Page 6 of Viktor’s Temptation (East Coast Territory #2)

Gracie blinked, surprised even by the sensation of her eyelids closing. Everything felt… different. Sharper. Clearer. Her gaze fixed on the man in front of her, narrowing slightly as if she could pierce through him with just her sight.

Where are my glasses? she wondered. She’d worn glasses or contact lenses her whole life.

But now, staring at the man’s face, it was as if her vision had been upgraded to high definition.

Every whisker on his jawline was distinct, the faint silver flecks in his grey eyes glinting under the light.

She hadn’t noticed before, but his jaw was rougher than the rest of his otherwise impossibly smooth features. The rugged edge fascinated her.

“Gracie?”

His deep voice startled her, and she jerked her focus away from his jaw, realizing she’d been staring too intently. What had he just asked? Something about… a transition?

“What transition?” she asked, her confusion thickening as she glanced down at herself. Her breath caught in her throat.

Her hands lifted almost involuntarily, palms hovering over her chest. Her breasts, once a source of quiet disdain for their lackluster appearance, were now full and perfectly perky. She didn’t need to check a mirror to know that her body had transformed into something… different. Stunning, even.

It was strange, though. She’d never thought about her figure much before, except when her ex-fiancé, Warren, had made his crude comments.

He’d been obsessed with her breasts, touching them constantly in a way that made her cringe.

She’d tolerated it, endured it, just to get through their mechanical bouts of intimacy.

Warren. Her stomach churned at the memory. Nine minutes of uncomfortable sex followed by a half-hearted snuggle if he felt generous. For a time, she’d convinced herself those fleeting moments of affection were worth the discomfort, but now… what had I been thinking?

“Gracie?”

The man’s voice interrupted her thoughts again, pulling her back into the present. She licked her lips nervously, refusing to look at the bag of blood still sitting on the table.

“I don’t know what transition you’re talking about,” she mumbled, lifting a hand to touch her cheek. She winced at the thought of the bruise Warren had left there. The memory of his rage sent a shiver through her, and instinctively, she glanced toward the man.

“I’m sure I look a fright,” she said hastily, glancing around for her purse. “I need makeup.” She wanted to cover the bruise before he saw it, though she had no idea how long ago she’d applied her last layer.

The man’s voice softened but carried a weight that demanded her attention. “You are lovely, my dear.”

Gracie froze as he stood, his movements fluid and controlled, yet his sheer size sent a flicker of fear through her.

Memories of Warren’s outbursts flooded her mind.

Viktor’s broad shoulders and imposing frame made him seem even more dangerous.

What if he wasn’t as kind as he seemed? She had a terrible history of misjudging men.

Her body betrayed her, trembling slightly as she took a hesitant step back. Viktor’s eyes narrowed, and his expression darkened with concern and anger.

“Who hit you?” he asked, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper.

Gracie pressed her fingers to her cheek instinctively, feeling the absence of the bruise but unable to shake the memory of Warren’s hand connecting with her face. “I’m fine,” she insisted, her voice too high-pitched to be convincing.

Before she could retreat further, his hand shot out, steadying her just as she stumbled against the coffee table. “Come with me,” he said firmly, guiding her toward a massive mirror mounted on the far wall.

Gracie barely registered her surroundings as he stood behind her, his hands brushing her hair away from her face. “This is you now,” he said softly.

Her reflection stole her breath.

“This…” she whispered, her fingers tentatively tracing the smooth, unblemished skin of her cheek.

The bruise was gone—completely erased. But it wasn’t just the absence of the mark.

Everything about her face was different.

Her skin was luminous, her features refined in a way that didn’t seem possible.

“I ask again, Gracie… who hit you?”

She lifted her gaze to meet his in the mirror. His eyes bore into hers with a mixture of quiet fury and something gentler —concern, maybe? She dropped her hand to her side, suddenly feeling exposed. “I’m fine,” she murmured, stepping away from the mirror.

