Page 112 of Resurrection
“I don’t believe you’ve met my father,” Sara says nonchalantly.
The man studies me in silence.
Not the way most men do. There is no shock, no awe, no curiosity. Just a slow, methodical assessment, like I’m a specimen pinned beneath a magnifying glass. His black eyes crawl over me, lingering on the burn marks climbing my arm, the blood drying along my jaw, the fury still simmering in my posture while I fight every impulse I have not to twitch a muscle so I don’t give anything away.
Then he exhales softly. A very disappointed sound that made my palm itch to slap him across the face.
“So,” he says at last with a soft snort. “This is her.”
His voice is smooth. Precise. Every word sharpened to a point much to my own disappointment. It appears he is smarter than he looks.
I lift my chin, figuring I better play this game we started. “Wow. You’re… underwhelming, as well.”
Sara stiffens. He doesn’t even blink.
“I expected more,” he continues, as if I haven’t spoken a word which made my teeth grind audibly. “The infamous April.Queen. Survivor. Executioner.” A thin smile curves his lips so ominous, cold sweat trickled down my spine. “You look… tired.”
“Funny,” my own drawl has no effect on him. “That’s exactly what I would’ve said about you and your daughter, too.”
Still nothing. No anger. No reaction.
Only keen interest brightening the glint in those pitch black eyes.
With a soft chuckle he steps closer, stopping just outside the glowing barrier of the cursed dome. Close enough that I can see faint scars along his cheekbones. Silver patchwork that is visible only as the light hits it right. Ritual burns, maybe? Whatever they were one thing was very clear.
This was a man who has paid in blood for his power.
“My name is Viktor,” he says calmly as if we met on an outing and we are exchanging pleasantries. “Though titles tend to precede it. Commander. Architect. Liberator.” His gaze hardens. “You may call me the man who is going to end you and your kind.”
I laugh, sharp and hollow, hoping to cover the unease his words provoked. “It’s funny how you think you are the first one to come up with that plan, but you do you.”
His lips twitch.
“Brave,” he murmurs. “Predictable but brave nonetheless. Every vampire believes they are exceptional.” He tilts his head. “You are not.”
Something in his tone, the absolute certainty of what he was saying sends a ripple down my spine.
“I didn’t bring you here to admire you,” Viktor continues, thankfully oblivious that I willingly walked into his trap. “Or because I fear you. I brought you here because I have a use for you.”
My jaw tightens. “Careful. You sound desperate.”
“Pragmatic,” he corrects. “There is a difference.” Gesturing lazily toward me for the first time he offers me a genuine smile. “Your blood on the other hand,” he says, “is rather… remarkable.”
Sara slides closer toward him, a flicker of pride crossing her face.
“Hybridized through ancient lineage. Saturated with throne magic. Reinforced by centuries of ritual inheritance.” His eyes gleam commandeering my full attention. “You are not merely royal, April. You are the answer to all my problems.”
My stomach drops.
“And when I extract it,” he continues softly, “your blood becomes a catalyst.”
I bare my teeth. “You won’t get anywhere near?—”
“You will do exactly what? Nothing,” Viktor interrupts, still calm. “Because you cannot.”
He circles slowly, hands clasped behind his back, lost in his own world where I will drop on my knees and let him do anything he wants. Crazy mages.
“With your blood,” he goes on, oblivious to my internal raging, “we can amplify every mage under my command. Triple their capacity. Stabilize volatile spellworks. Remove their exhaustion. Remove their limits.” He finally looks directly at me and everything in me stills. “I will have an army that never tires. Never weakens. Never fails.”
