The Struggles of Marrying a Demon {Completed}

Bloody Poisons

The only noise Mabel could distinguish was the pounding of her heart, rushing through her ears and ringing through every single nerve ending. Taking a moment, she mentally catalogued her body, searching for injuries. Everything seemed intact, though fresh, yellow, pus-like blood covered her body like a second skin, and the weight of the bukavac pressed into her chest uncomfortably, making it hard to breathe.

She was, however, alive.

Alive, and very thankful to whatever had possessed her to keep Wemyss' knife and slide it into the bukavac's soft underbelly.

Another moment passed, and then sound reentered Mabel's ears, loud and chaotic.

"Mabel?! Little One, answer me! Help me with this, now!" the last sentence was a barked order, and Mabel guessed that Aleron was speaking to Colby and Packer.

She was proven right when, seconds later, the dead bukavac was pulled from her, its bloody body sliding from hers with a sickening squelching noise.

Aleron was there in the next instant, cupping her cheeks and pulling her into his chest. "There you are, my Little One," he breathed, his face still taut with panic. "Breathe, Mabel. You must breathe, now."

It was only with his words that Mabel realized she hadn't sucked in any air since the bukavac had landed on her. She pulled in several slow breaths, her hands shaking and her mind reeling. "Very good," Aleron praised, tugging her further into his lap and rocking her back and forth. "Are you hurt, Little One? You must tell me."

"I need a bath," she told him flatly, and he chuckled, obviously relieved. The deep, familiar sound set her at ease.

"And you will have one," he promised, licking his finger and rubbing the blood from her face in gentle circles. Once he'd gotten rid of the dark yellow blood that had covered the dried black blood, he faltered, his face slack with shock. "What is this?" he demanded, one hand cupping her head so he could angle her face towards the light.

Mabel's entire body shook with a sudden shiver, and she felt surprisingly cold (of all places, Hell was not the place to get a chill). "Black blood from the spell books?" She shrugged, but it was probably hard to tell with how badly her body was quaking. "Dunno, don'care. I'm tired, Al. Sleep?"

"No!" He snapped, suddenly irritated. "Do not." He turned to look over his shoulder, "Thora! Get the healing potions; Mabel's been poisoned. Colby, put yourself to use, for once, and bring me a cloth and water."

It took Mabel several long moments to catch up with his words. When she did, she blanched. "W-what? Poisoned? How?"

"It is not blood, Mabel," he grunted vaguely, reaching up to take a damp cloth from the reappeared Colby. With actions that straddled the line of loving and frantic, he began to wipe the blood from her face and neck.

"Huh," Mabel murmured, watching his features intently, noticing for the first time that he had a black eye and a long cut running down the side of his face. "I thought maybe it was sewer sludge."

Aleron didn't chuckle as he held the cloth over her elbow. Instead, his entire body tensed, his jaw clenching as he stared at her wounded arms. "Who did this, Mabel?!"

"Do what?" she asked, her voice breathy and her eyes glazing over. What was he talking about?

God, I'm tired.

"No, no," he pulled her face towards his, placing panicked kisses along her nose and brow, "Do not wander, Little One! Stay with me. You want a bath, yes? What would you like in it? I will give you anything."

If Mabel hadn't felt so distant and cold, she would have noticed the desperation in his voice. The tinny terror that shone through, echoing his worst fears—fears that had existed since the last time they'd been in this position. "Bubbles—those ones that smell like flowers—and that body wash that reminds me of apples." She hummed low in her throat at the thought of relaxing in a bubble bath. Now that was the dream. "Oh, and you," she tried to wiggle her eyebrows seductively, but she knew she looked more like a drowned cat than anything.