His large hands caught her shoulders, their touch firm but not unkind. “You’re not fine,” he countered. “You need several more bags of blood.” His grip tightened briefly, then softened. “And you need to tell me what happened to you.”

Gracie spun around to face him, her movements unsteady as another wave of hunger hit her. His hands steadied her again, and she looked up into those striking grey eyes. Why is he so damn attractive?

Her heart—or whatever now pulsed in her chest—fluttered uneasily. She hadn’t felt this way about anyone before. Not even Warren. It wasn’t just his physical presence, though that was impossible to ignore. It was his voice, his intensity, the way he seemed to see her.

“I don’t understand any of this,” she admitted, her voice trembling.

He sighed, brushing a lock of hair from her face. “You don’t even know who I am, do you?”

She shook her head. “No idea.”

His hand cupped her jawline, tilting her face so their eyes locked. “I’m your clan leader.”

Gracie blinked, the words barely registering as her thoughts tangled. She should be terrified, wary, anything but… drawn to him. Yet here she was, caught between her fascination with this man and the nagging voice in her mind reminding her of her history—how poor her judgment in men had been.

And yet, standing here, she couldn’t bring herself to look away.

Clan? Wasn’t that a Scottish thing? Gracie’s thoughts raced. Had that awful man taken her out of the United States? “I’m not part of any clan,” she asserted firmly, her voice steady despite the panic bubbling inside. Surely she wasn’t in Scotland. She didn’t even own a passport!

His eyes hardened, a flicker of irritation flashing across his otherwise calm expression. “As a vampire, and one living within my domain, you are now under my authority, Gracie.”

A what ? The word hit her like a slap, completely derailing her train of thought. “Why?” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

His finger stroked her cheek with surprising gentleness, yet the touch sent an electric jolt through her body that left her breathless. “Because I protect everyone within my domain. All vampires, at least.”

“Vampires?” Her voice wavered as she repeated the word, her mind rejecting it even as her body trembled with some unfamiliar recognition. “I’m not a vampire!”

Those firm, fascinating lips curled into a faint smile, his gaze steady. “You are now, my dear.” He reached for her hand, turning it palm-up as if he were holding something precious. “Look at the color of your skin, Gracie. See how pale it is.”

She stubbornly refused to look. If her skin was pale, it wasn’t because of some ludicrous vampire nonsense. There had to be another explanation. “I’m just sick,” she declared, her voice firmer now. “I don’t know what happened to me, but I must have low blood sugar.”

He shook his head slowly, his expression almost pitying. “You were starving. Not low blood sugar—low blood.”

Starving? That part, at least, made sense.

She could remember the days—or had it been longer?

—in that concrete prison. That vile man hadn’t fed anyone.

The memories were blurred, hazy, but she distinctly recalled him doing something to her neck, her hand, her shoulder.

She shivered, her voice rising in defiance.

“I don’t drink blood!” she hissed. “That’s disgusting! ”

His eyebrow arched, a single dark line that managed to convey both skepticism and amusement.

Gracie flushed hotly, the color painfully visible against her pale skin. “Okay, yes, I had a few bags of blood earlier, but that was just because…!” She trailed off, unable to finish the thought. Why had she guzzled those bags of blood so easily?

“Perhaps because your skin felt like it was on fire?” he offered, his tone maddeningly calm. “Or because it felt like needles were stabbing every inch of your body?”

“Yes,” she whispered, unable to deny it. His words resonated with a truth she didn’t want to acknowledge.

His fingers tilted her chin upward, and her lips parted slightly in response to the unspoken command. It was as if her body instinctively obeyed him. The realization sent a chill down her spine.

“Did you notice your fangs drop down?” he asked softly.

Fangs? Gracie recoiled, horrified, as her tongue brushed against something sharp. Her breath caught, and she raised a trembling hand to her mouth. “No… I don’t…!” But the sensation was undeniable. Her tongue probed the area, and there it was—a sharp, pointed tip where nothing had been before.

“Exactly,” he murmured, his thumb stroking her jawline with infuriating gentleness. “Vampire.”

