Victor allowed the blood to flow over his tongue, savoring the taste as it filled his mouth and ran down his throat. Exquisite!
His first taste of human blood in such a long time, and he wondered why he’d denied himself as he sank his fangs deeper into her soft skin, drinking deeply, while his hard length pounded inside her. Her moans of pleasure as she writhed beneath him spurred him on, taking him higher, her blood filling him with lust and longing for more . . . so much more.
Her dark skin felt soft beneath his touch, her back bowed as another orgasm wracked her body as his bite took her over again and again. The blood he drank was addictive, glorious, and he wanted to drain her . . . Forcing his fangs from her skin, immediately feeling the pull to drink from her again, he retracted his teeth and pushed her away roughly.
Without a word he disentangled their bodies, dressed quickly and left the private room, disgust coursing through him briefly before the damn thirst for her fucking blood reared its head again. He wasted no time in leaving the club, not even waiting on his bodyguard, rushing out and into his limo and ordering his driver to take him home as quickly as possible. Sitting back, he tried to sort through what the hell had happened . . . he’d drank human blood for the first time in over two centuries and he had no fucking clue why.
When he arrived home, without acknowledging the doorman, he hurried to the elevator quickly inputting the security code. His only wish to gain access to his home. He slammed the door, almost tearing it from the hinges, his long legs stormed over to the window where he stopped to stare out the floor to ceiling window overlooking Central Park, his reflection glaring back at him accusingly. His ice blue eyes shielding the turmoil within from anyone that had the misfortune to look his way, only he knew the hell he was experiencing, the absolute and all-encompassing torture that his mind and body was forcing him to endure. And he had no idea what the blue blazes was going on.
What the hell is happening to me? he thought for the hundredth time.
He was one of the most powerful Vampires in existence. One who held knowledge that spanned centuries, ran businesses all over the damn world with ease, and yet here he was acting like a newly turned Vampling with no control over his bloodlust or his sexual demands.
Leaning his forehead on the cool glass, inhaling deeply to still his madly beating heart, Victor fought to control his growing anger. He had to control it. If he lost it then his penthouse apartment would be in ruin in no time at all, but worse . . . his secret would be out. People would learn there was something very wrong with Victor Strong and that was something he couldn’t allow to happen. Not now, hell, not at any fucking time, but especially not now.
He had a meeting tomorrow that was going to be worth hundreds of billions of dollars for one of his companies and he’d be a fool to mess that up. One thing he was not, was a fool. The only saving grace was that it was being done online. Thank fuck for technology. He’d already met with the people involved and everything had been ironed out . . . almost. This was the final deal breaker and he refused to allow whatever was going on inside him to muck up the months of hard work he’d put in getting everything in place of his ultimate goal to gain some lucrative acquisitions. They’d add enough to his portfolio to make him the richest man alive . . . or dead depending on your perception of Vampires. As he still had a heart, still breathed air, he never thought of himself as one of the undead, but that didn’t stop others from believing that were so.
“Are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on?” Flint’s hard voice broke the silence, but he didn’t jump, merely turned around slowly and walked to the bar.
“Want one?” he asked, pouring himself a shot of expensive whisky.
“Sure.” Flint joined him, leaning his ass on a stool. His dark-as-night eyes never leaving Victor’s as he took the offered glass. “So, boss, what’s going on with you? You never take up the offer of girls at the club, yet tonight . . . you went through three of them. What’s up with that? And, that’s not all, is it?”
Flint made a show of lifting his head and sniffing. Victor stiffened, his lips curling back in a snarl of warning. “Don’t say it.”
“What? That I smell blood? Human blood. On the man that’s not fed on human blood for so long that I can’t even remember how far back it was.” Flint took a sip of his drink, before placing the glass down heavily. “What’s up, Victor?”
“It’s not illegal, is it?” Victor snapped viciously. “I have done nothing wrong.”
Flint frowned, rising from the stool and looking at him with a look of confusion on his hard face. “What the hell, boss? What’s gotten into you?”
Victor shook his head, trying to clear it of the thoughts cascading through his brain. Mainly the ones of sinking his fangs into soft flesh and the taste of sweet blood as it dripped onto his tongue and trailed down his throat so damn nicely. He could still smell the heady aroma of one of the girls he’d drank from earlier, her unique blend that reminded him of a good merlot he’d tasted on his last trip to Paris. Fuck! He yearned to race back and sink himself inside her once more at the same time as his fangs tore into her pale skin to . . . no. He refused to allow himself to descend that route once again.
He was strong not just in name but in everything. His steely control over his entire life wasn’t limited to his Vampire cravings, but in his everyday business dealings and the way he ran his world-wide corporations with an iron fist. It was how he became one of, if not the richest man in the goddamn world. He would win this war against whatever it was that was eating away inside him. He was Victor Fucking Strong and nothing, absolutely nothing would make him weak, or bring him to his knees. Not a chance in hell would he allow that to happen. His hands bunched into fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms, drawing blood with the ferocity and strength of his will to battle the demons raging inside him.
“Victor?” Flint’s hand landed on his shoulder, surprising him out of his thoughts, causing him to jerk away angrily.
“You’re worrying me. You were out of it then and you were definitely not yourself earlier. You need to talk to me. What’s happening?”
“I’m fine.” Victor pushed past the man that wasn’t just his bodyguard and his right-hand-man, but someone who’d been at his side for more years than he could count. Flint was his best friend and they’d saved each other’s lives so many times over the centuries it was as if he’d slapped the man as he strode away from him to the window. “I need some air.”
Opening the sliding door, he stepped out onto the large patio. He didn’t see the glorious New York skyline, his eyes closed as he took deep steadying breaths. Flint was next to him, he felt him, his friend nearby and worried. “I’ll be fine, Flint.”
“Will you?” he asked skeptically.
Victor turned to him, seeing the worry etched on his face brought a vision of when they’d first met…so many centuries ago when Flint was a new Vampling and been abandoned by his maker. Victor had found him in a backstreet in New Orleans, draining a young woman. He’d barely managed to save her in time, but he did and then took the young man under his wing and taught him how to control his urges. They’d been together ever since, and they were as close as brothers. To see him looking at him like this and talking to him with such a tone, well, it hurt.
“I’m sure.” Victor tipped his head.
“I’m not,” Flint replied, his steely gaze never wavering as he kept watch on him. “You remind me of what I was like when you found me and that wasn’t pretty.”
“That’s funny,” Victor’s lips tugged up. “I was just remembering that night in Orleans.”
“I’d rather forget it,” Flint grunted. “Not something I’m proud of and I’d hate to feel like that again, that loss of control. Fuck, that’s definitely not on my ‘to do’ list ever.”
Victor agreed but that’s exactly what was happening to him. He could feel it growing inside him like a damn cancer, only worse. That could be cut out, carved away by a scalpel and thrown in the garbage…unlike whatever was eating away inside him.
“Vic? What is it? You look as if you’re ready to rip something apart again. Are you sure you’re okay?” Flint stepped toward him, his eyes searching his face and his friend looking even more concerned.
“Yes . . .” And then something strange and magical assaulted his senses. A whisper of a scent wafting inside his nostrils . . . honey and wildflowers. It was tantalizing, mesmerizing and absolutely his. There was no doubt in his mind that he had to find the owner. His eyes snapped open as he rushed to the balcony, looking down to the street below which was almost empty of people at this late hour. He inhaled sharply again, using his centuries old Vampire abilities to try and locate the scent, his head whipping around toward the park . . . there.
His legs moved quickly, speeding toward the fire escape, with Flint yelling, “What the hell are you doing? Victor, wait!”