out.

He woke with a jolt and a raging hard-on.

Fuck.

The aftereffects of the dream left his mind so addled, that for a solid minute, he had no idea where he was or how he'd gotten there. Even after a minute—and a good look around—he still struggled to piece together the finer parts of what the hell was going on.

For one, he wasn't in the blood donation room anymore, but he wasn't in his previous room either. This room was larger and more luxurious—as was the bed.

Sven couldn't remember how he got here, but what was even more mysterious than that was the fact that he was not alone in the room. He wasn't even alone in the bed.

Still, Sven had to admit that the sight of Altair sleeping was almost beautiful. He looked more at ease than Sven had ever seen him. He wondered if the vampire was dreaming, and for a second, he wanted to reach out and touch his cheek, just to know what it felt like. The thought that he absolutelyshouldn'tonly made him want to do it more.

He didn't, of course.

His head was still swimming from the vivid dream, and he was not thinking straight. He was in a vampire coven, and he was having pervy thoughts about the vampire lying next to him.

Was Altair naked under the covers?

No, no, no.

Sven shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thought. He needed to stay focused and alert.

He looked down on himself. He didn't know about Altair's state of undress, but someone had stripped him down to his underwear while he was sleeping. His heart pounded in his ears at the thought of Altair doing that to him while he was unaware, defenseless.

Had the vampire touched him more than necessary?

Probably not.

Hoping to shake the thought, Sven took a deep breath and forced himself to turn away from Altair and look around the room. There were no windows, but two doors, which were probably locked. Not that Sven necessarily wanted to escape. If that had been his plan, he should have taken Keegan up on his offer.

Besides, he was being watched.

A single crow perched on a dresser on the other side of the room, its black eyes locked on Sven. It didn't make a sound, but it didn't have to. Its presence alone was enough to make Sven shiver.

Whatever he did, this crow would surely tell on him.

Looking away from the bird, Sven's gaze caught on a picture frame on the nightstand. A family of four.

He assumed the two adults were Altair's parents. The man's features were pinched, but the woman looked a lot like Altair. She smiled down at the two boys in front of her, one a little taller than the other, both with black hair.

The picture looked old but not centuries old, which made him wonder about Altair's age. He'd heard that the Caller of Crows was young to be leading a coven, but how young exactly?

Sven nearly jumped when the body next to him stirred.

The vampire was awake, dark eyes studying Sven from the side as if he was searching for something.

Sven cleared his throat. "Good morning," he said, since he had no idea what to make of the situation, and the need to say anything at all became too overwhelming to ignore.

Behind Sven, the crow cawed into the silence.

Altair glanced at the bird, then back to Sven. "Good morning," he said, his voice strangely neutral. He didn't move, but Sven could sense his tension.

Sven shifted. "How long have I been asleep?"

"A few hours." Altair's gaze roamed Sven's body. "You didn't take the blood loss well. I'm glad to see you've regained some color."

Sven stared at the vampire. Was that how he'd ended up in Altair's room? He'd fainted and then Altair had taken him here to… keep an eye on him?