Severus only exhaled when the smoke had started to burn his lungs, his throat, the back of his tongue. It plumed in front of him, a great grey cloud, before dissipating into the night air—gone forever. He glanced down at the cigarette in hand, then flicked it with his thumb, ridding it of the smoldering ash at the tip. A burning red glow flickered back, and he brought it to his lips for another drag.

Humans smoked for all kinds of reasons, but he knew many did it to calm their nerves. If only nicotine worked its magic on demons, too, then he would have a real excuse for smoking the damn things. It was a habit he’d picked up in the 1920s, one he hadn’t been able to shake. Not because it did anything for him. He just liked it. He wanted to smoke. Severus had come to accept that.

Moira was his latest cigarette. She didn’t provide him with anything when they touched—no essence, no strength, no power. Yet he had come to accept that he wanted her, desired her, longed for her because of all she offered besides her life force. Her charm. Her intelligence. Her smart mouth and delicious cunt.

And her reliability. While Severus was always exceedingly early, another habit he’d developed since living in the human world, Moira tended to be five minutes ahead of schedule—always.

Standing in the alley between the Inferno and Rose’s Corner, Severus checked his wristwatch. Ten minutes to go until their designated meet-up time; five minutes until Moira strolled around the corner, bypassing the already large line of humans waiting to get into the building’s more palatable street entrance, drawn like moths to a flame. She and he had business in the much darker core, the demons-only bar and nightclub where Alaric would be bartending in about an hour. Severus found that the Inferno, owned by his roommate’s father, was one of the few places where demons congregated en masse that he wasn’t blatantly hassled for being an incubus.

No, the discrimination was subtler here, with snide looks and muttered insults, but being Alaric’s friend and roommate offered him some pull. Tonight, however, he would need to prove his worth to the main man himself: Verrier, Alaric’s father and a former prince of Hell. Severus seldom ever spoke to the creature face-to-face, and he couldn’t remember a time when it had been just the two of them, alone in Verrier’s office. He’d also never brought a date to the Inferno; it was going to be a night of firsts.

He puffed the smoke out in rings this time, leaning against the warm red brickwork of Rose’s Corner, another of Verrier’s establishments, while he waited. The restaurant was just as full as the nightclub next door, humans drawn to the high prices and lush liquor without understanding why. It was booked up months ahead of time, and Verrier made a pretty penny off both his Farrow’s Hollow businesses. Not that he needed the money, per se; as a prince of Hell, retired or not, he commanded respect everywhere he went. While the demon gangs and mafia families ran the city’s underbelly with an iron fist, Verrier outranked all of them—period.

It was Verrier’s knowledge and expertise that Severus would rely on tonight. Clutched under one arm was his sketchbook, filled with detailed drawings of the ten angels he and Moira had seen around Seraphim Securities over the last two and a half weeks. Severus had asked Alaric to arrange a meet-up with his father so he could show him the sketches. Hopefully, the most powerful demon in town could put names to the faces—and offer whatever other information he saw fit to provide in the moment.

Because they needed all the intel they could get, and Severus had hoped to bypass the tedious task of sneaking around and buying information from demons who would grossly overcharge him. Their run-in with the angel the other day made the matter time sensitive, and while Severus hadn’t heard the flutter of angel wings around every corner, he couldn’t be one hundred percent certain they would let him and Moira slip away unquestioned. He had even taken to following her around campus these the last three days, just to ensure no one else had decided to do the same.

This time, however, he was quite obvious about his stalking. He made sure she noticed each and every time, and Moira played right into the little game with a sly smile. Hands in her pockets, a wool cap on her head, she would brush by him, bump into him, graze him in passing. The little minx usually had him so riled up by the end of the day that he needed to take a handful of cold showers afterward just to think straight. He would have loved to have dragged her into a discreet alley somewhere at any given time and fucked her raw—as punishment, of course, for being such a tease—but she had asked him to keep his distance so she could get this week’s coursework out of the way.

