Mabel glared at her car as though the action would somehow get the stubborn hunk of metal to suddenly start working.

It figured that, with her luck, Mabel's car would die in the dead of a freezing night on the side of a highway extremely close to the most dangerous town in the state. She'd already called the towing company, but they wouldn't get there for another thirty minutes, and Mabel really didn't want to wait that long.

Of course, the most obvious answer was to call on Aleron, but Mabel wasn't sure this was a plausible reason. As nice as he'd been, she didn't want to disturb a killer if he was in the middle of something important (like napping, for instance).

The abrupt hooting of an owl caused her to shriek with fright and make her decision. "Aleron!" the word was strangled around her chattering teeth, "A-Aleron!"

Not even a second passed before the man was in front of her, a snarl on his lips and a giant sword in his hand.

"Holy crap!" Mabel stumbled back a step, hitting the side of her car with a thud.

Aleron was in front of her in two strides, pushing her behind him while he swept his gaze around their surroundings. He nodded once he deemed it safe, sheathing his sword by his hip and rotating to face her. "You are unharmed?" he asked, his hands traveling down her arms.

"Yes," she confirmed, wide eyes staring at his stashed blade, "You have a sword?"

He chuckled, patting the sword like it was a trusty pet. "Of course I have a sword, Little One. What is wrong?" She shook her head in disbelief, calming with his presence and sending him a crooked smile.

Because yes, of course he has a sword. He's like no one I've ever known; I'd probably be surprised if he didn't have a sword.

"Since I'm totally ignoring the fact that you have a sword for now, thanks for coming. My car broke down."

He sent the car an unimpressed look, toeing at one of the tires with his boot. "I do not trust this machine if it does not protect you, as is its duty. How long have you been here? It is not safe."

Mabel's grin turned sheepish, and she shrugged, feeling like a kid who'd been caught out after curfew. "Um, like, thirty-ish minutes? I was trying to fix it, but I don't know how, so that didn't go well . . . obviously." She waved dismissively at the popped hood of her vehicle, wishing—not for the first time—that she'd paid more attention to her mechanic when the man had spoken to her about her car's issues.

Aleron growled in the back of his throat, leveling her with a scolding look. "If anything happens, you are supposed to call for me immediately."

"Okay, okay," Mabel held her hands up in a sign of submission. "But, in my defense, I didn't want to bother you, and—"

"You cannot bother me ever, Little One," he interjected. "You will call me, even if you do not have a problem."

She mulled over his words for a minute. "So . . . if I just want some company?"

"You will call me." He reiterated, eyes staring into hers imploringly.

For some reason, that was the sweetest thing Mabel had ever heard, and she couldn't stop a cheesy grin from overtaking her lips. "Thanks, Aleron."

Perhaps this whole having a shadow guardian/murderer at her beck and call thing wouldn't be so bad after all.

***

"Al-er-on," Mabel sang, feet just barely touching the tips of the grass underneath the park bench she was seated on.

As expected, there was a moment of silence, followed by a hulking shadow appearing over her. "What do you need?" He asked immediately, head slanted to the side as he searched her body for injuries.

She tilted back to send him a mischievous smile. "Just wanted to see if you came out during daylight hours. I was kind of expecting the sun to disintegrate you. But it didn't, so we're all good here."

A raspy chuckle fell from his lips as he settled himself next to her, his dark-clad frame a sharp contrast to the orange and red of the changing leaves. "I would not be of much use if I 'disintegrated' in the sun."

"Maybe not," she shrugged nonchalantly, "but this also helps me rule out vampire, so I only have about two hundred other options left."

"Options?" Aleron echoed, eyeing her cautiously.

"Options for what you are of course. If you won't tell me, I'll just have to figure it out myself."

He scoffed, shaking his head with amusement. "I will tell you one day, Little One, but only after I am sure you will not act foolishly in response."

Mabel bristled, chin jutting out and shoulders squared. "What do you mean by that?!"

"I cannot have you running off and getting hurt should you not like what I say." His eyes darkened at the thought, "So I will wait until you trust me."

Understanding that there was nothing else she could do and knowing that getting angry at someone like him probably wasn't a good idea, Mabel conceded with a sigh. "Fine. But not too long, right? I don't like waiting."

He shot her a gentle, lopsided smile. "Not too long, Little One. Not too long."

They settled back into silence, and Mabel snatched up one of his hands in both of her own. Aleron didn't mind, if the quirking of his lips upwards was any indication, and she inspected his calloused skin and long fingers carefully.

"Dang," she exclaimed with an impressed whistle, looking between their hands and noting the many differences. "You would have been a good basketball player."

Aleron huffed a chuckle. "I do not play sports, Little One—they are useless."

Mabel supposed she shouldn't have been surprised. He transported through shadows almost everywhere, after all, and she had a feeling that would be considered cheating if used during an NBA game. "Fair enough. Would it be more of a compliment if I said, 'oh, hey, what nice hands you have; I bet they're great for strangling people'?"

He shook his head, his eyes twinkling with amusement, and gazed at her for a long moment. "I like you very much, Little One. Your company is extremely enjoyable."

Mabel blinked dumbly several times, then released a nervous laugh. She hadn't gotten a compliment from a guy in a long time, and wasn't sure how to react.

He's not a guy, though, the stupidly annoying part of her brain pointed out. He's . . . something else. So a normal guy still hasn't given you a compliment in a while.

Oh, shut up—he's way more attractive than a 'normal guy,' anyway!

And he really was, Mabel decided, squeezing Aleron's hand in her own. Not to mention he had yet to kill her, and was surprisingly good company, as well. "Can I ask you something else?"

Aleron nodded instantly, face open and kind. "Of course, Little One."

