Either way, as much as he had saved her last night, she knew the only things she could expect from him now were chains and an eternity of servitude.

Selma bit back the onset of hopelessness and pushed out of the bed. She had survived so far—she had to remember that. She’d been captured, blinded, raped, and tortured, and yet she’d survived.

Whatever she had to do to escape this time, she would. Which meant that she’d need her wits and strength about her, or she might as well give up and accept a future as a broodmare for these monsters.

The bedroom was framed by a black carpet and white walls, one of them completely covered by floor-to-ceiling windows sporting an unsurpassed view of the city. The large bed and a dresser in matching wood were the only pieces of furniture in the room, but when she craned her neck she could see that the third door, opposite the one by the mirror Kain had pointed out as the bathroom door, opened up into a luxuriously large closet.

He was clearly wealthy, despite his sparse—and rather male—sense of interior design, but then again, she supposed a demon Lord was bound to be.

Selma walked naked to the bathroom, enjoying the sensation of the soft carpet underneath her feet. She hadn't exactly been able to afford much comfort while on the run; many nights she’d opted to sleep in her car instead of spending any of the savings she’d withdrawn on a motel room.

The luxurious shower was a welcome gift, despite the circumstances that had brought her here. She used his expensive shampoo and fancy soap to wash away the dirt and semen that still covered her after the attack and Kain's tending to her. The hot water soothed her tired muscles and heavy heart, and afterwards she wrapped herself in clean, soft towels.

The shower didn't manage to clear away her sense of dread and anxiety over being captured by an enemy, but it did allow her a slightly clearer head and calmer outlook, and for that she was grateful.

She would make it through this somehow, even if she didn't quite know how yet.

Still wrapped in the black, fluffy towel, she padded back into the bedroom and found a man's shirt spread out for her on the bed. It didn't offer the modesty she’d hoped for, but it was long enough to cover well past her mid-thighs. It was clean and crisp, smelled like detergent, and faintly of him.

Flushing with embarrassment, Selma stopped sniffing the collar, scolding her excited ovaries for the sudden dampness between her thighs. She bit the inside of her cheek hard until her mind stopped looping over the things he'd done to her the night before.