“If we’re going to be surrounded by demons at the Inferno, I don’t want to be thinking about essays and seminar prep,” she’d insisted Monday evening, lips swollen, a firm hand on his chest as he bore down on her. “So, keep it in your pants until Wednesday.”

And he had, respectfully. But now that Wednesday night was here, and she was two minutes out, Severus found he wasn’t as in the mood as he could have been. This was dangerous—all of it. Tangling with angels. Getting Verrier involved. Bringing Moira to the den of sin and vice in Farrow’s Hollow—the it place to be if you were a hellion in the mood for revelry. Usually the weekends were busier; he hoped that hump day would produce its usual crowd of loners, stragglers, and grumpy assholes who just wanted to drink in peace.

Still, he couldn’t let his guard down for a moment. Even though Alaric had promised to keep an eye on Moira if his meeting ran long, and Severus intended to pay off several others to mind her safety in his absence.

He still couldn’t decide if this was a mistake or not. Going to the Inferno to meet Verrier alone would have been ideal—it wasn’t like the princely demon would allow Moira, a stranger whom he couldn’t read, into his office—but his little hybrid was persistent. She wanted to be involved. She wanted to get her hands dirty, even if she hadn’t come right out and said it. This was her father they were hunting. She deserved to be there, even if her only job was nursing a drink at the bar and looking inconspicuous from the sidelines.

Severus just needed to get her in and out in one piece, and hope no one took a special interest.

He snorted and glanced toward the road. Guaranteeing no one took a special interest in her was easier said than done when Moira looked like—

“Holy fuck.” The exaltation tumbled off his lips, his sketchbook falling to the ground before he could even process what he was gawking at—she was that damn beautiful.

Standing at the entrance of the alleyway was a lady in red—garnet, actually, rich and succulent like expensive wine. Moira was supposed to be coming from her office hours on campus, and Severus had prepared himself for jeans and maybe a cute shirt with a low neckline. What he got was a vision in deep red, wearing a fitted, high-waisted pencil skirt and a little bralette with a lacey trim that dipped down over the exposed skin of her abdomen. A thin black choker sat midway up her throat, and her legs in those black high heels were to die for; he almost asked her to walk across his wretched body just to feel their bite.

“Well?” She held her arms out, a small black purse hanging off her shoulder. “Do I look demon-bar appropriate?”

Her voice snapped him back to the moment, and Severus shook his head as he marched over to her, closing the distance between them in a few long strides.

“More than appropriate,” he rumbled, his eyes sweeping over her figure at his leisure. Red and black. Classic human attire when they wanted to blend with the demon crowd. He bit back a smile, because he couldn’t poke fun at her like he did the others. Even dressed as she was, Moira was ethereal and splendid, her limbs willowy and her hair a crowning halo. The stark white locks were tossed up in a ponytail today, bouncy and tempting, a siren call for Severus’s fist. She had managed to style it so that a little hair still framed her face, a slight curl to it—like she had taken the time to primp.

For him, maybe?

The inner beast all but salivated at the thought.

“It, uh…” Moira smoothed her hands down the skirt, and her cheeks coloured when Severus grasped her hip so he could admire her further.

“You’re too delectable,” he murmured. “Every villain in there will want to sink their claws in you.”

He caught her swallow hard as she fiddled with the white waves around her face.

“I take it you approve then?”

“Very much.” Did she know how difficult it was to ignore his baser instincts? All he wanted to do was throw her up against the wall and have his way with her right then and there. Screw the appointment with Verrier. Fuck the people waiting in line just around the corner. When he was with Moira, touching her, breathing her in, the rest of the world had a knack for going quiet.

“It used to fit better,” she said quietly, tugging at the skirt. “All my clothes did. They’re too big now.”

He forced himself to study her with a more critical eye, only for a moment, and could acknowledge that the bralette would better suit a bigger bust. Some excess fabric puckered over her ass. But to him, she was exquisite.

