Sunlight stabbed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse suite, slicing across Selene Voss's face like a guilty verdict. Her head throbbed with the kind of hangover that made the world tilt sideways—vodka cranberries and pure adrenaline crashing together in her skull. She groaned, rolling over on black silk sheets that smelled of dark spice, cognac, and raw sex.
Then the memories slammed into her.
Marcus's grunts. Chloe's moans. The engagement ring left on the marble table. The nightclub. The stranger—Viktor—his mouth on hers, his thick cock stretching her open for the first time while she begged him not to stop. The way she had come screaming, virgin blood slick on his sheets, his fangs grazing her inner thigh as he filled her with hot pulses of release.
Selene's eyes flew open. She sat up too fast, the room spinning. Her body ached in places she had never ached before: a deep, delicious soreness between her thighs, faint bite marks on her breast and the soft skin of her thigh already healing into faint silvery crescents. A small smear of dried blood stained the sheet beneath her. Her little black dress lay crumpled on the floor like evidence of a crime she had willingly committed.
"Oh God," she whispered, voice cracking. Twenty-eight years of waiting, of saving herself for a man who never deserved it, and she had given it all away to a stranger in a nightclub. A gorgeous, commanding stranger who had fucked her like he owned her soul.
Panic clawed up her throat. She couldn't stay here. She didn't even know his last name—only that he moved like money and danger wrapped in one lethal package. What if he woke up expecting round two? What if he laughed when he realized she was just another heartbroken girl who threw her virginity at the first man who made her feel wanted?
Selene slipped out of bed on shaky legs, wincing at the tender pull between her thighs. She grabbed her dress, stepped into it without bothering with the zipper, and shoved her feet into her heels. Her phone was dead. Her clutch was somewhere—there, on the glass coffee table. She snatched it, heart hammering so hard she could feel it in her teeth.
One last glance at the bed. Viktor lay on his back, one muscular arm flung over his eyes, chest rising and falling in the slow rhythm of deep sleep. Even unconscious he looked like sin incarnate—pale skin stretched over hard muscle, dark hair tousled from her fingers, the sheet barely covering the heavy outline of his cock. Her core clenched at the sight, a traitorous pulse of fresh arousal mixing with the hangover.
No. Run.
She crept to the private elevator, punched the button for the ground floor, and held her breath until the doors slid shut. The descent felt eternal. When she spilled out into the bright morning lobby of the Eclipse Club, the doorman gave her a knowing smirk. She ignored him, flagged the first cab she saw, and collapsed into the back seat.
"Anywhere but here," she rasped. "Just… drive."
The cab pulled away. Selene pressed her forehead to the cool window and let the first tears fall. She had lost more than her virginity last night. She had lost the last piece of the girl she used to be.
Viktor Draven woke the moment the elevator doors closed downstairs.
His eyes—black as midnight and twice as ancient—snapped open. The space beside him was cold. Empty. The scent of her—warm vanilla, virgin blood, and spent desire—still clung to the sheets, but Selene was gone.
He sat up slowly, silk pooling around his hips. A low, dangerous growl rumbled in his chest. No woman had ever left his bed without permission. Especially not the one whose blood now sang in his veins, whose untouched body had clenched around him so perfectly he had nearly lost control and drained her dry in ecstasy.
He had tasted her. Marked her. Claimed her.
And she had run.
Viktor swung his long legs over the edge of the bed, naked and unashamed, cock still half-hard at the memory of her moans. He crossed to the glass wall overlooking Bucharest, morning light doing nothing to warm his marble-pale skin. Centuries of ruling the Carpathian vampire clans from the shadows—billionaire tech empire by day, undisputed king by night—had taught him patience.
But not with her.
He picked up his phone from the nightstand and dialed without looking.
The voice that answered was clipped, efficient, and loyal to the bone. "My king."
"Darius Vale," Viktor said, voice velvet over steel. "The woman from last night. Selene Voss. She left the penthouse five minutes ago. Find her."
Darius didn't ask questions. He had served Viktor for two hundred years—first as a turned soldier, now as head of security for Draven Global and enforcer of the night court. "Description?"
"Five-seven, dark hair to her waist, green eyes that look like they've seen hell and still chose to burn. Little black dress, no coat. Smells like vanilla and fresh blood. She's mine, Darius. Every inch of her. Search the whole city if you have to—hotels, airports, that pathetic fiancé's penthouse. I want her back before sunset."
A pause. Darius's smile was audible. "And when I find her?"
"Bring her to the estate. Gently. She's… fragile. For now." Viktor's fangs lengthened at the thought of her running scared, thighs still slick with his cum. "But make it clear she belongs to me. No one touches her. No one even looks at her too long."
"Understood. I'll deploy the teams. CCTV, traffic cams, every club and café in a ten-kilometer radius. She won't get far."
Viktor ended the call and walked to the wardrobe, pulling on a crisp black shirt and trousers that cost more than most people's rent. His reflection in the mirror showed a man who looked thirty but carried the weight of empires and centuries. Last night had been more than a one-night conquest. Selene's blood had ignited something primal in him—the mate bond he had waited a thousand years to feel.
She had run because she was afraid.
He would teach her there was no reason to fear the dark when the dark wanted to worship her.
Downstairs, Darius Vale was already moving. Tall, tattooed, with silver-streaked black hair and eyes like winter steel, he barked orders into his comms unit while sliding into the back of a tinted SUV. Three more identical vehicles peeled away from the curb, fanning out across Bucharest like wolves on the hunt.
Viktor stood at the window, watching the city wake beneath him. Somewhere out there, Selene was running from the best night of her life.
He smiled, slow and predatory.
She could run.
But the vampire king always caught what was his.