Page 36 of Viktor's Temptation
Gracie’s mouth set into a determined line. “Then let’s make it precedented.”
Her words hung in the air, full of defiance and hope. Then, her eyes widened, and she turned to Viktor. “There were nine people in the pile?”
“I think so,” Viktor replied. “I had one of my people catalog the remains. I can confirm the exact number.”
He turned to Jace, who shook his head grimly. “The charred remains we found are harder to quantify. Not unless we collect every fragment and run DNA testing. And even then…”
Gracie nodded, her thoughts churning visibly. “I don’t know if the number of people being... turned—” she paused, searching for the right word—“is significant. But let’s assume it is.”
“The number might simply be dictated by the available space where the transition occurred,” Viktor suggested, though his tone lacked conviction.
“True,” Gracie allowed, pacing again as she chewed over the idea. “However, what if the number nine isn’t just about space?” She stopped and turned to face Viktor directly. “How many vampires would it take to overthrow your leadership?”
Viktor’s jaw tightened, his expression hardening with an edge of protectiveness. “It won’t happen,” he said firmly, the confidence in his voice unwavering.
Gracie couldn’t suppress a small grin at his absolute certainty. “Of course not, but theoretically, how many would it take?”
Viktor considered the question, his gaze distant. “I don’t know. My leadership has never been challenged.”
Jace let out a low grunt of approval. “That’s because you’re a damn good leader. You inspire loyalty in your people. If an invading force tried to take you down, your clan would fight to the death to protect what you’ve built.”
Viktor inclined his head slightly at the compliment, but his expression darkened. “And a lot of innocent humans would get caught in the crossfire of that war.”
Gracie glanced between the two men, her throat tightening. Her voice softened but carried a grim truth. “A lot of people have already died.”
The group fell into a weighted silence, each of them turning over the consequences of failure in their minds. The quiet was broken only by the soft wind and the faint shuffling of the she-wolf, who leaned against Jace, her piercing blue eyes watching Gracie intently.
Viktor shook his head abruptly, breaking the stillness. “You might be onto something with the number,” he said, his voice more decisive. “Let’s look into it. See if the number nine holds significance for anyone—or any group. It could be a cultural or symbolic factor.”
Gracie’s heart lifted slightly, hope flickering to life as Viktor’s words carried a promise: they would unravel this mystery together.
Chapter 17
The room was a picture of filth and despair, constructed from cinderblocks stained with decades of grime and neglect. The dim, flickering fluorescent light overhead cast a sickly yellow glow, making the rusty chains bolted to the walls gleam faintly. Shackles dangled from the ends of those chains, their edges jagged with corrosion, while dark streaks—dried blood or something equally ominous—marked the walls beneath them. The air was thick and damp, carrying the metallic tang of rust and the faint but unmistakable stench of rot. Beyond the chamber, a shadowy corridor stretched into darkness, where the only sound was the faint drip of water echoing in the distance.
Dave stood in the center of it all, surveying the writhing mass of bodies before him. Nine humans, shackled and contorted in ways their bodies weren’t meant to endure, moaned and screamed in agony. Their tortured cries echoed off the walls, blending into a chaotic symphony of pain. Dave reveled in it. This… this was ecstasy. The power, the suffering, the primal fear radiating off of them—it was intoxicating. He didn’t just enjoy it. He savored it.
Why hadn’t he thought to do this before? This… this was glorious. The cacophony of torment surrounding him was like a drug, heightening his senses, his arousal, his delight. He grinned as he imagined his future: ignoring Cerberus and overthrowing Viktor by himself, taking his rightful place as ruler, and having every human and vampire at his feet. And the women—oh, the women—would be his to command, his to enjoy. Viktor’s “rules” would mean nothing when Dave was in charge.
A woman’s shriek pierced through his thoughts, snapping his attention to her. She was screaming for help, reaching out as if her pitiful cries would compel him to save her. He chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “No,” he muttered, dismissing her with a wave of his hand.
“Blood!” a hoarse, ragged voice croaked, cutting through the din and catching Dave’s ear. He turned toward the sound, his eyes narrowing in curiosity.
One of the shackled figures, a man dangling from the chains, had gone still. His sunken, bloodshot eyes fixed on Dave with a new intensity. The still-writhing man’s lips, cracked and pale, moved again. “Blood.”
Dave leaned in, his grin widening as he reached for the man’s face, forcing one eyelid open. The iris, once vibrant, was now dull and grey—an unmistakable sign. “Your eyes,” Dave murmured, delighted, “they’ve changed.” He straightened, beaming with triumph. “It worked! Finally!”
He grabbed the next victim in the row of shackles, shoving the limp figure toward the transformed man. “Feed,” Dave ordered, gesturing to the still-living body. He didn’t bother unlocking the new vampire. If the transformation had taken, the man would have the strength to free himself.
Sure enough, the transformed man growled, his strength surging as he ripped the chains from the cinderblock wall with a sickening crack. Rusty shackles still dangled from his wrists as he lunged for the offered body, sinking his new, untrained fangs into the flesh with a clumsy ferocity. Blood spilled onto the floor, adding to the already revolting scene.
Dave clapped his hands, his delight palpable. “Go to town, my friend,” he crowed, his laughter echoing through the room.
“What the hell are you doing?” a voice barked from the doorway.
Dave turned, his grin faltering slightly as Johnny stepped into the room. The younger man’s expression was one of barely concealed disgust as he surveyed the scene. His lips curled in revulsion when his eyes landed on Dave.
Johnny took a step closer, his boots crunching on a dark, unidentifiable stain on the floor. “This is sick,” he muttered, his voice dripping with disdain. “But you’re actually enjoying this?”
