TWO WEEKS AGO,
Gareth flinched the moment he felt those dark eyes on him.
Even before turning around.
It was instinct—the kind burned into prey animals when a predator locks onto them. His body moved before his brain caught up, dropping to one knee, then both, forehead nearly kissing the dirt path outside the manor.
"Young Lord Viktor!" The words tumbled out in a rush. "I-I've done as you asked!"
Viktor stood a few paces away, arms crossed, his transformed physique casting a long shadow in the late afternoon sun. Gone was the fat—replaced by lean muscle that moved beneath his shirt with predatory grace.
He didn't speak immediately. Just stared.
Gareth's throat worked. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool breeze.
