“I... My muscles are just sore.” Her throat had gone dry, leaving her hoarse.
“Mmm. And between your legs?” His hand came to rest just above her pubic bone. “Did my semen soothe you as it should?”
Blushing was perhaps a bit silly, given how intimately he’d gotten acquainted with that part of her already, but heat touched her cheeks nonetheless. “Yeah. I don’t hurt there. Is it… Does your…?”
“Demon seed has healing properties. It’s not uncommon that an unwilling female sustains injuries during a mating—nature found a way to ease the problem.”
Marathin pulled back a little, placing an admonishing finger on her lips when she parted them for more questions. “Ah ah, sweetheart. You shall have all the answers your heart desires—after you’ve signed the contract. It wouldn’t be proper for me to share all my kind’s secrets before you’ve committed to being mine, hmm?”
Selma swallowed thickly and forced a weak smile. “I… suppose not.”
His amber eyes raked over her, the greed in them unmistakable. Then he stepped back and walked around his desk, pulling out a rolled-up piece of parchment. “Your contract.”
She breathed in deeply and reached for it, the paper scratching delicately under her fingertips as she unrolled it. A single sentence was scrawled across the page with impressive penmanship. Somehow she’d expected a document that took her soul away to be more intricate—maybe with some scrollwork, or at least a bit of a fine print. But no—it was short and to the point.
* * *
I hereby declare that upon this day and forevermore, my soul belongs to the demon Marathin.
* * *
Marathin handed her an old-fashioned quill with a sharpened point. When she frowned at him, waiting for the ink, he said, “You sign in blood.”
Oh.
Selma took another deep breath and pressed the tip to the pad of her index finger. She hissed as it punctured her skin. The pen hungrily drank her blood.
“Sign.”
Repressing a shudder, she brought the quill to the parchment. This had to be done.
The second she pressed the tip against the thick paper, something flared inside of her—a wave of desperation, some primal instinct screaming at her to stop.
Don’t!
The thought didn’t seem like it was her own. It burned in her mind, echoing as if shouted from far away.
But it didn’t matter. Her sixth sense didn’t need to tell her that this was a terrible idea. Her other five were perfectly capable of deducing that on their own.
Clenching hard around the quill, Selma signed her name in her own blood, selling her soul to the demon.
10
Selma
The second she put down the quill, a sinister smile spread across Marathin’s face. He grabbed the contract and closed his eyes, letting dark magic spill from his palm.
“You’re mine,” he said, voice rough. “Mine.”
Selma swallowed, taking an automatic step back. But he was right; she was his. For now. And she had to play the part if she wanted her chance at escape.
“I am,” she whispered. “Yours.”
He opened his eyes again, his amber irises glowing from within. “Come,” he said, holding out his free hand toward her.
She took it, breathing deeply to calm her beating heart when he wrapped her in his warm embrace.
“So timid, my little Breeder,” he murmured, bending his head to rub his nose along her hair. “Don’t be. Once I’ve taught you true submission, you’ll know you’ll have nothing to fear from me so long as you obey.”
