Gently she touched a hand to the silver mark marring her forehead, shuddering at the memory of the monster who’d blinded her. She’d always thought her ability to see demons for what they were was her curse. But now…

Now that she was blind to their true forms, she wished she could see them again. Running from monsters you couldn’t see? Not easy. Only her constant vigilance, the continued moving from town to town, had kept her safe.

Until now.

At least this demon was so obvious even a regular person would be wary around him. His handsome face wasn’t enough to hide the overly bulging muscles, nor the nearly palpable dark energy flickering off him like a looming thunderstorm.

Selma cast a quick glance over her shoulder to see if he’d followed, and drew a sigh of relief at the nearly empty stretch behind her. For whatever reason, Hulking Brute hadn’t taken up chase.

But her deep breath of relief was cut short when something caught her ankle and she tripped, landing face-first on the pavement with a shriek and scraping her hands and knees in the process.

Pain shot from her cheek, knees, and palms, and she tasted blood from where she’d bit her tongue when she fell. Just great. Falling over her own feet while trying to escape a demon was not exactly a winning moment.

“Are you okay, sugar?”

Startled, she looked up from the pavement at two young women, one of whom was bent over her splayed-out form. She hadn’t noticed them before she fell.

“Y-Yeah, thanks.” She scrambled to get up, only for the women to hoist her by her elbows.

“You don’t look so good,” the woman still holding onto her stated. “Why don’t you come with us and we’ll get you sorted out, hmm?”

Something in her eyes was off. The coldness there sent shivers of recognition down Selma’s spine, and she pulled back in an attempt at getting free. “No, thanks, really—I’m fine.”

The woman’s grip didn’t loosen, and when an unseen third person placed a hand on her shoulder, panic started bubbling in her veins, making her chest heavy with icy realization. In her desperate escape, she’d nearly forgotten that not everyone she needed to fear was male.

“Let me go!”

“Or you’ll do what? Scream?” The redheaded woman who had yet to touch her pulled a blade from her sleeve, pressing it against Selma’s stomach through her sweatshirt. “Breeders. Come now, or die on the street. Your choice.”

“Please.” Selma gasped as the woman pressed the knife closer, but she let her assailants drag her down a narrow passageway as all her thoughts turned immediately and sharply to the one singular goal: survival.