Before she’d managed to push away the haze of drowsiness, the big male by her side rolled over, letting a large hand stroke down over her hip and in between her thighs, then up against her clothed sex in an unmistakable suggestion.
A myriad of images and sensations coagulated in her mind in the span of a split-second—Marathin touching her, spreading her apart, trying to force his way inside of her.
“No!” She fought wildly against the questing hand, punching and kicking until the man in her bed rolled away with a startled grunt.
Relief mixed with flashes of a broken skull and brain matter splattered across the tarmac, and she only just managed to scramble to the edge of the bed before she vomited.
The rest of last night’s memories finally set in while she dry heaved. She was in Kain’s father’s home—not among enemies.
“Are you certain he’s dead?” Kesh’s voice was so gravelly with restrained fury it set the hairs at the back of her neck on edge.
Forcing a deep breath, she rubbed both hands against her eyes, slowly regaining control of herself. What Marathin had tried to do to her last night hadn’t been much different from the first time he’d taken her against her will—except it had. But what she’d done to him was so much worse, and so very satisfying.
Selma drew in another deep breath and lowered her hands, her frantic heartbeat calming as she replayed the grim satisfaction of murdering her molester until the horror released its grip on her body.
“Yeah. I’m certain.”
Kesh let out a breath behind her, and she got the fleeting impression that he was disappointed with that answer. He had likely been hoping to murder the offender himself.
She looked over her shoulder, and sure enough Kain’s handsome brother was frowning, an air of agitation rolling off him.
He seemed to pull it together when her gaze caught his, rolling his shoulders with a grimace. “All right. Well, if you’re done puking, we best get this over with. Do you have a preferred position?”
Selma blinked. “Position for what?”
Kesh arched an eyebrow at her, his expression suggesting he was starting to suspect she was clinically slow. “To be mounted.”
She stared at him, his words not quite making sense until she remembered his hand between her legs.
“Are you… Are you actually serious right now? You’re my mate’s brother, for fuck’s sake! I’m not sleeping with you, and if you try and force me, so help me I’ll end you!”
Perhaps it should have been fear that gripped her when she realized his intentions. He was so much bigger than Marathin and so much stronger. But the feeling of power still tickled in her palms, as if her body was reminding her that she would never have to submit against her will again.
Not that she knew how to access that bright energy, but the buzz in her hands seemed a promise that she would, should she ever need to.
The black-haired demon just stared at her. “You think I want to mate with you? It’s my duty, Breeder. This is why Kain sent you to me—so I can ensure yours and his child’s survival.”
Kain’s explanation when he’d driven them back from the sanctuary came back to her—about how her baby would drain her life essence if she wasn’t supplied with… an alternative. She grimaced.
“Look, I appreciate it, but I’m fine. We’re fine. Focus your efforts on bringing my mate back to me so he can take care of us.”
Kesh sighed, running his fingers through his dark hair. “Fine. But if you grow weak while we look for him, we’re doing this. Understood?”
Selma nodded once, having absolutely no intention of complying. But it was obvious her overprotective brother-in-law wasn’t dropping the issue without some concession. The sooner she got him off the idea she needed his magic semen, the sooner he’d refocus on getting Kain back.
“Why are you in my bed, anyway?” Selma glanced at his shirtless body. At least he seemed to be wearing his jeans from last night, and she was still in the torn clothing she’d worn when she collapsed in bed.
“It’s technically my bed. This is my old room. You were having nightmares and whimpering in your sleep, and you wouldn’t shut up until I climbed in and held you.”
Oh. The morning just kept getting better and better.
“Um, sorry.”
Kesh grunted dismissively. “It’s fine. Are you done sleeping? I’ll bring you down for breakfast after you’ve had a shower.”
Selma spent the better part of the morning pacing the ground floor of the house while trying to keep hold of her patience.
Kesh had cleaned her vomit off the floor while she was showering and presented her with some overly elegant—and absurdly expensive—silk garments with the price tags still attached. Then he’d proceeded to hover over her while she ate, insisting she pile on the cream cheese and sliced meats “for the baby.”
