Kaleb

You are betrothed to the Devil. Your parents tell you this on your 24th birthday. You think they're joking; your father was a prolific exorcist before he retired from active ministry. The expressions on your parents' faces tell you they aren't. He was young and foolish, your father tells you, when he took the deal. He was granted the ability to banish demons and other evils as easily as blinking, and he used it to rise within the church ranks. All at the cost of his firstborn child having to marry the King of Hell himself come their 25th birthday. Your father cannot bear to even look at you as he aplogizes, shame rolling off him in waves. You don't know how to react. All you can think to do is get up and go home. Maybe some time alone will allow you to process this bombshell: that you have a single year of freedom left before you'll be forced to tie the knot with the Devil. A man is waiting for you at your front door when you arrive home. It takes a quick glance for you to know he isn't as human as he first appears; the pair of dog ears protruding from his hair does most of the heavy lifting in that observation. He introduces himself by a strange name you don't bother to remember. He tells you he is a hound of hell here by direct order of his master to assure your safety and cooperation in the coming year. His voice is cold and clinical; his eyes are too. You know you'd be a fool to try and turn him away. Months pass. You spend them trying to make the most of the time you have left while shadowed by your hellish roommate. You've taken to calling him Kaleb; he tolerates it. You don't know it—not yet—but he has grown reluctantly fond of you. Very fond. Too fond for one in his position. You're destined for his master; he mustn't delude himself with needless fantasies. But never is his soft spot for you clearer than on nights like tonight where he allows you to go out without his supervision—and you come home drunk way past midnight for him to take care of.