“I have sent you willing female after willing female, and you have denied them all. And of course you killed poor Freidha. She was in heat, which is why she was silly enough to get too close, but I really did expect you to at least sniff her a bit before breaking her neck.

“Yet nothing has tempted that lovely cock of yours—which, let’s be honest, is pretty out of character for your kind. I’ve been told you Lords enjoy raping those of us you capture, so why not take it when it’s freely given?”

Kain spat at the ground and showed his teeth in disgust. He knew what they wanted from him—his seed to strengthen their offspring. Maybe before he’d mated his little one his body would have given in to the alluring scent of a female in heat, but now all he felt was repulsion. Nothing and no one would ever make him yearn like Selma did, and mounting another would only sully her memory.

He was fully aware that the image of her pretty face and the way she made him feel things he hadn’t even known were possible were the only pleasantness he would ever know again.

“You know,” the female said, the purr in her voice changing ever-so slightly to a more threatening sound, “you will give me what I want eventually. I am your queen, and sooner or later, you will yield to me. You produce stronger sperm when at full health and vitality, but I will starve and torture you to get what I need.”

Kain’s only response was a growl. Let her try to break him—he would rather die than give her what belonged to his mate.

Selma.

If she had made it to safety, nothing they did to him would matter.

The queen sighed and uncoiled the whip hanging by her hip. “I see you’ve made your choice. Very well.”

His body still trembled long after the queen had left the dungeon. He wasn’t exactly unfamiliar with pain, but even his exceedingly high level of endurance had started to crack after hours of being whipped and beaten.

Kain breathed in deeply to calm himself, and the scent of his own blood filled his nostrils. He leaned his head back against the cool stone wall he was slouched against. Closing his eyes, he groaned at the ache in his marred shoulders when they pressed more firmly against the surface. He’d heal quickly enough, but he had no delusions that the bitch queen wasn’t going to draw more blood the next time she came.

And the time after that, and the time after that.

Hopefully, one day soon, she would let her guard down for just a second. When she did, he would strike, and maybe—just maybe—he would escape and find his mate again.