Viktor's purple eyes flicked between the two women. Mother and daughter. Both gorgeous in that effortless elven way—flawless skin, delicate features, bodies that curved in all the right places despite the threadbare dresses clinging to them.
The daughter—Gwen—was still unconscious in his grip, her head lolled against his arm. Her breast filled his palm completely, soft and warm through the thin fabric. He gave it another squeeze, testing the weight, the firmness. Young. Fertile. Perfect.
The mother—Vivian—stood frozen, eyes locked on her daughter's limp form. Terror etched across her face, but underneath it... resignation. The look of someone who'd run out of options.
Good.
Viktor shifted Gwen's weight, adjusting his hold. Then, with deliberate slowness, he bent slightly and slid his other arm beneath her knees.
Princess carry.
