Page 113 of Caller of Crows
Altair's finger traced over the line of Sven's jaw before dipping lower along his throat. "Would you have believed me?"
"I'd like to think I would have," Sven murmured.
Altair blew out a breath. "When you came to me in the park, when you smeared your blood on my lips…" He shook his head. "I told myself I took you captive so you wouldn't go to another vampire who would treat you worse, but in reality, I couldn't let you go once I'd had a taste of you."
Sven raised his hand to Altair's face, cupping it softly. "I'm glad," he murmured, watching as a million emotions flickered through the depths of Altair's dark eyes. "I can't believe you killed your sire for me."
"I'd kill anyone who dares to touch you," Altair whispered darkly. "And I'll never let another vampire feed from your vein."
Sven swallowed, his chest suddenly tight at the words, but to belong to Altair, wholly, completely, forever… The thought warmed him to the core. He placed his hand on Altair's shoulder. "Drink from me," he said softly.
"You're tired and still recovering." Altair's voice grew concerned, but Sven didn't miss the spark of desire flaring up in his eyes.
"That doesn't matter," Sven said. "If you don't stop drinking."
"Sven…"
Sven's heartbeat kicked up a notch, the thought of becoming a vampire doing strange things to his pulse. But he wanted this. He wanted it so badly that it almost hurt to wait. "Do it," he whispered. "Turn me."
Altair studied Sven for a long moment, and Sven stared back, laying himself bare before his vampire, leaving nothing hidden.
Slowly, Altair's eyes began to glow again and his fangs grew longer. "Are you sure?" he asked Sven. "Because this is not a decision you will ever get to change once done."
"Yes," Sven whispered. "I want to be yours, forever."
For several seconds, Altair seemed at war with himself. He clenched and unclenched his fists, and his lips kept moving, as if he was internally debating whether or not this was the right thing to do.
Sven reached for his hand and threaded their fingers together. "Thisiswhat I want," he emphasized.
Finally, Altair nodded and drew Sven against him. His lips brushed over Sven's pulse point, sending shivers down Sven's back as they lay tangled together, completely skin to skin. Then Altair sank his fangs into Sven's throat, piercing the flesh effortlessly and drawing a groan of need from Sven.
After that, time seemed to lose all meaning. The sensation of being fed from by Altair blurred Sven's vision and wiped every thought from his head. There was no room for fear or worries. Altair was here; Altair would keep him safe; Altair would make sure he would survive his transition to a vampire.
So Sven closed his eyes and gave in to the feel of Altair's mouth on his throat, the way Altair pulled Sven tightly against him, and how he drank long and deep from Sven's vein—and did not stop.
When blackness finally started to creep along the edges of Sven's consciousness, he surrendered willingly to the abyss that awaited him.
He would awaken as a new man. A creature of darkness, a vampire.
But more importantly, he'd wake in Altair's arms, as his mate.
ChapterThirty-One
Sven's mind floated on a sea of warmth as myriad unfamiliar sounds and smells reached him. His whole body felt different, sharper, heavier. Every cell ached with exhaustion, yet there was an electric current of energy humming inside him. His skin tingled and the air felt harsh against it, too cold, too rough.
The only thing familiar to him was Altair's presence, strong and steady next to him. "Shh," the vampire murmured as he cradled Sven's body against him, gently stroking his fingers through Sven's hair. "You're doing great."
Sven opened his mouth to reply, but his voice failed him.
"Drink."
Something warm dripped on his lips, and he flicked out his tongue to lick up whatever was offered to him. The coppery tang of blood met his taste buds, and his entire focus was immediately drawn to it.
"That's right," Altair encouraged him. "Don't stop drinking until it's all gone."
The scent was intoxicating, the taste addictive, and Sven could not have stopped himself from gulping it down even if he'd wanted to.
By the time Altair withdrew, Sven was buzzing with life and some of the tension in his muscles was easing. His eyelids still refused to obey him, though, and his fingers didn't want to move either. His gums itched.