The word hit her like a hot poker, branding itself onto her mind. Vampire. No, not vampire—monster.

“I’m not! Vampires aren’t real. That’s just… some drug-induced writer’s imagination. A figment of fiction. And it’s not funny.”

He shook his head, his expression softening in the face of her confusion. “I assure you, my dear, there is nothing humorous about your transition.”

Gracie had had enough. Her frustration boiled over, and she blurted, “Who are you?”

The tall, imposing man stepped back and inclined his head in a slight bow, his dark hair catching the light. “My name is Viktor Rastan. I am Lord of the Eastern Territory.” He reached for her hand, his touch light and fleeting, yet it sent another shock through her. “I am now your lord.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs. Lord ? The word ignited every ounce of resistance in her. Warren had tried to control her, too, demanding submission in a way that had made her skin crawl. When she’d laughed at the absurdity, he’d hit her. Hard.

“I don’t have a lord or a master,” she hissed, backing up. His hand fell away, and an unexpected pang of longing flared within her, shocking her further.

Now blood—maybe she could admit to craving blood.

But his touch? Absolutely not. She couldn’t allow herself to crave that.

It was too dangerous, too reckless. Craving his touch meant opening the door to the possibility that he might be like Warren—charming at first, but capable of cruelty when things didn’t go his way.

Warren had taught her a brutal lesson about trust, about letting herself lean on someone who wielded their strength as a weapon rather than a shield. Every bruise, every harsh word, had been a warning she’d ignored until it was too late. She couldn’t afford to make the same mistake again.

And yet, Viktor’s presence unsettled her. His touch wasn’t harsh or cruel—it was gentle, deliberate, almost reverent. That made it worse. It was a temptation to let her guard down, to believe that someone could touch her with care rather than control.

But what if it was all an illusion? What if Viktor’s kindness was just another mask, another prelude to pain? The thought sent a shiver down her spine, and she stiffened against the warmth his presence seemed to radiate.

She didn’t want to crave him. She couldn’t. Because craving his touch meant trusting him, and trusting him meant risking everything. And she wasn’t sure her heart could survive being broken again.

“I can’t be a vampire,” she declared, her voice wavering as the conviction in her words faltered.

He gestured toward the sofa. “How about you sit down and tell me what you remember of the past few days? Perhaps together, we can make sense of it.”

Reluctantly, she moved back to the sofa and sat, gripping her knees tightly. Her silver eyes darted toward the bag of blood on the table, and she bit her lip, refusing to give in to the temptation.

Viktor sighed, his tone patient but insistent. “Drink it, please. It’s not as good as fresh, but it will help you think clearly.”

“I’m fine,” she said stiffly, pulling her gaze away from the bag.

“Gracie,” he said softly, his voice like velvet. “I don’t think you understand. I am your lord and protector. It is my responsibility to care for every member of my clan, including you.”

His words should have infuriated her, but instead, they gave her a strange sense of calm. Control had always been elusive in her life, slipping through her fingers just when she thought she’d found it. And now, here was this man—this vampire —offering her protection.

She bristled at the memory of Warren. “I won’t call you ‘my lord.’ Ever. I don’t need anyone to protect me.”

His eyebrow arched again. “Even from the person who transformed you?”

That question stopped her cold. Flashes of the man who had held her captive flooded her mind—the dark room, his leering grin, the other people’s cries of pain. She shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself as tears welled up.

“I don’t even know his name,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “He never spoke to me, but he… he did things.”

Viktor’s eyes darkened, the promise of vengeance glinting in their depths. “You didn’t ask for this, then?”

“No!” she cried, a tear sliding down her cheek. The memories were raw and jagged, slicing through her like knives. “I didn’t… I don’t understand what’s happening to me.”

Her silver eyes met his, pleading for answers, for something to anchor her in this storm of confusion.

“Yes, Gracie,” he said, his tone solemn but certain. “You are a vampire. And I will ensure you learn exactly what that means—and that whoever did this to you answers for it.”