Not even her rampant lust could hide the truth of what lay hidden behind their strong muscles and addictive scent—not after seeing what was truly behind the mask.

“Twenty-five million dollars.”

The new challenger strode down from the benches. He, too, was clad in leather pants, and his hair was long and wild. He didn’t even glance at her as he made his way to the arena, choosing instead to keep his gaze locked on Eirath.

Eirath charged at him the moment he entered the arena, dark magic bursting from both men as the fight began without delay.

This time it took what felt like twenty minutes before the scale tipped in anyone’s favor.

Both demons were snarling, their naked chests heaving from their exertion. Several cuts littered both men’s bodies from a mix of the dark magic as well blows from fists, elbows, knees, and feet that would have been deadly if they were human men.

It was during one short moment, when Eliath blinked to brush away the trail of blood from his split eyebrow, that the winner was decided. The long-haired demon leapt forward, and with a spinning kick powered by dark energy, knocked the blond to the floor with his heel.

“Loman wins!” Once more the Governor placed a restrictive hand on the winner’s shoulder, undoubtedly to ensure he obeyed the “no killing” rule.

Eirath picked himself off the floor. His face was a mask of anger behind the bruises and blood, but he exited the arena with his back straight without looking at the prize he’d lost.

The bidding continued, more often than not followed by a brutal fight, and the gruesome display tore at her soul in a way even the ring couldn’t hinder. Though watching them tear each other apart made her sick to her stomach, it also helped her hold on to her sense of self through the onslaught of her baser needs. She abhorred violence in any other capacity than self-defense, and nothing would ever change that.

After three hours the bids had reached a staggering ninety million dollars, and the fights had grown increasingly longer, and—if possible—more vicious. Maell had even had to use his own magic to physically separate contestants more than once.

“One hundred million!” a deep voice boomed through the arena.

Hushed murmurs followed when the owner of it strode down the stairs, his gaze firmly fixed on the current winner.

“Prince Naharan,” the Governor greeted him, bowing lightly. “You honor us and the Breeder with your presence. Menor, do you wish to fight His Highness, raise your bid, or concede?”

The demon who’d won the last five fights spat in the sawdust and cracked his neck. “Fight!”

Naharan raised an eyebrow. “That is a foolish choice, brother, but it is yours to make.” Dark magic crackled in the air around the Prince when he stepped into the ring.