The Struggles of Marrying a Demon {Completed}

Spoiled Spells

If they were going to kill her, the least they could was hurry up. She was cold, had quickly melting snow soaking her skin, and her nose wouldn't stop running.

"Well," she rasped, watching the melting frost drip from her hair onto the wooden floor beneath her, "this sucks." As if agreeing with her, all the candles in the room fizzled and went out, leaving her in the dark.

"Great."

***

Mabel woke up from her restless slumber with a crick in her neck, a terrible sore throat, and a stuffy nose. Obviously, the people down here weren't aware of humans' weak immune system, and now she had a cold.

Just perfect.

She groaned and threw a hand over her eyes, curling into a tight ball in the hope that it would somehow warm her up.

Maybe I can ask for a blanket or something . . .

The door swung open abruptly, startling her, and she whipped around to find the same woman from earlier. "Come, human. We must go."

Mabel would have shot back a sarcastic comment, but her throat hurt too much. She nodded slowly, struggling to stand and leaning against the wall for support when the floor spun rapidly below her.

Not seeming to notice Mabel's issues, the woman snatched her by the wrist and drug her along, down a short hall and into a large, open room. It was circular, and in the center stood a long concrete slab with four metal rings jutting out of each corner, a matching concrete settled next to it. On the podium was a thick book, and Mabel had the sneaking suspicion that, whatever was going to happen, it would not be good for her health.

The woman pulled Mabel forward impatiently, practically throwing her onto the slab. She then secured Mabel's wrists and ankles to the metal rings with some leather straps that she'd pulled out of God-only-knew-where.

"We are ready!" The woman called over her shoulder once she deemed Mabel prepared. A moment later, more of them appeared—men and women, all wearing matching navy robes, their skin holding the same abnormal gleam.

One of the men stepped closer to Mabel with a victorious grin twisting his lips. "And you are sure her blood will work?" His golden gaze flickered to the first woman, a silent threat promised in their depths should she lie to him. "The last one did not."

The woman scowled fiercely. "Of course she will work! She is a pure human, loved by an otherworldly being, and her death by our hands will give us immense power."

Though her brain wasn't working as quickly as it normally could, Mabel knew the situation wasn't going to end well by that statement alone.

"Excuse me," she croaked, wincing when her throat stung, "if you're going to kill me, could you at least tell me who you are?"

The man gave her the same amused look one would wear when a puppy chased its tail and fell over as a result. A look the said, Oh, that's just adorable. "We are the warlocks of Hell."

Mabel felt her heart speed up. "Aleron's here?" she hadn't meant to say it, but part of her was sincerely hoping he would pop out, kill all the warlocks, bring her back to her apartment, and give her a massage. And a bubble bath. And probably ice cream, too, since he knew how much she loved it.

There was a murmur among the warlocks, and some exchanged secretive glances, while others only looked confused. "Aleron?" A younger man spoke up. "He's not here."

Thank God. He and Colby must have gotten away. Or maybe they hadn't been captured in the first place.

After all, if Pele was a traitor, what was there to ensure that none of the other creatures weren't?