He was impeccably groomed, wearing a tailored three-piece Italian suit, his brown hair styled to perfection. He held a silver-headed walking cane in his right hand, though he walked without a limp. His face was handsome in a classical, sculpted way, but his dark eyes were hollow—utterly devoid of warmth or humanity.
"Ah, Viktor," Gabriel spoke, his voice smooth, refined, and sickeningly polite. "I see you’ve secured the package. And she’s still intact. Excellent."
Gabriel strolled across the concrete floor, his leather shoes clicking sharply. He stopped five feet from me, looking down at my bound, disheveled state with an expression of cold, predatory satisfaction.
"Feyre," Gabriel said gently, as if greeting a friend at a gala. "You look somewhat... unrefined in this light. But no matt
