Three days without any contact from Aleron, and Mabel concluded that she would have to contact him for once, if she wanted answers.

The question was, how could she do that?

She continued pacing around her living room, as she'd been doing for the past ten minutes, before stopping abruptly. Of Course! She slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand, feeling like an idiot for not seeing it sooner.

So far, Aleron had only appeared whenever he chose, or when she was in trouble.

Eyes darting around her apartment, Mabel grinned victoriously when her eyes settled on a steak knife on her kitchen counter. Dramatic and cliché, perhaps, but it would get the job done. She raced over, snatching up the knife and a hand towel before returning to the living room.

Clutching the knife in one hand and setting the cloth on the coffee table, Mabel reeled in a steadying breath, stilling the knife directly over her palm. She counted to ten in her head, muttered a prayer that it would work, and pressed the knife into her skin.

Thick, crimson blood pooled in her palm and trickled down her arm; no sooner had she pulled the knife away was there a roar from the other side of the room.

Aleron was at her side in the next instant, ripping the knife from her grasp and throwing it across the room before gripping her injured hand in his own. "Stop that! What are you doing?!" he barked, eyes dark with intent. "Who has made you do this?"

"It worked," Mabel breathed, shocked, the throbbing in her hand momentarily forgotten.

"What has worked?" He yanked the cloth from the table and wrapped it around the wound, securing it in a tight knot. "Was there a point to this foolishness? Tell me." He tilted his head until his steely eyes had captured her wide ones, his gaze conveying his fury.

"I needed to talk to you." Mabel replied dumbly.

Not the right words, if Aleron's suddenly stiff posture was any indication. "What?" he bellowed, "You wished to speak with me, and harmed yourself to do so? You will never do this again!"

Mabel just scoffed, pulling her arm from his and cradling her injured hand near her chest. "Sure, sure, just tell me how to get in touch with you, next time."

He snapped back as though she'd slapped him, eyeing her much like a teacher would with an especially disobedient child. "If you must speak with me, all you need to do is say my name, Little One."

With those words, Mabel determined that she was, after all, an idiot. The thought of saying his name to summon him had never even occurred to her. "Oh. Yes. That does make sense, I guess. Um, bloody palm aside, I need to ask you some questions."

"Questions." He repeated blankly, eyes darting between her face and her injured hand.

"Yes," Mabel declared more firmly. "Questions. Are you some kind of murdering crime boss? Because I really don't want to get close to you if you're going to kill someone every day."

A raspy laugh trickled from his throat, and his shoulders relaxed. "No, Little One. I only kill when necessary."

The meaning of those words aside, he seemed surprising normal for a terrifying man who walked with the shadows and froze people, and Mabel felt herself growing more comfortable by the second in his presence. "When's that?"

"Whenever someone is doing something they shouldn't." He said flatly, as if it answered everything.

"Like trying to hurt me?" she teased, wiggling her brows.

The sudden seriousness of his face told her it was no laughing matter. "They should not even look at you." He declared dangerously, fists clenched and teeth gritted.

"Whoa." Mabel held her good hand up in a sign of surrender. "I was just kidding, big guy. Moving on, do I want to know how you're able to freeze people, teleport, and become invisible?"

His head cocked to the side as he considered the question for a moment, before admitting, "I do not think you would like to know."

Even though she'd been determined to get answers not fifteen minutes ago, something inside her gut made Mabel nod in agreement. "You're probably right." She would find out when the time was right, she supposed, and she returned her gaze to the now-dried blood on her arm. "I should wash this off." It was meant to be a sort-of dismissal, a sure-fire way to casually excuse herself so she could spend the rest of her night distressing about her strange situation. Aleron didn't seem to understand this.

He followed her to the small kitchen, where she turned on the water, shifting it to warm and grabbing a paper towel, all the while trying to ignore his penetrating stare. Just as she was about to crack and demand that he leave, talk, or something, Aleron stepped forward, taking the towel from her hand and dampening it.

Mabel watched in stunned silence as he pulled the towel over her arm, gently rubbing away the blood. The tenderness with which he did so only made Mabel's inner turmoil worsen. Surely this guy couldn't be that bad, if his demeanor now was any indication.

Sure, the cynical part of her brain snorted, Let's just totally ignore that you've seen him kill six people already.

Oh, shut up.

Mabel snapped out of her mental argument when the towel left her skin. Aleron set it down by the sink, his hands moving to her palm before he leaned down and pressed a kiss against the improvised bandage. Feeling flushed, Mabel averted her eyes when he looked up at her, swallowing down a sudden bout of emotion building in her throat.

"Better now?" She squeaked when his voice spoke directly in her ear, wondering idly when he'd changed positions.

Mabel cleared her throat. "Uh, yes. Thanks." His eyes traced over her features, his own softening when he spoke.

"Always, Little One." He said it with such conviction that she could do nothing other than believe him.

Aleron traced his fingers over her bandage, quirked a smile, took a step back, and disappeared when the shadows converged around him.

Mabel stared with a sort of flustered awe at the spot he'd vacated, standing perfectly still for minutes or hours—she had no idea. When she came out of her stupor, two words slipped from her mouth:

"This sucks."