The two men squared off, seemingly grabbing dark energy out of the air and hurling it at one another, leaving deep gashes bleeding onto the floor wherever it struck.
It finally ended when the blond launched himself at his opponent, and roaring like a wild beast, he pushed all the dark energy swirling around him at the other at the exact moment his fist connected with his jaw.
The newcomer didn’t block the attack swiftly enough, and when he toppled backwards, his shoulders hit the ground with a muted thump. Maell jumped in to place a strong hand on the blond demon’s shoulder just as he was about to press both hands against the fallen man’s throat.
“Eirath wins! The bid stands at ten million dollars.”
Both demons were growling, their eyes locked on each other as if they expected the other to jump at them while they slowly got to their feet. Blood dripped from both of them, and there was no hint of Eirath’s casual arrogance when he finally took his gaze from his defeated opponent to look at her again.
His eyes were filled with something feral and terrifying, and though her clit spasmed longingly at the sight, cold terror made its way to her brain. This was what she would be fucked by and bound to for the rest of her life—the monster underneath their disguise that clamored to possess and consume every ounce of her.
Not even her rampant lust could hide the truth of what lay hidden behind their strong muscles and addictive scent—not after seeing what was truly behind the mask.
“Twenty-five million dollars.”
The new challenger strode down from the benches. He, too, was clad in leather pants, and his hair was long and wild. He didn’t even glance at her as he made his way to the arena, choosing instead to keep his gaze locked on Eirath.
Eirath charged at him the moment he entered the arena, dark magic bursting from both men as the fight began without delay.
This time it took what felt like twenty minutes before the scale tipped in anyone’s favor.
Both demons were snarling, their naked chests heaving from their exertion. Several cuts littered both men’s bodies from a mix of the dark magic as well blows from fists, elbows, knees, and feet that would have been deadly if they were human men.
It was during one short moment, when Eliath blinked to brush away the trail of blood from his split eyebrow, that the winner was decided. The long-haired demon leapt forward, and with a spinning kick powered by dark energy, knocked the blond to the floor with his heel.
“Loman wins!” Once more the Governor placed a restrictive hand on the winner’s shoulder, undoubtedly to ensure he obeyed the “no killing” rule.
Eirath picked himself off the floor. His face was a mask of anger behind the bruises and blood, but he exited the arena with his back straight without looking at the prize he’d lost.
The bidding continued, more often than not followed by a brutal fight, and the gruesome display tore at her soul in a way even the ring couldn’t hinder. Though watching them tear each other apart made her sick to her stomach, it also helped her hold on to her sense of self through the onslaught of her baser needs. She abhorred violence in any other capacity than self-defense, and nothing would ever change that.
After three hours the bids had reached a staggering ninety million dollars, and the fights had grown increasingly longer, and—if possible—more vicious. Maell had even had to use his own magic to physically separate contestants more than once.
“One hundred million!” a deep voice boomed through the arena.
Hushed murmurs followed when the owner of it strode down the stairs, his gaze firmly fixed on the current winner.
“Prince Naharan,” the Governor greeted him, bowing lightly. “You honor us and the Breeder with your presence. Menor, do you wish to fight His Highness, raise your bid, or concede?”
The demon who’d won the last five fights spat in the sawdust and cracked his neck. “Fight!”
Naharan raised an eyebrow. “That is a foolish choice, brother, but it is yours to make.” Dark magic crackled in the air around the Prince when he stepped into the ring.
Menor charged at him with a roar, raising his own magic.
The two collided with a shrill screech like metal being wrought out of shape.
Selma pressed her hands against her ears to block out the sound, and hid her eyes from the dark sparks igniting in the air around the two fighting males. When she looked up again moments later, Menor was slumped on the ground and a chunk of his shoulder was missing. She stared at the bloody mess for five horrific seconds before she realized that Naharan had ripped a piece of his flesh out—with his teeth.
The Prince’s lips and bared teeth were bloodied, but it didn’t seem to concern him in the slightest. He flexed his shoulders to limber them after the fight, giving the demons on the benches a challenging glare before he turned around to look at her while Governor Maell helped his defeated brother out of the arena.
Naharan was the first since Eirath to pay her direct attention. This time there was no immediate bid to challenge the demon currently eyeing her like she was a piece of meat, and Selma swallowed nervously as he drew closer to the bars.
Was this it? Would this brutish beast be the one to claim her?
He looked so savage it was hardly a stretch to envision his demonic form. His head was shaved, his eyes possessed of a feral fire that made fear squirm in her stomach. He was terrifying—even more-so than the other contestants who had fought to win her, though she couldn’t say why.
“You look so soft.” His voice was gravelly, still rough from his battle cries. “I will enjoy mating you.”
