Page 25 of Caller of Crows

But Altair remembered the calculated gleam in Sven's eyes as he drew a knife across his palm, smearing his blood over Altair's lips. Sven knew exactly what he was doing. Temptation made flesh.

Truth be told, Altair had thought about sleeping in a different room today, but he didn't want to show weakness. Who was he to let a mortal dictate his actions?

From the first time he'd laid eyes on Sven, though, he'd known that Sven was different.

Special, somehow.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, torn between desire and restraint. His fingertips traced the curve of Sven's cheekbone, the warmth of his skin sending shivers up Altair's spine.

He'd felt that warm himself when the first drops of Sven's blood had touched his lips. He'd forgotten what it was like to feel alive until that moment.

Sven stirred slightly, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, but he did not wake. The sight of him lying there, so vulnerable and yet so tempting, tested Altair's resolve to its breaking point.

Before he knew what he was doing, against his better judgment, he leaned down to smell Sven's neck, feeling the steady thrum of his pulse beneath the skin. The scent of blood swelled around him, filling his nostrils and making his head spin.

His lips grazed Sven's skin, touching it ever so lightly, and at that moment, Sven made a small noise in his sleep.

"Can't resist, can you?" Sven murmured.

Altair's gaze snapped to Sven's face. The mortal's eyes were open now, studying Altair. Judging by the sleepy look in his eyes, he hadn't been awake for long, but his brain was quickly coming online, assessing the situation and trying to spin it to his advantage. He wasn't alert enough yet to guard his thoughts, and Altair could practically see the mortal's plan as it formed in his head.

Sven wanted to use this situation to try to seduce Altair once more.

No.

Altair reconsidered what he was seeing in Sven's mind. Images of him and Sven together, intertwined, naked, with Altair's fangs in Sven's neck and Sven's cock in Altair's hand.

Sven wasn't making that up because he wanted to tempt Altair. It was what he'd been dreaming of before Altair woke him.

That realization gave Altair pause.

"You dreamed of me."

The scent of adrenaline tinted the air between them, but Sven didn't look away. "Can I keep nothing private?"

"Were you trying?"

The mortal swallowed, and Altair felt his gaze drawn to the movement of his Adam's apple. It was clear that Sven was scared, somewhere deep down—as he should be. Sven continued to push past his fear, though. To help his mother? Or because he was just as drawn to Altair as Altair was to him?

Finally, Sven shook his head. "I wasn't trying."

"Your confidence will be your downfall," Altair warned, trying to regain control of the situation.

"Maybe," Sven said, voice growing fiercer. "But it's gotten me this far, hasn't it? You want me. I know you do."

"You think you can manipulate me."

Sven drew in a breath as if steeling himself for his next words. "I woke up with your lips on my neck. I don't think I need to manipulate you."

Altair couldn't deny the truth in that statement. Even now, he wanted to drink from Sven more than anything.

"Do it," Sven urged as if he could read Altair's thoughts the same way Altair read Sven's.

And Altair found himself utterly unwilling to resist the offer. He leaned in, his fangs grazing Sven's throat. Sven shivered, the scent of his fear mingling with the scent of his desire. Altair could feel the wild beating of his heart beneath his lips, and then his fangs broke skin.

The taste of Sven's blood was just as intoxicating as Altair remembered it, sparking a hunger deep inside that rose up to consume him as his body warmed and came alive, buzzing with lust and desire.

But it was Sven's sigh of satisfaction that truly made Altair want to devour him whole. It was such a small sound, and yet it spoke of such complete surrender that Altair couldn't resist but take everything the mortal offered to him.