He welcomed the kiss that pecked his mouth. Then missed her as she bounced away and started chattering a mile a minute to her son, asking to see everything.

The questions didn’t stop there. She went after Marduke as well, asked him about the hounds’ diets. Then ingredients. Apparently, she thought the dogs would like some home-cooked meals. His hounds needed only one taste to agree.

Spoiled fuckers. Just like their kennel master who got to have her in his arms and bed every night.

The days passed, and there was no talk of her leaving. At all. Suited him just fine. Merry and the boy fit well in his life to the point he didn’t want to imagine it without them. She seemed happy, singing in the kitchen as she cooked, animated when reading a story to the kid before bed, bouncing into his lap when the evening arrived and it was time to relax.

Christmas approached, and despite Lucifer’s rants and grumbling about the farce being celebrated—the wrong day for the birth of his nephew and the fact his cousin stole it from Lucifer, who was the one to turn it into a marketing, capitalistic wonder—people decorated for the holidays. Lights were strung and attached to imp wheels. For treats, the little bastards would run all night long and keep them lit. While attempts had been made over the years to get true electricity running, the science of Hell made it unstable at best.

Outside the compound, tacky garland hung off of everything. The light displays went from bright to pornographic. Not that Miguel ever saw anything untoward. Marduke always took paths to avoid the worst of it and distracted the boy when there was no choice.

The kid no longer glared at the sight of holiday cheer, which might be why Merry, in a rare moment of shyness, asked, “I don’t suppose we could find ourselves a Xmas tree?”

They’d recently learned the boy didn’t react aversely to the more generic term. Nor did he seem to mind the Hellish versions of Santa. Biker Santa. Tutu wearing, bold-makeup Santa. Buff and wearing only little red shorts St. Nick. Only roly-poly, jolly Santa Claus caused him to lose his absolute shit. Marduke didn’t blame him. He’d met the guy once and hated him. But then again, he hated most people.

“I’m sure we can find something.” He would have actually given her anything because of the damned smile she bestowed upon him.

“You are the best!” She threw her arms around Marduke as she exclaimed it.

And it felt good. Fucking good because he absolutely knew, without a doubt, she meant it.