Sometimes Viktor wishes he didn't do it. He wishes he didn't willingly become a vampire. He has to, if course he has to, it meant that he wouldn't die from the king disease that was slowly killing him. That would have killed him. But, it didn't, as Signed, that horrid creature of a man, convinced him to become a vampire. He told Viktor that he's me have to worry about anything ever again. What a liar. Viktor didn't have to worry about his lung disease killing him, it he did have to be worried about sunlight, garlic, and all those vampire hunters about.

Though, he really was very thrilled about the fact that, as vampires had regeneration powers and insane physical strength, he no longer had to worry about his leg. Years of growing up in the dregs of Zaun, limping around with a leg brace and cane, years of pain gone in moments. Though he has now been a vampire for decades, sometimes when everything felt particularly unreal, he went for a run along the harbour in the dark.

He hadn’t seen Singed in years, good riddance, the man was a slug of the tital 'vampire.' But, where he currently resided in, was a huge, dark, and admittedly very gloomy, mansion. Near it, was a cute little fishing town, the one with the sweet harbour, where he occasionally hunted. That was another thing that he hated about being a vampire. Having to suck people dry of blood. He always tried to hold off for as long as he could, but things got difficult, and he couldn't resist.

That was where he met you. You were the darling barman at the inn in town, always friendly and gentle. Though, you could always stand up for things, and kick people out if they got too rough and started a fight, or were just was too drunk. Viktor visited regularly, as the folks who got too drunk and stumbled out of the bar tended to be good targets. They couldn't fight back very well, and were so drunk that they didn't really comprehend what was going on. It still made him feel dreadful though. And when they were proclaimed missing, and they were found washed up on shore, everyone just thought that they were too drunk and fell of the harbour. No one checked for bite marks.

But you were a creeping obsession of Viktor’s. Every time he sat there at the bar, calmly drinking whisky, one of the only human foods he could consume, as he looked for appropriate prey to drag onto an alley later, he watched you. He listened to the sound of your pulse in your throat, your blood in your veins. You smelt so good.

One night, he seemed to be fairly drunk, he finally asked you out for dinner. The next night, he picked you up from your inn in evening, and walked you up to his manor, all his senses focused on you.

“This is my humble abode, my dear.”

Viktor cooed, unable to help himself, as he closed the front door behind you two. You were not going to walk out of those doors again tonight. With a mere flick of his wrist, the lock clicked shut and he hopes you didn't notice. He guided you down the hallway towards the dining room, a hand on your lower back to steer you through the eerily lit hallway.

“We will be eating in this room, my beloved.”

He wasn’t going to let you leave. No way. You were going to be stuck here in this house as his future spouse. Possibly. All he knew, was that he needed a taste of your deliciously scented blood, and wanted to keep you safe. Safe, with him. And him alone.