Page 3 of Viktor's Temptation
No, “leaning” was too active of a description. The building was holding her up. The woman clearly had no strength left. It was almost as if…the blood had been drained from her, just like the other corpses that the police were trying to figure out. But this woman was obviously alive, although barely.
She looked skeletal and beyond pale, her clothes literally hanging from her as if she’d lost a significant amount of weight in a very short period of time. There was an almost etherealquality to her. The nearly white skin glowed in the overhead streetlights, even more pale than a vampire’s normally pale complexion.
Had she starved herself? But why? Even if she’d been changed, why hadn’t her sire taught her how to feed?
No part of this scene made sense and, finally, Darvin realized that he should be watching out for his lord instead of watching the scene unfold.
Chapter 2
Viktor knelt down slowly, lowering himself with a deliberate grace as if approaching a wild, wounded animal. His intent was to meet her eyes—eyes that should have been filled with fire and life, even for a vampire. Instead, he found sunken hollows where vitality had been drained away, leaving only a fragile wisp of existence.
She was utterly haunting.
Her skin was alabaster, stretched tight over her delicate bones, so pale it almost shimmered under the streetlights. If Viktor hadn’t detected the faint, unmistakable scent of a vampire, he would have assumed she was human—and not long for this world. She was skeletal, her frame trembling as if each shudder was a battle she was losing. And yet, despite her frailty, she radiated a kind of tragic beauty, like a ruined masterpiece.
How had it come to this?
The sight of her stirred an unfamiliar pang in his chest, one that quickly hardened into fury. A vampire inhisterritory, left in such a state? Unthinkable. Had someone dumped her here like garbage? A castaway from another clan? The midwestern and western clans had a reputation for stability—no whispers of violence or mistreatment reached his ears. So what could explain this?
And more troubling still, why hadn’t she fed?
Her condition was dire—starvation, weakness, and an unmistakable desperation. It was almost physically painful for Viktor to witness. Feeding on a human, while discouraged, waspermitted in emergencies like this. The scent of blood would call to her, demand she sate her hunger. Yet she hadn’t fed. Why? What kind of torment had this woman endured to bring her to this state?
“What’s your name?” Viktor demanded, his voice a mixture of sharpness and urgency. He swept her matted dark hair from her face with a surprisingly gentle hand, revealing more of her pallid features. His touch was careful, but his mind was spinning with possibilities, each more infuriating than the last.
A faint groan escaped her lips, and Viktor’s anger deepened. Whoever had done this to her was reckless, cruel, and criminally irresponsible. Transforming humans into vampires without permission was a grave offense in his clan—a law he upheld with absolute severity. The process was agonizing, with only a sliver of humans surviving the transition. And those who did survive emerged with a ravenous hunger so uncontrollable it was often fatal to the nearest humans.
Her sunken eyes flickered toward a group of humans passing on the sidewalk, their laughter and carefree chatter cutting through the tense air. Viktor tensed, prepared to restrain her if she lunged. But instead of attacking, she clenched her skeletal hands into trembling fists, her self-control astonishing.
“Impressive,” Viktor murmured, more to himself than anyone else. This woman was starving—no,ravenous. A new vampire in her state should have torn through that group of humans in an uncontrollable frenzy. Yet here she was, resisting. Her strength of will only heightened his fascination and his rage.
“Who is your sire?” he demanded, his voice low but forceful. He needed to know who had done this to her. No one in his clan would dare such a reckless act, not under his leadership. Yet there she was—a mystery, fragile but alive.
Her only response was a faint groan, her head sagging as though even holding it upright required too much strength. Another group of humans strolled by, oblivious to the scene unfolding mere feet away. She flinched, retreating into herself, pressing her frail body against the cold wall of the building.
The sight broke something in Viktor. His fury crystallized into resolve.
“You’re coming with me,” he declared, rising to his full height. Without hesitation, he scooped her into his arms, his grip firm but careful. She weighed next to nothing, her fragile body practically dissolving into his embrace.
Darvin, his driver, stiffened as Viktor approached the limousine. “Get us inside immediately,” Viktor ordered, his tone brooking no argument.
Mikail, his head of security, appeared on the street, his sharp gaze taking in the frail figure cradled in Viktor’s arms. He didn’t ask questions—there was no need. The situation spoke for itself. Instead, he slipped into the back of the limousine with them, his expression grim.
“Give me a bag of blood,” Viktor snapped, nodding toward the small fridge.
Mikail moved swiftly, retrieving a chilled bag of blood. Viktor grimaced. Chilled blood was far from ideal, but fresh wasn’t an option—not in her state. She lacked the strength orrestraint to mind-control a human donor, let alone stop feeding before draining them dry.
As Mikail handed over the bag, Viktor’s anger reignited. Someone had done this to her—someone careless, cruel, and criminally negligent. And when he found them, they would learn what it meant to invoke the wrath of Viktor Rastan.
“No!” the woman cried, shoving the bag of blood away with weak, trembling hands, even as her eyes flared with an unmistakable hunger. The glow in her gaze betrayed her, her instincts fighting against her fragile willpower.
“Yes,” Viktor countered firmly, tearing open the bag with a precise motion. The rich, metallic scent of blood filled the air, potent and undeniable. He held it closer to her, his tone softening slightly. “You need this. The pain will not stop until you drink. Trust me—this will help.”
She whimpered, shrinking back against the cool leather of the limousine seat. Her frailty was agonizing to witness, and Viktor reminded himself to temper his frustration. She was new to this existence, likely terrified and confused, her body wracked with pain she couldn’t begin to understand. But his patience was wearing thin.
The woman sobbed, her eyes darting longingly toward the blood, but she shook her head vehemently. “I’m fine,” she lied, her voice cracking as another tremor wracked her skeletal frame.
Viktor’s jaw clenched. “Hold her head,” he instructed Mikail.
