He was clearly wealthy, despite his sparse—and rather male—sense of interior design, but then again, she supposed a demon Lord was bound to be.
Selma walked naked to the bathroom, enjoying the sensation of the soft carpet underneath her feet. She hadn't exactly been able to afford much comfort while on the run; many nights she’d opted to sleep in her car instead of spending any of the savings she’d withdrawn on a motel room.
The luxurious shower was a welcome gift, despite the circumstances that had brought her here. She used his expensive shampoo and fancy soap to wash away the dirt and semen that still covered her after the attack and Kain's tending to her. The hot water soothed her tired muscles and heavy heart, and afterwards she wrapped herself in clean, soft towels.
The shower didn't manage to clear away her sense of dread and anxiety over being captured by an enemy, but it did allow her a slightly clearer head and calmer outlook, and for that she was grateful.
She would make it through this somehow, even if she didn't quite know how yet.
Still wrapped in the black, fluffy towel, she padded back into the bedroom and found a man's shirt spread out for her on the bed. It didn't offer the modesty she’d hoped for, but it was long enough to cover well past her mid-thighs. It was clean and crisp, smelled like detergent, and faintly of him.
Flushing with embarrassment, Selma stopped sniffing the collar, scolding her excited ovaries for the sudden dampness between her thighs. She bit the inside of her cheek hard until her mind stopped looping over the things he'd done to her the night before.
So long as he didn’t touch the cursed ring between her legs, she’d be able to keep her head clear. And now that she was clean, the first port of call was to find out what he planned to do with her so she could start working on her escape.
Selma walked to the bedroom door and peered into the dim hallway. Not too many steps to her right was the locked and bolted front door to the apartment. Just for a moment she considered running for it, but she had no idea where she was in relation to her abandoned car, and she’d dropped her purse with her car keys and most of her money when the female demons dragged her into the warehouse
No, even if she could get past all the locks, her only option was to find the demon Lord and see what game he intended to play.
* * *
She found him in the kitchen, hunched on a bar stool in front of a marble-countered island hosting an obscenely large display of food. He was slouched with his chin resting on his knuckles and a facial expression that could only be described as brooding.
Selma hesitated at the threshold, uncertain how to proceed. Despite the safety and comfort of waking up in his embrace, his looming form made her draw in a shaky breath. Now that she was conscious and aware of what he was, she felt more than a little nervous in his presence.
“Come. Eat. You need food—a Breeder should never be so malnourished.”
She blinked at the command and pressed a hand against her stomach. Sure, she’d lost some weight while on the road, and she hadn't made the healthiest food choices when she did scarf something down, but in no way would she be considered malnourished—not by human standards. Apparently demons preferred their sex toys somewhat plump.
Biting back a retort for his presumption that her weight was any of his business, she slid closer in silence. She was pretty hungry, and the spread on the counter made her mouth water. Just at a glance she noticed smoked salmon, bagels, strawberries, eggs, and a variety of cheeses.
“Did you prepare this for me?” she asked as she scooted onto the too-tall bar stool next to him. It seemed like the polite thing to do—and she wanted to stay on his good side for as long as possible.
“Room service,” he grunted.
It seemed this Lord wasn't a morning demon.
Selma decided to leave him alone until he wanted to begin that talk he'd mentioned earlier and dug in.
“I sensed no mate claim on you.”
Selma coughed. He’d chosen the exact moment she’d taken an enormous bite of bagel layered with cream cheese and salmon to finally break the silence. She shot him a sideways look and realized he was staring down at her from his higher vantage point, taking in every movement of her face and body as if she was an opponent whose next move he was trying to decipher.
“I don't have a mate,” she confirmed after finally swallowing.
“You have been marked.” He narrowed his eyes, probably trying to detect any hint of deceit. “Ringed. Which means you ran from your Procurer. How?”
Selma bit her lip and looked down at her hands next to the well-stocked plate. They shook a little, as they always did when she remembered Marathin and what she’d had to do.
“There was… an incident. I got away while he was busy trying to cover it up.”
A surprisingly gentle touch to her chin made her look up, his dark eyes easily capturing her gaze.
“What did he do to you, Selma?”
She swallowed thickly, something in her heart fluttering at his gentleness. It seemed… real. Even though she knew what they were like, knew how easily they lied and deceived, something in his soft touch and dark eyes made her want to trust him.
“There has never been a recorded incident of a Breeder escaping her Procurer in the entirety of our history. They are taught to be gentle—and, above all else, cautious. If you fled… he did something he shouldn’t have.”
