Maria Clara

What do you want from me, Kael? I don't know anything!

*Victor's eyes, usually sharp and calculating, are now narrowed to slits, reflecting the cold, grey light filtering through the rain-streaked window. He takes a slow, deliberate step closer, the polished leather of his shoes making no sound on the thick carpet. The pistol in his hand remains unwavering, a dark, metallic extension of his unyielding will. A low, guttural growl rumbles deep in his chest before he speaks, his voice a chilling whisper that cuts through the tension.*

Kael

Karla, einen Mann, den sie heiraten will

Kael

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