"This whole summoning thing," she waved her hands around as if it would better explain what she was talking about, "Does it work all the time? Like, what if I can't say your name?"

Aleron stiffened at the suggestion. "I would never let that happen, Little One." At her expectant look, he huffed and continued, "If it were to somehow occur, you need only write my name instead."

One of Mabel's brows quirked. "And that works?"

Aleron considered the question for a moment, before nodding once. "It will. Not as well as saying my name, unless you wrote it in your own blood." His eyes turned sharp, "Which you are never to do. It will drain you immensely if you summon me that way."

Eyes wide, Mabel nodded slowly in understanding. "Wow. That's pretty hardcore, I'm not going to lie."

Smirking, Aleron snatched her hand again, tracing circles over her knuckles. Mabel blew out a relaxed sigh and leaned back against the bench. Being with Aleron like this, just talking and getting to know him, was something she truly loved. She loved it so much, in fact, that it helped her forget that he killed people.

The thought was jarring, and that voice in the back of her head was quick to pipe up, Oh, God, what am I doing?

The rest of her brain had no answer to the question, and Mabel decided she would just have to go with the flow. Aleron had said he'd tell her the truth soon, and surely it couldn't be all that bad . . . right?

Oh, yeah, I'm sure.

Shut up!

***

Mabel stared at the man—being, no wait, thing?—across from her and swallowed the strange lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. "I'm sorry . . . what?"

A somewhat sheepish grin picked at Aleron's lips. "I believe you heard me."

Nodding numbly, Mabel fell back against her bed, staring at the ceiling with dazed eyes, her hands clasped over her stomach. "Well. Okay. Just to recap: you are a demon from Hell?" She shifted her head to the side, so she could still see him where he'd positioned himself by her bedroom window.

Smile turning downright wicked and eyes flashing red for a moment, Aleron nodded once. "That is correct, Little One."

The worst part of the whole thing was that Mabel wasn't exactly surprised. Well, that wasn't totally right. Rather, she hadn't been expecting "demon," but, when she thought about it, it didn't seem that outlandish.

What else would explain Aleron?

"I guess it makes sense," she confessed finally, her voice steady. "You fit right in with shadows, and your ability to suck the life—literally—out of a room, is second to none. Can I ask one thing?" she propped herself up on her elbows, eyeing him curiously. "How come you don't want to kill me?"

It was a fair question, she thought, since—from what she knew—every single person he'd spent time with ended up dead.

Aleron took a moment to think about her inquiry, and she let her eyes wander over him, seeing him in a different light since his admission. He was leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest—a position that wasn't unusual for him. However, every detail seemed to have a second meaning now.

His eyes were a swirl of blood red and dark brown, representing (according to him) the fires of Hell from which he was born. The sword that she'd yet to see a second time could kill anything, but was especially powerful against wicked souls. His accent and formal speech came from his age of about a thousand years old.

The best part?

Aleron's official title was Guardian Demon. Apparently, he was in charge of "reaping" truly evil souls and sending them on a one-way ride down to the deepest pits of Hell. And, for whatever reason, Mabel found all of this, well . . . attractive.

She was snapped out of her thoughts by Aleron's voice. "I would not ever harm you, because I find you . . . like an angel."

Mabel almost jumped out of the bed. "Sorry?" she asked incredulously, not sure she'd heard him right.

Her? An angel? Sure, she wasn't a bad person, but . . . an angel? She wasn't sure if that was even fifty percent accurate.

"An angel," Aleron repeated succinctly. "You have one of the purest souls I have seen in this city."

Mabel blinked several times, resisting the urge to pinch herself. Of all the compliments she'd received, being called an angel was not one of them. "To be fair," she croaked, "this city isn't full of great people."

He sobered at her words, expression growing solemn. "Yes, it is not. That is why I am here."

They lapsed into silence, and Mabel let her thoughts wander. Once she'd collected herself, she cleared her throat. "One more question," at his expectant look, she continued, "If you spend all this time taking down those who are evil, why have you been hanging around Herman?" The one explanation Mabel could think of wasn't comforting, and she needed Aleron to clarify before her imagination ran off with possibilities.

Any faith that the answer wouldn't be bad vanished at Aleron's pitying look. "Herman must be monitored," he confessed. "His soul is quickly losing to the darkness."

Mabel couldn't stop her eyes from tearing.

She'd never been especially close to Herman, but she had known him for years, and—regardless of his shifty demeanor—he was a caring boss that watched out for her.

"What does that mean for him?" her voice trembled, remembering the empty gaze of the women from the grocery store. "You won't just kill him, right? And . . . and if he's not purely evil or anything, we can still save him?"

Aleron sighed, closing the distance between them and placing a gentle hand on her face, using his thumb to brush away a stray tear. "I fear there is no time left, Mabel. Herman is like many other humans; he has fallen prey to greed and the lies of powerful men."

She knew there wasn't much hope, if any.

Not because of Aleron's explanation, but because he'd called her by her first name.

"Ca-can you at least make it painless for him?" Mabel's lower lip wobbled; she couldn't believe she was talking about Herman's death.

He pulled her up from the bed and into his chest, stroking a hand through her hair. "I will do my best, Little One."

She sniffled, a distant part of her mind noting that he smelled of smoke (fires of Hell, perhaps?). "I thought you said I was an angel?" she asked, trying to distract herself from the real problem.

Aleron indulged her, his chest rumbling with his chuckle. "And you are—a little angel."

Mabel released a wet laugh, though it was muffled against his chest. "Oh, shut up. You're just a giant."

He didn't respond,and Mabel tightened her hold on his shirt. For a demon from Hell, he wasawfully good at giving hugs (cold skin aside, of course).