He was a demon, of that she was sure—but he was also big and strong, dominance radiating from his every pore. He was more than capable of saving her from the agonizing need growing steadily between her legs.

She let out a pained moan—a wordless plea as her mind fogged.

He moved then, shifting closer, but before he could rise and come to her, movement flashed behind him.

Selma cried out what should have been a warning, but it came too late. The redheaded demoness leapt at him from behind. Somehow he managed to twist at the last second, and the dagger that was aimed at his throat tore into his shoulder instead.

The Lord roared again, shaking the warehouse, and spun around to face his attacker, knocking the blade out of his shoulder in the process. The dagger clattered and skidded on the concrete as he snatched Red by the throat and immediately pounded her into the ground hard enough that her skull cracked like an egg. His fist followed, smashing into her face, breaking the front of her cranium and smattering her brain.

He spun and leapt to his feet, searching the warehouse for the third female. Judging by his frustrated growl, Cold Eyes had taken the opportunity to run while he took out her second companion.

Go. Follow her, Selma silently prayed, even if her body wished he wouldn’t.

The big brute took a few steps toward the warehouse’s door, seemingly intent on taking up pursuit. But before he reached it, his steps faltered as he looked back over his shoulder. At her.

Shit.

Selma scrambled forward on her hands and knees until her fingers closed around the dagger that’d previously been buried in his shoulder.

“Leave!” she hissed, somehow finding the strength to push back up into a kneeling position. She aimed the blade at him with a shaking hand, using the other to wipe away the blood from her split eyebrow.

He paused, gaze flicking from her forehead to her knife. A deep exhale left his chest.

“Fuck.” It was an exasperated growl, filled with frustration—and below that, husky need. The sound of it, of the rich, male rumble, made her core clench tight and a breathy gasp escape her throat.

No. No, no, no.

“L-Leave me alone,” she whispered, incapable of putting conviction behind her words despite her brain’s panicked screeching.

He didn’t respond, but instead of exiting the warehouse, he turned around. And then he was walking toward her, heavy steps thumping in the emptiness until he was close enough to crouch in front of her.

She lunged at him, but he simply batted the weapon out of her hand before he wrapped his huge arms around her and lifted her as if she weighed nothing more than a kitten.

He smelled like sulphur and male.