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That wasn't like Viggo in the least.

Never had I heard him speak to anyone like that before, not even the staff; he was always cordial even if many misconstrued his level, deep tone as him being condescending, that wasn't it at all. Viggo just happened to have a deep tenor to his voice and his French accent just happens to make everything he says sound smug.

The Vampire in front of me tried to take the box from me.

"Unlock the door," I repeated since he hadn't, pulling the box away from him.

Usually, Viggo's strength I have to make an effort to fight against him, so I put more effort than needed in pulling away from him, but it wasn't needed, causing the box to go flying across the bedroom and into the closet where it hit the back wall before landing on the floor.

"What in the hell? You better not have broken it!" I warned, getting to my feet, before he tackled me back to the bed and then pinned my hands to my sides. "Get off of me!" I warned.

Viggo chuckled. "You know you want this," he reminded me.

Yes, I did, but not like this and not with how he's acting.

I looked from the Vampire on top of me to the windows and the bright daylight coming in, the sky overhead blue without a single cloud in sight.

This isn't right.

Where's the snow?

And Viggo would never disrespect me like this, would never act like this...

None of this is like my damn vision!

"Get off of me, now!" I demanded.

"Ari, you know you want this," he said, painfully squeezing my wrists, then split my legs with his knee and positioned himself between them.

I glared at him.

Keeping a level head and my temper in check will prevent me from doing something foolish, like killing him if this was something I could fix.

Azrael warned that my vision, even if major elements of my vision were missing, like the piles of snow, the wind that was licking at my skin and sending chills throughout my very soul, could be a form of diablerie mind control so I had to be certain.

He pulled his tongue up my face and then shivered; his tongue was rough, and a tart, tangy pungency of summer was on his breath.

"You taste even better than I thought you would, and I like the way you look under me. You have no idea how long I've waited for this. Watching you shake your little ass to and from class, and all-around campus, teasing and taunting me," he said with a snarl that turned into maniacal laughter.

Viggo knows what I taste like.

Perhaps, in a weird, ass-backward, karma-correcting way, this was exactly what I deserved for not remembering Viggo?

Karma was a bitch, as Grandma Li reminded us growing up.

For not being able to remember Viggo from my childhood, for not being able to remember why I feel as if I've known him for my entire life and that I truly loved him without knowing him, but knew him better than I knew myself somehow...

What I did know was that my body, heart, and soul, along with the physical response that should have accompanied his presence, never came.

That is only possible because this isn't Little Prince Viggo Auguste édouard Charlot de Babineaux, third heir of the Fifth House of Vampires, the only heir and crowned Necromancer Prince of House Thanos!

The expected painful, stabbing at the back of my head and piecing sensation behind my left eye caused a searing pain that flared, but as quickly as it came it was gone again without having to get immediate assistance from a healer or Necromancer, and I smiled because I remembered his name.

And that was all the confirmation I needed that this wasn't my Viggo, but I needed to know who was pulling this puppet's strings.

"Growl for me," I said, causing the male pinning me to the bed to stop laughing and he looked at me confused.

"Huh?" he asked, dumbfounded.

I leaned up into him. "Growl for me," I purred in his ear. "Nothing is sexier than when you growl that raw, primal, deep, menacing growl of yours," I said. "When you do, I get so hot and bothered, my blood boils, and I get tingling in places that only you can make tingle. So, I say again, growl for me, Boy, and then you can have me."

He smiled and then...

Growled?

It was more of a caterwaul, that unholy shrill and wailing noise combination of a yowl, a howl, and a whine you get from a crying cat in heat.

It was not arousing in the least.

And needless to say, it wasn't terrifying or stimulating.

"Umm, okay? That's your gold star effort?" I asked, giving him a look.

He glared at me and then coughed, trying to clear his throat. "Shut up. I can do this. I just have a sore throat."

"Okay," I said. "Try it again, make me squirm, Boy."

Again, he bared his fangs and growled...

Or, at least, attempted to.

Now he was just hissing at me, and it was just getting sad at that point.

I don't know what Viggo de Babineaux does when he growls, or how he does it, perhaps it's his naturally deeper voice and his broad chest that causes it to intensify the tenor of it, but when Viggo growls it is this deep, primal sound of pure animalistic rage-lust-irritation-manliness that I find unbelievably sexy.

When he growls against my neck or in my ear, it takes all of my conscious effort to not make it awkward by trying to kiss him regardless of the company, situation, or why he was growling in irritation to begin with.

I had issues, as Zane had reminded me of many times since coming to Vancouver.

"Well?" he asked, rather proud of himself for his caterwaul and hissing.

Weather not being right, and the memory that is no longer veiled by the shadows entwined with my soul of Viggo's full name aside, this puppet's inability to growl is confirmation enough.

This Viggo was going to die by my hands.