Page 63 of Viktor

“Don’t let his cute face fool you. He’s a handful.”

Their laughter quickly faded into a silent heated gaze. The urge to go to her, to take her in his arms, grew stronger by the second but Viktor restrained himself. Joking about having kids reminded him of the sacrifice she’d have to make if they bonded. It would come at a cost. He’d never father the children she’d want.

His heart tightened as she smiled at him, giving a nod as she collected her things and quickly ascended the staircase. He couldn’t bring himself to bite her, to complete the bonding. Viktor lied to himself, logic telling him she’d be better off without him.

The craving for blood haunted him. He wouldn’t take hers, though. He’d set off to a blood bar, seek out another human, someone who would never sate his thirst.

8

Waverly closed the laptop and rested her head upon her folded arms. She’d sent out several emails to heads of museums across the country. Within the silence in her room, her thoughts raced.

She’d been seconds away from begging Viktor to bite her. If Greyson hadn’t interrupted them, she’d have screamed it at the top of her lungs.

Waverly had spent a lifetime happily being human, avoiding her visions and vampires. She considered her mom, how her parents had warned her long ago to steer clear of the paranormal. If they only knew she was currently sleeping in a house with two vampires and a wolf.

Her mind drifted to the shooting, the scene at her apartment, the blood-splattered ritual under her bed. The past two days had been a blur and all of it had begun with Teagan…or so she’d thought. Although a small part of her hoped they’d still find her friend, reason warned her Teagan was dead. But ever since they’d discovered the bloodletting fleam had been deliberately sent to her, whatever was happening had targeted her.

She lifted her weary head as a loud ding sounded from her cell phone. Exhausted she grabbed it, crossed the room and threw herself down in the bed. As she rolled onto her back and tossed the covers over her legs, she glanced at the text. Adam. Adam Strommell. “Oh shit.”

Her chest tightened with anxiety at the sight of his name. She and Adam had been grad assistants together, friends with benefits until they’d graduated. But as all good things come to an end, he’d taken a job on the East Coast. He’d left California, crossing the country to New York, and neither of them had wanted a long-distance relationship.

Boss sent me your email. How’s my fav surfer? Thought you were working on an Impressionism exhibit?

Waverly’s stomach dropped. He’s following up on me?

Hey. Yeah, still working on it. This is a side project.

That sounded professional, she thought. It had been years since they’d spoken.

I may have a lead. There happens to be a fleam handle in our sister museum. Same initials.

Waverly’s heart beat like a drum as she tapped on the glass screen.

Are you sure? B.A.O

100%. Log says we’ve got a fleam handle stashed away. Same initials.

I have to examine it.

Of course. U in Cali?

I’m east coast. She didn’t want to give him her exact location.

Can you send me a picture?

It’s offsite. In the warehouse. Are you near NY?

Art, and other items not on active display, were often stored within vaults in secret locations. Shit. She took a deep breath and began typing.

I may be able to catch a flight. When do you think you can get the piece?

It’s going to take a couple of hours to get approval to pull it.

Where’s the item?

Brooklyn. I could meet you there. Dinner after? Catch up?

“Nope, can’t do that right now,” she said out loud to herself.