The obvious display of aggression made Maell pause, his eyebrows creeping up ever so slightly. Without taking his eyes off Kain he said, “Does anyone wish to make further bids on the Pure Breeder? I remind you, this is your only opportunity to claim her.”

Only silence met his statement—silence, and the unwavering growl from the ebony-eyed demon staking his claim.

“Very well. At the price of three hundred million dollars, the auction has ended! Lord Kain, you may claim your mate.”

Kain kept his eyes on the auctioneer for another moment. Then with a slow and deliberate scowl, he let his gaze slide over the spectators—his beaten opposition.

And then he came for her.

Selma scrambled to the cage door just as it swung open—undoubtedly at the behest of Maell’s magic—and stumbled out into the arena.

She’d barely taken more than a step before he was in front of her—so big she had to crane her neck back to see his still battle-fierce face, and so amped up on adrenaline and testosterone that he didn’t even seem to notice his bruised knuckles or bleeding stomach.

“Selma.”

Even his voice was rough and filled with the fire that had been drawn from him during the fight, but it was still not fear that made her shiver in his presence. Just the sound of him, of her name on his lips, made her feel… safe. Even naked and surrounded by demons.

Even knowing what had to happen next.

Arms corded with muscle so thick they were practically the width of her torso wrapped around her waist and pulled her the last bit of the way into his embrace. His body burned against hers, but it only made her melt against his powerful form as tension drained from her.

Safe.

She pressed her nose into his chest and greedily inhaled his intoxicating scent. It was so much stronger than she remembered, so much richer.

“You came for me,” she choked out over the appreciative noises her throat seemed to be producing without her consent. “You came.”

“I promised to protect you.” Strong fingers threaded through her hair, pulling her head back gently, but insistently.

Obediently she tipped her head to look up at him.

“Forgive me.” It was a hoarse whisper, so unlike the bellowing roars he’d met the other demons with.

Selma blinked in confusion. Nothing about his behavior had suggested that he was anything but completely and irrevocably grappled by the power of his instincts—and the rock-hard bulge she felt against her stomach now, along with the unmistakable fire in his eyes, made it very clear that he was more than ready to claim his prize.

And yet… he asked for forgiveness? For what?