“Certainly not,” Marathin hissed, taking a step toward her—but the Agent who held her took a step back, lifting his hand in warning. Her Procurer stopped, anger blazing in his eyes. “This is nonsense! You saw the contract—she belongs to me!”

“Gerriol,” the leader said, “confirm.”

The demon holding her gripped her body tighter, dark magic rising around them both like a nightmarish fog.

Selma gritted her teeth at the slimy touch of it against her skin, but it only lasted a few seconds before the man gasped and the energy disappeared once more.

“It… It’s true,” he whispered. “She has no reaction to my magic.”

“Please, just let me stay with Kain,” Selma begged, writhing against the Agent to free herself. It was no use—he gripped her too tight, even if he was very careful not to hurt her. “I won’t run away again, but please—let me stay with him! H-He’s a Lord. You don’t need to take me to an auction. I’ll stay!”

“Have you forced a mating bond with her?” This time the leader snapped his question at Kain, completely ignoring her pleas.

Kain responded with a low, threatening growl. “I have not. She lied to me—I had no idea she was more than a normal Breeder. And neither did you, it would seem. Perhaps you might care to wonder why her Procurer didn't mention this when he sent you after her like a pack of obedient dogs.”

“Careful.”

“Sir, he's right,” one of the other Agents whispered from behind her. “Contract or not, we can’t give him a Pure Breeder.”

“I'm aware.” The leader gave Marathin a long look before he returned his attention to Kain. “We will bring her to the Governor instead, on the condition that you do not try to stop us from leaving with her. If you wish to see her again, you will be invited to her auction as tradition dictates.”

Kain’s black eyes burned into hers, the anger in them knocking the breath from her lungs. “I have no such desires. Take her.”

“No! Kain, I’m sorry! Don’t leave me! Kain!”

Selma struggled against the demon holding her, desperation flaring in her gut as the only protector she’d had turned his back on her and strode toward his car, leaving her to the very fate she’d signed her life away to escape.

11

Selma

The Governor’s mansion was a lavish, old plantation-style building somewhere on the southeastern coast. The Agents wouldn’t tell her which state they’d brought her to, but the Spanish moss drooping from the sycamore trees lining the long, winding drive to the mansion tattled on the general geography of their location.