Page 5 of Viktor’s Temptation (East Coast Territory #2)

Gracie focused on her wobbly legs, her body alive with an unfamiliar energy that seemed to spark and hum just beneath her skin.

The sharp, stabbing pains that had once dominated her senses were gone, replaced by something far stranger—a sense of vitality that felt almost electric.

She sank onto the cushion again, letting out a breath of relief as she reveled in the absence of pain.

But it wasn’t just the absence of pain. Gracie felt…

powerful. Stronger than she’d ever felt in her life.

Her body hummed with energy, a sharp contrast to the dull exhaustion she’d grown accustomed to.

It was as if she’d been plugged into some endless source of vitality, and it was both thrilling and unnerving.

Her eyes roamed the unfamiliar space, seeking something—anything—that might orient her.

The sunlight streaming through the windows didn’t help; it only served to remind her of how disoriented she was.

How long had she been in that dark, hellish prison?

Days? Weeks? Longer? The memories of that vile man and his sinister “experiments” made her shudder, and she rubbed her arms as though she could wipe away the lingering filth of his touch.

“What day is it?” she asked, her voice cracking slightly as she stood and took a few unsteady steps. Her body felt off—not weak, but strange, as though it wasn’t entirely hers anymore.

“Drink more,” came the firm command.

Her eyes snapped to the man lounging on the pristine white couch.

His presence was magnetic, his voice both soothing and unyielding.

Gracie couldn’t help but stare at him. His broad shoulders, impossibly defined build, and the calm, commanding way he carried himself—it was as if he belonged in a world entirely removed from hers.

Yet something about him intrigued her. She couldn’t name it, but it was undeniable, an attraction that sent her pulse racing.

That was another strange thing—her pulse.

It wasn’t pounding from fear or exertion; it felt controlled, steady, but potent, like her body was functioning on an entirely different level.

“I’m fine,” she said, her tone more defensive than she intended. Her gaze darted back to the bag of blood, and her stomach churned—not from disgust, but from longing. The thought of drinking more made her mouth water, and she hated herself for it.

Gracie turned away from the temptation, determined to focus on something else. But as she took a step, her hand brushed her stomach, and she froze. It felt… different.

She lifted her blouse hesitantly, her breath catching as she stared down at the taut, ridged muscles of her abdomen. “What in the world?” she whispered, her hands trembling as she explored the contours of her new form.

The man chuckled softly, his deep voice filled with amusement. Gracie looked up sharply, her cheeks flushing as she realized how intently he was watching her.

“You’ve changed,” he said smoothly, his grey eyes sparkling with mischief. “Feel free to strip entirely if you’d like a closer look.”

Her mouth went dry at his words, and for a moment, she was unable to look away from him. That smile—so sharp and confident—made him almost unnervingly beautiful. His features were already striking, but the warmth of his grin transformed him into something otherworldly.

Gracie dropped the hem of her blouse, her hands instinctively moving to her hips, where she realized her jeans were slipping down.

She gasped softly, her fingers trailing over her thighs, now firm and sleek.

When she walked, her thighs didn’t rub together anymore.

Her previously too-tight jeans now hung awkwardly around her surprisingly narrow waist.

“Your transition suits you,” he commented, leaning back as if to better enjoy the view of her bewildered self-exploration.

“Transition?” she repeated, the word unfamiliar and strange on her tongue.

“Yes,” he said, his tone calm but laced with amusement. “When did it happen?”

Gracie’s brow furrowed as confusion warred with fascination.

Transition? What was he talking about? Her hands drifted again, this time to her backside, which felt…

different. Firmer, rounder. She jolted when she realized she was cupping her own butt and quickly dropped her hands, her cheeks burning.

“I…” she started, only to trail off. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from him. He exuded authority, confidence, and something else she couldn’t quite name—something magnetic that drew her closer even as she tried to maintain her distance.

“My name is Gracie,” she said, trying to regain some composure. “Gracie Andrews.”

“Gracie,” he repeated, his voice wrapping around the name like a caress. His gaze lingered, piercing and steady, and she felt as though he could see straight through her.

Gracie’s thoughts raced. The impossible strength, the transformation of her body, the undeniable hunger for blood—it all pointed to something she didn’t want to acknowledge. But the way he was looking at her, as though her very existence fascinated him, only deepened her confusion.

“I don’t understand,” she finally admitted, her voice small. “What happened to me?”

The man’s expression softened, though his commanding presence remained. “You’ve been transitioned, Gracie. And now, we have much to discuss.”