She stared up at the demon in front of her, shaking her head in denial, but his gaze was alight with whatever it was that normally lurked just beneath the surface. The twisting emotion in her gut was no longer fear—it was pure terror, too strong to rationalize away with the fact that Kesh was here to protect her, or that as mad as Kain’s father was, he wouldn’t want to intentionally harm her. Instead her instincts screamed of danger, and she grasped at the protective body behind her, desperate to escape.

“That’s enough!” Kesh grabbed her by both shoulders and easily lifted her behind him, squaring up in front of his father. “Get a hold of yourself—you’re terrifying her!”

Selma had a moment’s worth of relief that she was no longer in the enraged demon’s direct line of sight. She wrapped her arms protectively around her midriff to try to gather her composure and quell her racing heart, but it shattered to pieces when Kirigan’s face contorted in a snarl.

In the next second, his hand cracked against Kesh’s jaw, sending her protector flying into the nearest bookshelf. Dark magic shot up around his limbs, pinning him in place.

The small whimper that escaped her lips sounded like it had come from a scared little animal—and it apparently didn’t do anything to dampen Kirigan’s rampage. His face lit up with feral ferociousness when she cowered back against the wall behind her, and he followed her retreat with slow, measured steps.

“Lying little Breeder. So small and soft. You reek of fear—which is why my foolish son is trying to break himself apart to get free and save you. Do you enjoy the power you hold? Is that what happened with Marathin? You made him mad with need, only to kill him when his desire got out of control? Show me what you did to him!”

“I did nothing!” she shrieked.

He snarled again and grabbed her shoulder. “Show me! Now!”

Kirigan dug his fingers into her flesh, not quite firmly enough to cause her pain, but it triggered her panic nonetheless. With a cry she brought both fists up to punch at him, hammering them against his unyielding flesh.

“Let go! Let go of me!”

“Fight me all you want, girl. Unless you do to me what you did to Marathin, I will make you scream. And if you still don’t show me what I want to see, perhaps I will take the baby in your womb.”

Maybe she should have questioned his claim to want to hurt his own grandchild, but in that moment, all she saw was his terrifying, distorted face. His features morphed before her eyes, adding a layer of red and black scales and long, black, coiled horns.