Page 8 of Caller of Crows

Keegan shook his head. "If Alt took my advice…" He didn't finish the sentence. Instead, he turned to leave the room.

"Wait," Sven stopped him.

The vampire shot him a questioning look.

"I need a bathroom," Sven admitted, though he loathed to admit it. He was only mortal, though. Vampires might not need to empty their bladders, but Sven wasn't so lucky.

Keegan regarded him for a moment, and then he laughed. Sven half-expected him to suggest that Sven piss in a bottle, but then he opened the door and motioned for Sven to follow. "Come on, then. You're lucky there's a bathroom on this level if I remember correctly. We clean it every so often for visitors."

Sven wrapped his blanket around himself and followed. As they walked down the dimly lit hallway, Sven couldn't help but feel unsettled by the eerie silence that pervaded the place. It was as if all the vampires were sleeping or gone. Or partying in the nightclub above.

What time was it, anyway?

Had the sun already risen?

Down here, there was no way to tell how long Sven had been gone.

Keegan led him to a small bathroom, gesturing for him to go in. "I'll wait outside," he said.

Sven nodded and went inside, locking the door behind him. As he relieved himself, he tried to calm his racing thoughts.

How was he going to convince Altair to turn him? He didn't even know where to begin. Sven splashed some water on his face and stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror. He looked tired. Defeated, in a way.

Except that he wasn't. Hewasgoing to make this work.

He left the bathroom and found Keegan waiting for him outside.

"Feeling better?" the vampire asked.

Sven nodded.

"I'll talk to Alt and see if you can have a more accommodating room if you're staying with us long-term."

"Thanks," Sven said, though he couldn't help feeling suspicious. Why was this vampire being so kind to him? What did he stand to gain?

Sven didn't voice his questions, but he didn't let his guard down either. Not even when Keegan left him alone.

If he was going to survive his stay in this coven, he needed to be wary of everyone and everything.

ChapterThree

The dimly lit back room of the Rubyville nightclub pulsed with the faint echo of music, blending seamlessly with the distant chatter of patrons. A haze of smoke hung in the air, illuminated by flickering candles that cast eerie shadows on the walls. At a worn wooden table, Altair sat, flanked by his three closest confidants: Keegan, Mordyn, and Iskander. Their faces were tense, brows furrowed, as they discussed the most recent developments in the coven.

"Alt," Mordyn began, his green eyes flashing with concern, "Mortal blood has become too damn rare. We need to be super careful about who we sell to, and who catches wind of the fact that we have a live source."

"Agreed." Iskander tapped his fingers rhythmically on the edge of the table. He was the tallest of the four friends, and the most imposing. "If this information falls into the wrong hands, we're in trouble."

Altair considered his two enforcers, Iskander's stern features and dark hazel eyes, and Mordyn with his deceptively small stature. They were right, of course. He'd known that from the moment he decided to take the mortal in his possession. Hell, he'd known that before he'd made that decision.

Sven was too much trouble.

But he'd taken the mortal in now, so he'd find a way to deal with that trouble.

The taste of the mortal's blood still lingered on Altair's lips as he turned to Keegan. "You talked to him," Altair said. "Did he say anything of note?"

Keegan shrugged. "He wants to be turned, of course. Thinks he can be useful to us."

"Useful?" Mordyn scoffed. "He's obviously more useful to us as he is."