Viktor Arcane Novels & Stories

His exhaustion was more than physical; he was still vibrating from the energy he’d absorbed in the Pit. Elara knelt beside him, placing a hand on his forehead. "You did enough, Zane. Rest." The quiet healer caught her wrist, his eyes wide and terrified. He didn't speak, but his message was clear: He's coming. "Who?" Elara whispered. Kael walked over, his face illuminated by the flickering green light of the monitors Rhys had set up. "Viktor. He knows we’re the only ones who can resist. The Anchor is an anomaly in his system. We’re the 'noise' in his perfect signal."

Aria had become a phantom, slipping through their fingers with an uncanny ease. Connor's fear intensified as the realization sank in. Aria was a force he had underestimated, a force that moved in shadows while he exposed himself to the light. The balance had shifted, and the power dynamics had shifted in Aria's favor. Unbeknownst to both of them, Aria had the backing of the one man that Vornt has always feared. Mtungagore the Azanian warlock, her dearest maternal grandfather.

Stumbling back, I crouched down, ready to attack, “What in the name of Loki are you doing? Go now before I change my mind and kick you, sorry little ass!” Arcane stood between us, blocking my view of her, and his eyes bored into mine. His fingertips had turned to long black talons, and almost black eyes focused only on me. Why the fucking hell did his beast interfere in this!?

A hand—her father's—grabbing hers, leading her to safety. Vosvak Spade. Once the cunning, ruthless Minister of the Arcane Council, now rotting in the cursed chambers beneath the Tomb of Il’Sharak. Accused of summoning the monstrous wretches that razed entire villages, and condemned by none other than Miyal Rhax’s father—the great Alpha himself. Perfera clenched her fists. The mirror rippled. A different image formed—Krishna Aswald on the pyre, emerald eyes blazing, flames licking at her skin, yet still she screamed defiance. Miyal, standing cold and unflinching.

Alaric’s men surged forward to intervene, but a sharp glance from him froze them in their tracks. “Stand back!” Alaric ordered. Viktor was feral. He was on top of Alaric, punching erratically, his knuckles splitting and painting Alaric’s pale face red. His eyes were no longer as I remembered; they were unstable as he fought with the desperation of a man who had already lost everything. For a heartbeat, it looked like Viktor was actually gaining control. He was landing hits that should have broken any normal man. But Alaric just smiled through the blood.

"Welcome to the Ark. I believe you're both looking for the same thing." Dante's eyes locked onto me through the camera. "Aria," he breathed. "Are you hurt?" "I'm fine," I said, though my voice trembled. "Let her go," Viktor roared. "Or I will bury this mountain on top of your head, Architect." "I don't think you will," the Architect said calmly. "Because if you do, you'll never know the truth. About Svetlana. About Lorenzo's gold. About who really started the war that destroyed your family."

"Everyone calm down. Luca, sit. We have business to discuss." I didn't want to sit. I wanted to wrap my hands around Isabella's throat and watch the life leave her eyes. But Aria didn't have time for my revenge. I sat. Viktor pulled a small case from his desk drawer, opening it to reveal three vials of clear liquid. The antidote. So close I could almost touch it. "This is what you need," he said. "Compound R-47 counteragent. Extremely rare. Extremely valuable." "Name your price."

“Calla is within her rights to use it. Unless you’re worried your claim can’t stand up to scrutiny if she has a say in the decision?” Moira’s words challenged Marcus directly, forcing him to either accept the new terms or appear afraid of giving me any control. “Fine,” Marcus said through clenched teeth. “I’ll name my champion. Viktor.” A massive werewolf stepped forward from Marcus’s group. I hadn’t noticed him before, but it was hard to miss him now. He was nearly seven feet tall, built like a tank, and covered in scars that showed he had seen a lot of fights. “Viktor is my chief enforcer,” Marcus said with pride. “He’s never lost a fight in over thirty years. Good luck finding someone who

Viktor’s expression didn’t change — but something cold flickered behind his eyes. “Oh, I hope he does.” Elena swallowed the wave of fear rising in her throat. Do not give him fear. Do not give him tears. She straightened in the chair as much as she could. “This isn’t about me.” “Everything is about you,” Viktor corrected softly. “You just don’t understand how much.” He stood and began pacing slowly in front of her. “Do you know how long I’ve studied him?” he continued. “Adrien D’Angelo. The ghost of the underworld. Untouchable. Unbreakable.”

Now, nothing held me back. He thought me fragile, a delicate creature brought back by blood and dark magic, but he had not realized the magnitude of his mistake. The power he granted me with each innocent life he sacrificed was growing stronger by the day, festering beneath my cold skin, coursing through my dead veins. I stepped toward the balcony overlooking the shattered courtyard below. A pale moon illuminated the destruction Giovanni had wrought, the broken bodies, the blood soaking the earth, his tribute to my return. I smiled at their sight as I inhaled their scent, as I sucked off their souls, as I allowed myself to grow stronger.