Menor charged at him with a roar, raising his own magic.

The two collided with a shrill screech like metal being wrought out of shape.

Selma pressed her hands against her ears to block out the sound, and hid her eyes from the dark sparks igniting in the air around the two fighting males. When she looked up again moments later, Menor was slumped on the ground and a chunk of his shoulder was missing. She stared at the bloody mess for five horrific seconds before she realized that Naharan had ripped a piece of his flesh out—with his teeth.

The Prince’s lips and bared teeth were bloodied, but it didn’t seem to concern him in the slightest. He flexed his shoulders to limber them after the fight, giving the demons on the benches a challenging glare before he turned around to look at her while Governor Maell helped his defeated brother out of the arena.

Naharan was the first since Eirath to pay her direct attention. This time there was no immediate bid to challenge the demon currently eyeing her like she was a piece of meat, and Selma swallowed nervously as he drew closer to the bars.

Was this it? Would this brutish beast be the one to claim her?

He looked so savage it was hardly a stretch to envision his demonic form. His head was shaved, his eyes possessed of a feral fire that made fear squirm in her stomach. He was terrifying—even more-so than the other contestants who had fought to win her, though she couldn’t say why.

“You look so soft.” His voice was gravelly, still rough from his battle cries. “I will enjoy mating you.”

The demon rested a large palm against the cage, snarling when dark sparks burned his skin at the touch, but he kept it there anyway. “Right here, in front of everyone who wasn’t worthy enough to win you. You will be my prize, Breeder.”

At least he would touch her ring first until she lost the ability to feel anything but hunger for him. Selma closed her eyes, refusing to see the look of triumph on his face when the Governor declared him the winner. Of her. His prize.

“Three hundred million dollars.”

The voice cut through the arena, shattering the muted silence after the last fight.

Now the murmur that rose from the crowd was far from muted, and the prince hissed. She heard the swish of his pants as he spun around to meet the new opponent.

Even Maell seemed mildly astonished for a moment, but then gathered himself again. “The bid is at three hundred million! Your Highness, do you choose to concede, raise the bid, or—”

“Fight!” Naharan snarled. “And win.”