Page 3 of Viktor’s Temptation (East Coast Territory #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 in his territory, 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, was permitted 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 or restraint 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.

Without hesitation, Mikail reached out, his strong hands cradling the woman’s head with care. Viktor lifted the bag higher, slicing through the plastic with a single nail. A thick, crimson stream trickled down, spilling into her open mouth.

The first taste broke her.

As soon as the blood hit her tongue, her resistance shattered. She grabbed the bag with desperate hands, her fangs piercing the plastic as she drank ravenously. Viktor sat back, exhaling a sigh of relief as he watched the transformation begin.

“Another,” he ordered, and Mikail handed him a second bag.

The woman’s eyes burned brighter with each sip, her body trembling as it absorbed the sustenance. Viktor handed her the next bag, observing her with rapt attention. She was a study in contrasts—desperate yet restrained, fragile yet fierce.

Her skin began to change first. The deathly pallor faded, replaced by a faint glow that seemed to radiate from within. By the time she finished the third bag, her complexion was taking on an opalescent sheen, almost pearly under the soft lighting.

When she reached for the empty bag as though to lick it clean, Viktor fought back a laugh. “Here,” he said, taking the crumpled plastic from her and replacing it with a fresh one. She attacked it with the same voracity, her body visibly strengthening with each swallow.

His fascination grew with every passing moment. Who was this woman? How had she survived so long in such a state? And why was he so inexplicably drawn to her?

“My lord,” Mikail’s voice broke through his thoughts.

Viktor glanced up, noticing Darvin holding the limousine door open. How long had they been sitting there? Time had slipped by unnoticed, his attention wholly consumed by the woman.

“Right,” Viktor muttered, clearing his throat. Reluctantly, he shifted in his seat, tucking her more securely into his arms.

“You’re coming with me,” he murmured to her, his tone soft but resolute. She didn’t respond, too focused on draining the bag in her hands.

He carried her into the waiting elevator, her limp body cradled against him as though she weighed nothing.

It would have been easier to let her walk, but Viktor found himself unwilling to let her go.

She wasn’t ready to stand, he told himself, though part of him wasn’t entirely sure that was the only reason.

“She’ll need at least five more bags,” Viktor said as the elevator ascended.

“She needs rest,” Darvin observed quietly.

Viktor nodded, his gaze still fixed on her face.

Her hair hung in limp, matted strands, her frame painfully thin, but even in her weakened state, she was stunning.

Her silvery eyes gleamed with a startling intensity, and her features were already softening into something unearthly, her vampire genes working to erase the traces of human frailty.

When they reached his penthouse, Viktor carried her to the closest guest bedroom. Setting her down gently, he pulled the covers back, his movements uncharacteristically tender.

“Leave more bags of blood for her,” he instructed, watching as her eyes drifted closed. Exhaustion overtook her as her body began to heal. She looked fragile and vulnerable, yet there was a quiet strength in her that Viktor couldn’t ignore.

He lingered, his gaze tracing the soft glow of her skin. The anger that had burned within him at the sight of her state hadn’t faded—it simmered beneath his fascination, a relentless demand for answers.

Who had done this to her? And why was he so captivated by her? She was a stranger, yet he couldn’t deny the pull she had over him.

With a sharp shake of his head, Viktor forced himself to step away.

He turned and left the room, closing the door behind him with a decisive motion.

He didn’t allow himself to glance back. Answers would come later.

For now, she needed rest. But as he walked away, he couldn’t shake the image of her fragile beauty or the nagging feeling that this woman would upend his world in ways he couldn’t yet imagine.