The Struggles of Marrying a Demon {Completed}

The Ole Bait 'n Switch

Mabel was on her back, glaring up at the ceiling of the now almost-empty throne room. The warlock, whose name was apparently Wemyss (honestly, what a stupid name), had forgone any binds, claiming, "The Human is already weak. By the time we start the spell, she will not be able to move again."

The worst part of that statement?

He was right.

Mabel could barely wiggle her fingers, much less get up and fight back. But she had to try. She just needed to wait for the right moment.

Almost there, she reminded herself. Just hang in there a little bit longer.

Finally, after what felt liked hours but was probably only minutes, Wemyss hovered above her, his thin lips pulled into a smug smirk. "Well, human, let us do this quickly." He held up a sharp, extravagant knife, and Mabel felt her fingers twitch. That would be perfect . . .

Her thoughts quickly went to Oh-God-that-hurts-like-a-bitch when he plucked up her hands, starting with her left and slicing a neat line up to her elbow. "Go to the side of the vein," he muttered to himself, uncaring of the tears that streaked through the black blood dried on Mabel's cheeks. "Do not want her to bleed out until we are ready."

She screamed when he started on the other arm, struggling against his hold and sobbing even harder when he wouldn't stop.

Oh, God, I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'mgoingtodieithurtsithurtsithurtsithurts. "ALERON!" She shrieked when she could hold it in no longer, her throat clogging with tears and pain. "ALERON!"

When nothing happened, the cynical part of her mind (that still somehow functioned under extreme circumstances) was quick to pipe up.

He could be gone. You haven't seen him, Zephyrine, Packer, Thora, Colby, or any of the good Hellish beings. They could all be dead, Mabel. You were too late.

Wemyss seemed to agree. "Silence, human," he hissed, digging the knife even deeper and taking pleasure in her responding whine. "Your Aleron is gone."

Even with her blood seeping into the floor below her, Mabel's heart was quick to refuse. No. I would know. I would. The bond would tell me. I would know.

Channeling her agony into fury, she pinned Wemyss with a stony stare. "Keep going. I dare you."

He grinned, but there was no humor in the action. "No 'dare' is necessary, human; I will continue." Shifting to eye one of the bystanders, he gestured for them, setting the knife on the floor by her knee and taking the book from the other warlock. Holding it up with one hand, he used the other to make a strange motion over it, and then began reading off the page. The words rolled off his tongue, complex and stilted, and Mabel watched with her heart in her throat.

Please work, please work, please work, ple—

As if she could hear Mabel's thoughts, one of the other warlocks collapsed with a gasp, clutching at her chest and spasming, her eyes wide and blank.

"What?" Wemyss paused with stunned horror, twisting around to stare at the fallen warlock, and then Mabel. His eyes narrowed; he opened his mouth to speak but faltered when another warlock fell. With urgency bleeding from his pores, he silently read the spell. Mabel saw his eyes scan it once, twice, three times, and she knew exactly when he realized what was happening.

His face paled and his jaw dropped when he finally understood that the "simple bait and switch" had worked perfectly; his expression quickly shifted into one of fury the longer he looked at her.

Dropping beside her, he grabbed at her tangled, matted hair, tugging her up until their faces were inches apart and sneering, "You idiotic, disgusting, abominable—" his rant stopped without warning, and he looked down with disbelieving eyes to stare at the knife sticking out of his chest.