Page 4 of Viktor’s Temptation (East Coast Territory #2)

Viktor sat in his favorite chair, his long fingers steepled beneath his chin as he stared down the dimly lit hallway to the guest rooms. The first pale light of dawn crept over the city skyline, promising another sweltering day, but Viktor barely noticed. His attention was fixed elsewhere.

Would she wake? It wasn’t guaranteed. The transition process was brutal, a razor’s edge that few survived.

And if she did wake, what state would she be in?

Scared, most likely. Confused. Perhaps furious.

All justified, of course. Someone had stolen her life and thrust her into an existence most humans couldn’t comprehend, let alone accept.

His jaw tightened at the thought. He was still furious that someone had dared to transform her without permission, in his territory, no less. It wasn’t just a breach of protocol—it was a declaration of disrespect. And yet, his anger was tempered by something… unexpected.

Why am I so intrigued by her?

It made no sense. He didn’t know her. She was a complete stranger, a waif he’d found on the street, frail and starving, like a stray animal abandoned by its owner.

And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Every rational part of his mind insisted he was merely concerned about the transgression against his authority.

But deep down, Viktor knew there was something more.

The soft padding of bare feet on the carpeted hallway broke his reverie. He turned sharply, the faint sound tugging at his sharp senses. His eyes locked on the doorway just as she emerged, and he hissed in a quiet breath.

She was a vision, albeit an incomplete one.

The oversized clothes hung awkwardly on her still-slender frame, but the dark shadows beneath her eyes had faded, and her skin now carried a faint glow.

She looked healthier, though still fragile, and he realized with a surprising pang of relief that she was alive—and improving.

“Do you feel any better?” he asked, his tone measured, trying to remember what a polite host might say.

“Yes,” she replied softly, her voice tentative as her wide eyes roamed the room.

Her awe was palpable, and Viktor found himself silently assessing the décor.

Did she like the dark colors and modern furnishings?

He frowned. Perhaps he should call his decorator and have everything redone in softer hues.

“Would you like something to eat?” he offered, even though he already knew the answer.

She hesitated, then shook her head. “No. I’m…uh…fine.”

Her response amused him. She was clearly anything but fine, yet she stood awkwardly in the doorway, unwilling to commit to stepping further into the room. Her hesitation was… endearing.

“Why don’t you come in and sit down?” he suggested, his voice gentle. “We need to talk, and I imagine you have questions about your transition.”

Her faint smile was disarming, and she stepped cautiously into the room. But her steps faltered when she spotted the bag of blood resting on the coffee table.

“Please, help yourself,” he said smoothly, gesturing to the bag. “You’re still ravenous, I’m sure.”

Her hands trembled slightly as she picked up a bag, staring at it like it might bite her. Viktor took it from her hands with a faint smile, tearing it open with his fangs before returning it to her. “One thing at a time,” he murmured.

Perching delicately on the edge of the sofa, she began to drink, her movements hesitant at first but growing more assured as her hunger overtook her. Viktor leaned back, watching her closely, fascination stirring as the transformation continued.

Her pale skin began to glow more vibrantly, taking on an opalescent sheen that hinted at the strength lying dormant beneath her fragile appearance. She drained the second bag, and then a third, her posture shifting as life—or its undead equivalent—flooded her veins.

But when he handed her the fourth, she hesitated. “Thank you, but I’m okay now,” she said, her voice soft, with a lilting southern accent that sent an unexpected ripple of pleasure through him.

“You need more,” Viktor countered firmly, pressing the bag into her hands.

Her hesitation deepened, and then she froze, as if suddenly becoming aware of the closeness between them.

Her gaze dropped to where his hand rested near hers, and an almost imperceptible flush crept over her pale cheeks.

With a sharp intake of breath, she shifted abruptly, sliding away to the far end of the couch.

She perched there stiffly, clutching the blood bag in her hands as though it were the only thing keeping her grounded.

Viktor smirked, amusement sparking as her back stiffened and her expression turned adorably outraged. “Drink,” he ordered, his voice firm but not unkind.

“I’m fine,” she said again, trying for polite defiance. Setting the bag carefully on the table, she rubbed her palms against her jeans, her nerves palpable. “Thank you very much for your…” She paused, glancing at the bag of blood, the reality of what she had consumed hitting her with visible force.

Her words faltered into silence, and she took a deep breath. “I should go,” she finally said, her voice shaky but determined.

“You will stay,” Viktor replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re not fully recovered yet.”

She blinked, startled by his certainty, and he saw the flicker of stubbornness in her silvery eyes. “I don’t know anything about a… transition,” she whispered, her gaze darting to the bag of blood again. “But I should be getting home. My… family will be worried.”

Her lie was almost laughable, but Viktor held his amusement in check. She was still weak, trembling with residual hunger, and yet she had the gall to lie to him, to assert her independence. It was infuriating—and utterly captivating.

She clung to the cushion as though it might anchor her, and Viktor’s mind raced. This woman was a mystery, a puzzle he hadn’t yet begun to unravel. But one thing was certain—she affected him in ways no one else ever had. And he had no intention of letting her go.