Page 16 of Viktor's Temptation
Dave considered Derrick for a moment, assessing whether he could trust him with the truth. The man was all brawn, his neck thicker than Dave’s thigh, which usually meant his intelligence left something to be desired. But desperation clawed at Dave’s chest. He needed answers—or at least ideas.
Finally, he sighed. “We’re building an army.”
Derrick’s face remained impassive for a beat, then his brow furrowed. “Why?”
Dave’s lip curled, his irritation barely concealed. “Because someone is paying me—a lot of money—to take over Lord Viktor’s clan.”
The color drained from Derrick’s face. His usual nonchalance vanished, replaced by something much closer to horror. “What the hell?” he growled, his voice low and tense.“You didn’t tell me the goal was to take over the entire East Coast Clan!”
Dave arched an eyebrow, watching as Derrick began backing away.
“No way in hell,” Derrick continued, his voice rising. “I’m not signing up for something that suicidal!”
Dave let out a derisive snort. “What the hell are you so afraid of?”
“Lord Viktor!” Derrick snapped, his tone sharp. “You wouldn’t believe the stories I’ve heard about that man. Nobody messes with him! Literally no one on this planet would dare to challenge him.”
Dave advanced on Derrick, snarling. “Except me.”
Derrick stared at him, unblinking. Then, to Dave’s irritation, he muttered, “No,” and turned away, heading for the exit.
Dave sighed, pulling a silver dagger from the sheath in his boot. He twirled it casually, the blade gleaming in the dim light. “You no longer have a choice,” he said, his tone mocking as he closed the distance. “You’re already in too deep. You will help me finish this.”
Derrick didn’t even glance back. “No way,” he said, his voice tight with determination. “I’m out.”
Dave shook his head, chuckling darkly. “You’re a fool, Derrick. Do you really think you can just walk away?”
Derrick’s hand was on the iron door handle when he froze, a searing pain exploding in his back. He turned his head slowly, his face contorted in confusion and agony.
Dave watched impassively as Derrick’s massive body crumpled, his expression a mixture of contempt and mild interest. The silver dagger gleamed in his hand, Derrick’s blood staining its edge.
“What…?” Derrick rasped, his vision blurring as he staggered. His strength failed him as the pain spread, burning through his body like wildfire.
Dave tilted his head, observing Derrick’s collapse with the detached curiosity of a scientist watching an experiment fail. As Derrick’s body hit the ground, it disintegrated into a puff of dust, leaving nothing behind but a faint smear of ash on the floor.
With a sigh, he turned back to the pile of corpses. “Useless,” he muttered, shaking his head. “The lot of them.”
He knelt down and stared at the small pile of ash where Derrick had collapsed. Carefully, with a gloved hand, he plucked the silver dagger from the remains, sliding the blade back into the sheath in his boot. He didn’t bother to wipe off the dust. Helikedthe idea of the ash from every vampire he’d killed lingering on the blade, mixing with the next victim. It was poetic in a way that appealed to him, like the legacy of each kill building on the one before.
Dave smirked. The weapon was a talisman of his power, a silent witness to the fear he inspired in others. The realization in Derrick’s eyes, the moment the big oaf understood he’d been betrayed—thathad been delicious. Dave only regretted thatDerrick hadn’t lasted a little longer. A slow death, a bit more screaming, would have been much more satisfying.
“Pity,” he murmured, dusting off his hands as he stood. He turned his attention to the heap of bodies scattered across the room. His gaze flicked over the corpses like a connoisseur inspecting flawed artwork, disdain curling his lip.
Grabbing two bodies with ease, he dangled one by the ankle and the other by the wrist. Their lifeless forms swung limply as he addressed them. “I don’t think you tried hard enough to survive,” he scolded one, his voice dripping with mock disappointment. He turned to the other with a sigh. “And you—very selfish of you to die. Do you have any idea how inconvenient this is for me?”
Without another thought, he swung both bodies into the incinerator, watching as the flames roared to life. The stench of burning flesh filled the room, but Dave barely noticed. He stared into the flames, captivated by the way the bodies crumbled, their existence erased in moments.
“The last set of you idiots ended up in a dumpster,” he mused aloud, his tone conversational as though chatting with old friends. “And what did that get me? A new urban legend. ‘The Dumpster Serial Killer.’” He barked out a laugh, but it quickly turned bitter. “Pathetic! Humans really are the most unimaginative creatures. Couldn’t they have come up with something with a little flair? At least make it sound like somethinginterestinghappened.”
Dave sighed, shaking his head at their mediocrity. He hadn’t meant for those bodies to be discovered, assuming they’d vanish into the endless cycle of garbage trucks and landfilldumps. Clearly, that system was flawed. Hence, the incinerator. This new site might be smaller, but its convenience for disposal outweighed the cramped conditions.
As he grabbed another corpse by the hair, he glanced at its slackened face. “You had potential,” he muttered. “Too bad you couldn’t handle the pain.” He tossed the body unceremoniously into the flames, his face impassive as the fire consumed it.
Trial and error was a necessary part of the process. Humans were easy enough to capture—pathetically gullible, always lured by promises of money, romance, or a better life. He just needed to find the right ones, the strong ones, who could survive the brutal transition. And if not? Well, there were always more humans.
He paused, watching the flames for a moment before grabbing the last body. “You, though…” he said, almost conversationally, lifting it up by the shoulders. “I thought you were going to make it. Disappointing, really.” With a dramatic sigh, he swung the body into the incinerator and shut the heavy door.
His gaze swept over the now-empty room, save for a few bloodstains and the faint traces of ash on the floor. “Clean as a whistle,” he murmured, brushing invisible dust from his gloves.
