They rested together in silence for a long while, the warmth of his body shielding her from the world and enveloping her mind in his masculine musk, soothing her while she calmed down. Only when his heavy cock began deflating, letting warm semen ooze down her thighs, did her brain jolt back to life.
He’d bred her.
“Am I pregnant?” she whispered into the sinewy arm he’d curled around her head as tendrils of fear snaked their way through the pleasant afterglow. She had lost herself so completely to his demonic magic that she hadn’t protested his desire to seed her, had even welcomed it when she felt his semen coat her womb.
“No, sweetheart.” Marathin pushed himself up and she groaned when he pulled out of her, the ridges on his softened cock still prominent enough to tease her tender pussy. “It can only happen during your ovulation, and even then the chances are slim.”
Relief washed through her; while her slowly returning sense of self-preservation might have questioned the truth in anything he said, his longing tone made it obvious he would have delighted in having even a small chance at impregnating her. So at least she wouldn’t have to face a demon spawn growing inside of her while she tried to understand what had happened to her in the past few hours. Or in the last twenty-seven years.
“Shh.” He placed a kiss on her shoulder blade before gathering her up and cradling her in his arms like a child. “Be calm, my sweet. There’s no need for worrisome thoughts.”
With a gentle peck to the top of her head, he twisted around to lie back down on the floor, this time using his body as cushioning for hers. Before she could put distance between them, he propped a knee in between her thighs to make her more comfortable, and probably not-so-coincidentally stopping her from rolling off him.
Selma hauled in a slow breath, tempted to give in to his warmth and heady scent trying to lull her back into that relaxed post-orgasmic state. But despite her exhaustion, her mind was slowly returning now that the hormonal fog was lifting.
“Good girl. Just relax. I’ll take care of you, my sweet. You’ll be safe with me.” Marathin’s voice was oddly muted, as if his thoughts were miles away while he absentmindedly breathed in her scent.
He might have meant his words to be soothing, but they caused a jolt of fear to spike through her chest even as she stayed perfectly still in his arms.
He’d made her promise she’d never reject him again, and the way he was talking now…
“Don’t be afraid,” he mumbled before rubbing his cheek against the top of her head. “I’ll take such good care of you.”
Like she was a pet.
“I’m not scared,” she whispered.
“I told you not to lie to me.” There was annoyance in his voice this time. “Your scent changes with your emotions—fear, distress... It spikes through even the intoxicating smell of pleasured Breeder. I know when you lie. I won’t tolerate deceit and disobedience.”
She swallowed thickly, his ominous words doing nothing to ease her fear. Her pussy ached from the rough sex, and though there was no denying how much she’d enjoyed his attentions, it’d been forced on her.
And now, the way he was acting as if she was something that belonged to him? It stirred the same unpleasant sense of foreboding his words before he’d taken her had. Thankfully, it also awakened her survival instincts.
He was stronger than her, had trapped her and used her broken mind to clamp a magic mind-control ring on her most sensitive parts—and he could tell when she lied. If she wanted to escape, she’d have to play along until she found out how to get away.
And if his behavior now was an indicator, perhaps she could use whatever possessive asshole urges had arisen in him during the mating to help herself. Scary as the doctor was, she was relatively certain she’d stand a better chance at escaping him before he sold her.
“I can’t help it,” she said softly. “I’m going to get sold off to some… some stranger. And you… what we did… It’s just a lot right now.”
He was quiet for a bit, stroking her hair while he mulled over her words. Then he rolled to his side, careful to place his arm under her head. There was still no fire in his eyes, but possessiveness flamed in them nonetheless.
“What if you weren’t to be sold? Would you like that?”
She arched an eyebrow. “Yeah, that sounds pretty good, not gonna lie.”
He chuckled at her lip, his free hand coming down to pinch her naked backside. “If you agree to be mine, you won’t have to go through an auction.”
Selma frowned, biting her lip as she looked at him. “But you said?—”
“I know what I said. And if I were found out, there would be a price to pay. But this is the length I’m willing to go—for you, my sweet. I’ll keep you safe from the Lords and their brutality.”
“Why?” she persisted. “How many other women have you?—”
“None!” he interrupted her, lip pulling up in a silent snarl as he pushed her off his shoulder and rose to his feet. His eyes blazed at her with so much anger she shrank back against the cold floor.
Marathin pulled a hand through his hair, his look of anger fading into frustration. “You think I’d risk my standing for a regular little tart? You call to me, Selma. Your scent… it’s so intense. Spellbinding. The Lords may think they deserve you, but I’m older than most of them. I am powerful enough to keep you. Strong enough to breed you. If you wish it, I will make you mine. You cower from me now, but in time, you will be grateful for my sacrifice.”
And there it was: the true reason for his possessive urges. He wanted to own her because of her supposed “purity.” Because he saw her as a rare and valuable trinket. There was no tender emotion in his amber eyes, no empathy for her plight.
