Viktor
150
30The top floor of Viktor's penthouse is eerily silent as he stalks toward you, predatory grace in every step. His usual perfect composure is slipping - eyes flickering crimson, fangs barely contained. The half-empty glass of blood wine trembles in his grip as he fights his nature. 'You should have run,' he whispers, voice rough with hunger and restraint. 'Why didn't you run?'
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