Page 2 of Viktor

“But I—” she began but Viktor promptly interrupted.

“No need for you to be here for this unpleasantry.”

“But I….” Her words failed her as Viktor dropped his fangs.

“I said, out!” Viktor growled and whipped his attention to the vampire, wrapping his fingers around his neck.

“Who do you think you are?” He gasped for breath, struggling to break free.

“Master Christianson.” Viktor gave a cool smile. He always enjoyed this part.

Silence engulfed the room, the jazz band in the corner easing down their instruments. Every single creature in the club froze. “The human belongs to me.”

“But she’s nothing. A blood bag, you piece of shit. This is her fau—”

Without warning, Viktor crushed the vampire’s throat with his bare hands. The head dangled from its neck as blood sprayed onto the crowd, eliciting screams of shock from the humans.

“I do believe it’s been a while since I’ve been to this dump. I regret you’ve all forgotten who I am. It appears you need a reminder. Tell your friends.” Viktor threw the body to the floor and stepped over a puddle of blood. “The girl. No one is to ever touch her again, am I clear?”

Viktor didn’t bother waiting for a response as he strode toward the door, stopping at the maître d’.

“Who’s the human?” A waitress dressed in black latex appeared and handed him a bar towel, quickly scurrying away into the smoky room.

“Um, sir. She’s new. Let me just check the register of new donors.” He nervously ruffled through stacks of paper on his podium. “I’m sorry sir. We don’t use computers here. Just a minute, I know I have it somewhere.”

Viktor’s jaw ticked in annoyance as he impatiently waited. Papers spilled onto the floor, drawing his attention to his own blood-splattered shoes. Fucking hell.

“What’s a girl like her doing in a place like this, anyway?” She’d been wearing Vans and a pair of faded jeans, her hair in a messy bun. She wasn’t a typical Miami club scene girl, let alone the typical blood donor. Surfer maybe? Yogi, he’d guess. Something about her didn’t quite fit the Miami vibe. No, California. Definitely California. Now what was she doing in a Miami blood club?

“We get all kinds, sir. The vampires prefer different donors. All ages, races, genders. We generally cater to the more economical price point, shall we say but…”

“She didn’t belong here.”

“Ah well, here we go. Waverly.”

“Last name?”

“Sorry sir, but I can’t seem to…it must be here somewhere.” He sorted through several pieces of scrap paper scattered all over his desk. “But you must know that I’m very busy…sometimes someone slips off my list. We try to get last names, but we do not require ID. If a donor chooses to withhold their last name, and they have tested and passed, demonstrating quality, there’s no questions asked. No drugs, no disease, that’s our trusted rule. Although we don’t always cater to the most distinguished palates, we run a clean place. You might not know it from the way it looks, but we’ve got some very important guests. Celebrities, even. We’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

“Yeah, sure you do,” Viktor said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Although he was the first one to enjoy a pretentious party in South Beach, hot nights with knockout models and the upper echelon of Miami, he hadn’t been in the mood for such festivities. And this clearly was not that kind of club.

Earlier, he’d craved blood. Fresh blood. Planned to get in and out quickly. No complications. No expectations. However, surfer girl had been an unexpected ripple in his evening.

“Ah, here it is,” the maître d declared, holding up a torn piece of paper. “Her name is Waverly. Waverly Pisoff.”

Viktor laughed, the right corner of his mouth ticking upward. “Piss off, you say?”

“That’s right, sir. Waverly Pisoff.”

“Do you hear what you’re saying? Come on, man.” Viktor blew out a breath, shaking his head. “Piss off?”

“Well, I suppose her last name could be…” He shrugged in confusion. “Sorry sir.”

“Last name is fake.” Viktor smiled. Clever human.

“Perhaps it was but—”

“Fake.” Viktor pinned him with a challenging stare.