Page 33 of Viktor

“Sorry, it’s just…I mean you look so, so...” Sexy. Hot as fuck. She bit her lip, settling on a more appropriate word. “Amazing.”

“As do you,” he countered.

“But I’m human. And I’m aging. I wonder what it must have been like to live during the Renaissance. To sit at a wealthy family’s dinner table. Drink their wine. Enjoy their art.”

“It’s a quite useful memory when you’ve met a beautiful curator who needs your assistance.” He shot her a smile and then looked to the painting, continuing to study it.

Waverly found herself captivated. She wanted to hate him, to live her life happily without ever having known Viktor Christianson. But she doubted that even after a day, this man would be out of her life. As much as she loathed his lethal nature, the violence she’d witnessed, Viktor spoke to her heart, her passion, her art. While she still couldn’t explain the connection, the roots of attraction had already grown deep.

“Regardless of whether this painting is real or not, someone finds it valuable, and they were willing to shoot you for it,” Viktor told her. “Have you done an x-ray?”

“No. I didn’t get a chance to run one yet.” Frustrated, she snapped the rubber band off her wrist, ran her fingers through her hair and pulled it into a ponytail. “God, I just want to get out of here right now. What do you think is taking the detective so long?”

The faint ding of the elevator sounded. “Speak of the devil.”

“Don’t say that word. Nope.” Waverly held up a dismissive finger at him. She crossed the room and opened the door. As she stepped halfway into the hallway, she heard footsteps. She peeked around the corner and spied the detective.

“We’re right down here.” She waved with a forced smile.

A low growl resounded in the showroom and Waverly’s body went tense with fear. Her heart pounded in her chest at the sight of the disheveled detective, her eyes glowing red.

“What the…” She lost her words as a low demonic laugh erupted from the possessed creature.

Waverly ran back into her office, and slammed the door shut. She leaned against it, attempting to form words.

“What’s wrong?” Viktor crossed the room to meet her.

“D…d…demon,” she managed, her heart pounding.

“Get what you need now,” he ordered. “Does your door automatically lock?”

“Yes. It’s locked.” She nodded.

“Have you got a bag of some sort in here? I need you to gather anything you need,” he ordered.

“What?”

“Just do it. I’ll get the painting.”

“How are we supposed to get out of here?” As Waverly reached for her backpack, a loud bang sounded, shaking the room. She screamed and quickly began stuffing supplies inside the bag. “It’s going to get in here.”

“We’ve got to take this,” Viktor carefully removed the painting from its workspace.

“But that thing is out there. There’s no way out.” Another loud thump sounded, and Waverly scurried behind Viktor. Splinters flew into the room as it pounded its fist through the wooden door, claws reaching for the door handle.

“Give me the key,” it growled.

“Key?” Waverly’s heart pounded against her ribs, sweat beading on her forehead. She looked to the apex of the ceiling, eyeing the small, rectangular, skylight windows. I’m never going to fit through there. She reached for her cell phone and began tapping at the glass. “I’ve got to call the police.”

“The detective is the police. I’m afraid we’re going to have to flash out of here. No worries, pet. Do you have your things?”

“What? I just told you we can’t get out of this room. I need to find a weapon.”

“I’m afraid we don’t have time to deal with this demon right now. I need to get you and this painting to a safe place.” Viktor wrapped his arm around her, his eyes locked on hers. He gripped the painting in his other hand. “This may make you a bit dizzy. See you in New Orleans.”

“New Orleans?” Panic swept through Waverly as it set in there was no feasible escape route.

“About those special things I can do. Please forgive me if I say just relax. I promise it will be worth it.”