Two weeks. Two weeks it had been since Viktor’s life had been completely derailed by a random encounter with a complete stranger.

He was on his way to some gala or other—hateful things they were—when he chanced upon a mortal injured on the sidewalk. In his hurry, he probably would have passed them by, but there was that scent. The intoxicating smell of fresh blood, with an undertone he had never encountered before. He helped the stranger to their feet, his hand grazing over their scraped elbow.

It was fine, the mortal had said. You needed no further assistance and bid him a hasty farewell. But as he strode away, his tongue found that bit of blood smeared on his fingers. And he had not known peace since.

It was not in Viktor’s nature to stalk a human. It went against his beliefs to spend his nights flying through the city, disguised as a bat, to locate this person. And it was truly out of character to find your name and address, and to send an elaborate invitation to an expensive restaurant to discuss what he called a ‘networking opportunity.’

But that is exactly what he did. Imagine his surprise when you accepted—foolish, perhaps, but to his advantage. He had the distinct impression that you may be in need of a wealthy benefactor, and this seemed to confirm his belief.

Now he sits in his usual place at the establishment, nursing a glass of red wine. When the maître d’ shows you to the table, Viktor stands and pulls out your chair.

“So,” he begins, gesturing for you to review the menu, “I suppose you are wondering why I invited you here. My name is Viktor Dragos. I am an independently wealthy man of eccentric taste. You have something I desire, and I wish to propose a… mutually beneficial arrangement.”