Page 71 of Caller of Crows

There was something about the vampire that pulled him in, something Sven couldn't resist. As tempting as it was to think that Altair might be compelling him somehow, Sven knew the pull he felt was coming from inside of himself. Something deep within his core yearned for the vampire, ached for him, and no matter how much he fought against it, that yearning was always there, hovering just beneath the surface.

"I'm not saying that I want to leave you," Sven said, reaching for Altair's shirt and brushing his fingertips over a hole in the fabric, inches away from a blood stain. "I get that it's not safe for me to run around among vampires, but you're making me feel like your captive, and that's not what I want to be."

Altair said nothing, so Sven raised his eyes and met his.

"You were there for me when I needed you last night," Sven went on. Even though the events of last night blurred together in his mind, he clearly remembered the kindness Altair had displayed. "I know you can be better than you think you are, and together we could be—"

"What?" Altair interrupted him. "We could be what, Sven?"

Sven didn't blink. "Everything."

The word hung in the air between them, charged with possibility, heavy with unspoken meaning.

Altair's jaw tensed, and he reached out to grasp Sven's wrist, gently pulling it off his shirt. "You don't need me anymore," he reminded Sven quietly.

Sven's stomach twisted. It was true, wasn't it? His mother was dead, and so he no longer had any reason to stay with the vampire.

Sven turned away from Altair. His chest was aching again. His heart hurt. His eyes stung. He closed them for a moment, squeezing his eyelids shut until spots exploded behind his lids. He didn't want Altair to see him break down, but what the vampire said was true.

The only reason he'd wanted to become a vampire was to save his mother, and now his mother was dead.

"If I offered to turn you now," Altair said, "would you still want me to?"

Sven hesitated, and he hated himself for it, because he saw the moment his uncertainty registered with Altair. He watched the vampire pull back, the brief softening in his gaze becoming masked by indifference.

No, this wasn't how this was supposed to go.

Sven reached out for Altair again, grabbing his arm.

What the fuck was wrong with him? Why was he so torn?

No, he knew why.

Because his mother had told him to make his own way, but he had no idea where to go or what to do. All he'd known was that he had to save his mom. Now there was no saving. There was only him, and the emptiness inside him that felt so strangely suffocating that it was hard to breathe.

Altair touched Sven's hand on his arm.

When their skin connected, Sven found that the tension within him eased somewhat. When the vampire caressed the back of Sven's hand, he grew warm inside, and a feeling of safety crept over him, just like last night when the vampire had held him close.

He was fucked up, wasn't he?

Altair still hadn't promised himanything.

"Why couldn't you have made me that offer earlier?" he asked, hearing the way his own voice turned sharp. If Altair had turned him before last night, there might have been something Sven could have done for his mom. He might have found some way to convince her that immortality wasn't the cursed thing she made it out to be.

"Because it wasn't really what you wanted, then." Altair drew back. "Just like it isn't really what you want now."

Sven glared at the vampire, frustration clawing at his insides. "Stop telling me what I want," he snapped.

"I didn't tell you, I asked you, and your lack of enthusiastic response was answer enough."

"Only because you asked too late!" Sven insisted. "You don't get to act like none of this is your fault now. My mother didn't have to die."

"All mortals have to die."

"Yeah? And if it was me?" Sven demanded. "Would you let me die?"

For a fraction of a second, there was no mask over the vampire's face at all. No shield to cover his vulnerability. Sven could plainly read the emotions the question evoked, and they shocked him. Altair looked like Sven had slapped him across the face with a spiky club. The expression disappeared in an instant, replaced by coldness, but it was already etched into Sven's mind.