Married to the Mahr

Copyright © 2023 Delilah DareThis is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Copyright © 2023 Delilah Dare All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. First edition published 2023 Cover illustrations copyright © 2023 by Rosel Graphic Designs Edited by Lawrence Editing Published by Delilah Dare www.delilahdarebooks.com To the humans, half-human hybrids, and otherwise beautiful creatures just trying to navigate a human-dominated society; this one’s for you. To those who’ve survived pain inflicted by the hand of humans, who’ve witnessed evils and kept their voice in the face of humans attempting to silence their pain; this one’s for you. To those who endured and those who were lost; this one’s for you. Contents CopyrightDedicationAuthor's NoteChapter 1Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19Chapter 20EpilogueChapter 1 Author's NoteThis book contains sensitive topics, including but not limited to: explicit consensual sex scenes, oral fetish, mention of a parental figure suffering with alcohol addiction, mention of past trauma, and somewhat detailed night terrors/nightmares. For more information please visit the author's website. Chapter 1Addison The gaudy blue house with its peeling paint and crooked shutters taunted Addison from the driveway. This was the third day she’d come home from work at the Something Fishy Market & Diner to the rental that was big enough for a family. The slam of her car door trapped her puffy mauve coat and the accompanying sound of fabric ripping from seam to armpit brought a surge of fresh rage to her cheeks. Her coworkers already teased her for wearing a heavy coat in Boston’s spring season while everyone else wore jackets and raincoats. The front door required a hefty jiggle and a full-body slam just to do its job. The inside of the house was an improvement from the outside, but it was all nauseating to Addison. The lonely house was one big, glaring reminder of her failed relationship - which she’s sure was her fault, and not just because Justin literally told her it was. It’s true that hindsight is a different pair of glasses. Her view while they were together was rosy and pink, whereas now she looked back to see the rosy red clay coating the lenses was actually a big smear of dung and it was honestly shocking she hadn’t walked right off a cliff to her death. She’d held onto the relationship even after it became one-sided, had comforted herself with his physical nearness while he’d been light years away and growing farther with each breath. It was the idea of being needed that she admired the most about Justin; more than the man himself, she longed to be useful as much as she dreaded being alone. His many attempts at confrontation had been easily parried with her extensive training in avoidance of conflict, so well deflected that she didn’t even realize what was happening until he texted her I can’t do this the day they were meant to move from his one-bedroom apartment to a roomy house. Memories of her beachside flat and her best friend, Marissa, back in Florida flooded her broken heart as she surveyed the boxes and tubs that littered the floor. Justin’s poor credit obligated Addison to sign the lease, essentially trapping her here for a full year. Anyone who’s gone from renting an apartment to a house knows the transformation comes with a whole lot more—more cleaning, more pride, more bills, more money, more overwhelming depression when the walls could house an entire loving family, and yet there was no one else there, just Addison, utterly alone. Strategically placed Bluetooth speakers that constantly blared music helped fill the empty space and drown her thoughts, but only as much as they’d helped as a kid with her mom’s shenanigans in the next room. It was a long day at the fish market and Addison was exhausted, but sleep hadn’t been kind lately. It hadn’t been friendly for most of her life. Her earliest memory of a nightmare went hand in hand with her earliest memory, which featured the rise and fall of her mother’s voice in a boisterous, drunken fight with a boyfriend Addison didn’t recall. The sound of raised voices and shattering glass lodged their way into her dream and shaped the nightmares that followed her from bed to bed, fluidly restructuring to add the horrors that come along with living as she grew up. The night terrors worsened when she was stressed out, depressed, or ate too much chocolate. With a deep sigh, she tossed her work clothes directly into the washer—admittedly a perk of having the whole house to herself—and headed to the shower. The stench of fish and whatever chemicals her boss used to package and freeze the largemouth bass, black crappie, redbreast sunfish, and many other varieties of slimy, icky, smelly ocean creatures that she wished she didn’t know so much about clung to her clothes every day. If she skipped a shower even once, she was sure the effluvium would burrow its way into her pillow and then rub itself deep into her pores and follicles as she slept, and in the morning she would wake up and see a half-fish humanoid staring at her from the mirror. After a moderately timed shower—long enough to clean off but quick enough not to be concerning come time to pay bills—Addison plopped down at her fully assembled worktable. Her sanctuary. Neatly spread upon the desk were tarot cards for easy morning readings, a framed photo of the view from her old apartment, her laptop,