Page 91 of Caller of Crows

Good.

Forcing his anger down for the moment, Altair turned to leave. There'd be plenty of time to punish Mordyn once he had Sven safely back in his arms where he belonged.

For now, Sven came first.

Even if that meant letting the little shit get away with betraying Altair's trust. Even if that meant Altair had to defy the daylight.

Hell, Sven was worth it. Altair didn't care if he ended up as a pile of ash. He was getting his mortal back.

* * *

When Sven woke, he felt dizzy, like his head had gotten too heavy for his shoulders. Everything seemed foggy. Groggy. His mind moved slowly and even blinking his eyes open felt like it took too much effort.

"You're awake," a male voice observed. It wasn't a voice Sven had heard before, but it still sounded familiar somehow.

He blinked several times, rubbing his face against the surface he found himself leaning on, which was… smooth. Stone? It was cold against his cheek and smelled kind of dusty.

It smelled like dirt.

Confusion swirled in his mind.

Where was he?

He pushed himself up on shaking arms, wincing when they ached with strain.

God, he was so weak.

Fighting against the shivers running up his spine, he focused on the space around him, searching it with his eyes. He was in a small room, square-shaped, and… underground? The air felt cool on his skin. There were no windows, just stone walls surrounding him on every side. A single oil lamp sat on the floor to his right, and it seemed to be the only source of light in this place.

A dungeon, perhaps?

What the actual hell?

Finally, Sven looked at the man who'd spoken earlier. He was tall, pale, and black-haired, wearing a pair of blue jeans and a crisp white shirt. He didn't look threatening, exactly, but he did exude power from his lean frame. Power, and confidence. He looked a lot like Altair, except his features were softer somehow, less sharp.

Realization hit Sven like a rock.

"Are you…" His throat was so dry speaking became painful, but he forced himself to form the words anyway. "Are you Nephariel?"

The man gave him an appraising look. "So, you've heard of me." His gaze lit up with interest. "I didn't think my brother mentioned my name anymore."

Sven stared at him silently, suddenly feeling very afraid. He'd been scared the first time he'd met Altair, but this was different. There was no thrill of excitement coursing through him, no arousal. Only fear.

This wasn't a vampire he could negotiate with. The way Nephariel looked at Sven, he didn't see Sven as another person. He only saw Sven as a food source, and he was going toeat, unless Sven thought of a way out. He needed an escape route or a weapon orsomething.

He had no idea where he was, how he'd gotten there, or where to even start. But he had to do something. Fast.

Nephariel grinned at him then, showing off his perfectly white fangs. "I can hear your heart beating faster, you know. It makes the blood pulse under your skin." His tongue ran over his lips. "Pulsing blood smells so much sweeter."

Sven shuddered.

Oh God.

This wasn't good. It really, really wasn't.

Suddenly, Sven regretted everything. Escaping from the coven, leaving Altair's protection… thinking he'd be safe in the daylight. "How did you catch me?" he asked, more to keep the vampire talking than anything else. Maybe if he distracted the guy enough, he'd have time to think of a plan.

"It wasn't particularly hard," Nephariel answered. "All it took was hiring a little help. I may not be able to brave the sun, but I don't have to do everything by myself. Given enough money, people will do anything for you. And I've made a lot of money lately." He grinned. "You're going to help me make some more."