Selma gave him a nervous glance before she steeled herself. Somehow she doubted that even the demons trying to protect her would take kindly to knowing what kind of power had awoken in her after her run-in with Bealith. Nor the demon world in general, judging by how they treated the women they called Breeders.

“Is that something you would happen to know anything about, little one?”

Kain’s preferred term of endearment for her spoken by this frightening creature startled her for a moment, but she still managed to stick out her chin in defiance.

“I have no idea what happened.”

Kirigan’s lips curled in the smallest hint of a smile. “Do not try to lie to a demon, Selma. You will rarely deceive them.”

Selma did her best to keep her gaze firm, though she pressed back into Kesh’s strong chest for support. “I’m not lying. I’m scared and worried about Kain.”

The older demon’s smile turned a little sharper at the corners. “You mistakenly believe your scent is the only indicator of your deceitfulness. You are young and inexperienced, and there is little you can do to hide a lie from a demon my age. It’s painted in the tensing of your jaw, the slight dilation of your pupils. My sons may be stricken by your pheromones, and easily manipulated by the call from your sweet little cunt, but you will not find me so easily distracted.”

Her mouth fell open at his sudden vulgarity, but that wasn’t the cause of the fear curdling in her stomach. No, that came down to his eyes—those dark, soulless eyes that seemed to swallow all light that touched them bored straight into hers, demanding her surrender. It was as if she was staring into the depths of madness, realizing that just below the surface there were true horrors to be found.

“Father,” Kesh interjected. He squeezed Selma’s shoulder comfortingly, trying to draw her into his own protective aura, but there was no escaping those terrifying eyes as long as Kirigan chose to keep them locked on hers.

“Did he force himself on you, Breeder? Is that how it happened?”

The feeling of Marathin’s hands on her body, ripping at her clothes and touching her as if he had every right to, made its way to the forefront of her mind, and she couldn’t repress the shudder it caused, nor the sense of dread.