The Struggles of Marrying a Demon {Completed}

Paranoia

Mabel should have known that the peace would only last for so long. Staring at the TV now, she knew her day wasn't going to go well the second she finished reading the flashing headline on the news.

Unexplained Deaths Blamed on 'Werewolves': Truth or Fiction?

She sighed and turned up the volume on her television, settling back into her couch with a bowl of oatmeal cradled in her lap. While many others would no doubt argue about the truth of the claim, Mabel knew better.

Werewolves weren't real, but other dark, Hellish creatures? Very real, and (on many occasions) very scary.

She shuddered at the thought, remembering her experiences with such monsters vividly.

"Little One." Mabel squeaked, her spoon falling back into the bowl with a clatter as she whirled around. Her favorite creature from Hell stood behind her like an imposing mountain, severely out of place in her brightly decorated apartment.

A smile lit her face. "Hi, Al."

Aleron matched her grin with one of his own, stepping around the couch and settling next to her, pulling her into his lap with ease so that her back was against his chest. He settled his nose in her hair, his breaths deep and relaxed as he embraced her gently.

Mabel continued munching on her breakfast, her nose crinkling with distaste when they started showing footage of the mauled bodies. Aleron shifted above her and mumbled, "Why do you watch this, Little One? I know it causes you distress, and I do not like you in distress."

Aleron really didn't like her to be anything other than perfectly content, but Mabel didn't mention that.

"It's good to be aware of these things, Al," she declared, leaning forward to set her empty bowl on the coffee table. "Besides, this is a whole state away, so it's not dangerous." She paused, and then shifted to send him a pointed look. "Is it dangerous?"

Now it was Aleron's turn to sigh. He turned his gaze to the living room window, soaking in the view of the city thoughtfully. "No, Little One, it is not. This is something that could have been avoided, had Death only listened to me."

Recognizing the clenching of his fists and tightening of his muscular jaw, Mabel rubbed soothing circles over the skin of his bicep. In addition to his duties as a demonic guardian, Aleron was Death's right-hand man; as such, he did have some say in decisions, but only so much. Added to the fact that the current Death was a man named Colby who was formally a male prostitute of sorts, and . . . well, Mabel knew Aleron would have killed the man, had Colby not been vital to Hell's survival.

Colby, after all, had the amazing ability to make questionable decisions and get under just about anyone's skin.

"What do you mean?" Mabel asked carefully.

Returning his eyes to hers, Aleron shook his head with disappointment. "He does not understand that his actions have consequence, and I fear what the outcome will be. These are not 'werewolves,' Mabel; they are Hellhounds."

Mabel's brows rose with surprise. "What? But I thought Hellhounds were under Death's direct command?" She'd met a litter of Hellhound puppies once, and they had been nothing but adorable (adorable for small demonic creatures, anyway). Why on earth would they be killing people?

"They are," Aleron agreed, tugging idly at one of her brunette curls. "However, if they are not trained properly, they can cause serious damage, regardless. I had them segregated until their training was complete, but Colby," he spat the name, "deemed it unnecessary, and set them loose."

Mabel rubbed her forehead in an attempt to get rid of a sudden headache. "But he gets it now, right? He won't let them out again?"

A growl vibrated through Aleron's chest. "I made it very clear that if he were to do something so foolish again, I would let him train the Hellhounds himself."