“You know, you should probably be eating more these days,” he told her, the thought popping into his head out of nowhere. When she looked up at him with a frown, he shrugged and traced the thin strap of her top, slipping a finger under it and following it to her protruding collarbone—eager to yank the strap all the way down and expose the creamy breast underneath, topped with its perfect pink nipple. Instead, he forced his hand back to his side, into his pocket. “If our theory is correct, and you are changing into an, er—” He cast a quick glance down the alley to confirm they were alone. “Well, changing into that, then your metabolism has probably spiked too. If you’re losing enough weight that it makes you unhappy, increase your food intake. I’m sure you can afford to do it.”

Young demons were positively ravenous, gluttonous to a fault; Severus could only assume that Moira’s body was going through something similar as her angelic side made itself known.

“That seems,” she paused for a moment, brow furrowed deeper, “logical.”

“Hmm.” He leaned down and pressed a quick, hard kiss to her cheek, not wanting to ruin the ruby-red lipstick making her mouth so delectable. She’d added a bit of black shadow to her eyelids too, but not enough to distract from her natural beauty. “Sometimes I can be logical. If only you’d just listen to me when I talk, you’d see—”

He exhaled sharply when she smacked him square in the chest, her grin making his heart beat just a little faster.

“Ouch.” Severus tossed his cigarette aside and pressed a hand to his chest, donning a dramatically wounded expression—although it did smart a little. He wasn’t used to lovers hurting him. In fact, Severus had spent the last two centuries on Earth trying not to break anyone; it was odd, to experience the opposite. The dull ache dissipated as he rubbed at it, Moira’s grin morphing to something brighter, and he felt a slight twinge in his shoulder when she flashed teeth.

In Hell, demons healed from most injuries in a flash. On Earth, healing times varied, depending on the severity. Moira’s teeth had left a mark on his shoulder that hadn’t healed yet, days later—and Severus didn’t want it to. He relished each stitch of pain, each dark reminder of that day in his bedroom.

“Do I actually hurt you?” she asked quietly, her hand settling over his, her skin warmer than he remembered. When he nodded, throat too tight to speak, she pulled back, the playfulness gone. “Oh. I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be.” Knowing they needed to get moving—because he could exchange hushed flirtations in a dark alley with Moira all night—Severus shrugged off his jacket and hung it over her shoulders. “I like the pain. I haven’t felt it in years.”

“I know the feeling.”

They studied one another briefly before she slipped her arms into the jacket sleeves. The piece was far too big for her, but it covered her up enough so that her outfit wouldn’t elicit the same response from other demons as it had from Severus.

With a firm clearing of her throat, Moira looked up at him, the tenderness in her expression gone. “And why am I wearing this?”

“Like I said, you look good enough to eat,” Severus told her as he grabbed her hand, only her fingertips poking out the ends of the sleeves, “and if we’re not careful, someone might just try to take a bite.”

She opened and closed that ruby-red mouth a few times before muttering a soft, “Oh.”

“Oh indeed.” Severus led her down the alley, snatching up his dropped sketchbook on the way. Just before they reached the steel door without a handle, Moira slowed, tugging on his arm insistently enough to stop him.

“So, what exactly am I supposed to do in there?” She nodded toward the black-brick building, sounding a little nervous for the first time since she’d waltzed into the alley looking good enough to mount.

“You,” Severus said, yanking her toward him and catching her when she tripped over her heels. His arm snaked around her waist, and the height difference forced her to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. “You are going to sit at the bar. Enjoy a drink. Take in the ambiance. Verrier won’t even entertain the idea of letting you into his office, unfortunately, so that’s about all you can do.”

She didn’t bother to hide her disappointment. “Right. Okay.”

“If all goes according to plan, we’ll be out of here in a tight forty-five,” he promised. Severus had wasted many nights away inside the Inferno, but with Moira on his arm, he wanted to get in, get the intel, and get out as fast as possible. He would have preferred to do this after Alaric had started his shift, but Verrier had one time and one time only to meet with him, and Severus couldn’t exactly say no.

Nor could he be late. So, he bestowed another sharp kiss upon her, this time catching the delicate flesh at the top of her throat, then turned and pounded a fist on the steel door. He tapped out this month’s secret knock and tugged Moira inside as soon as it opened.

“Leech,” Dartanious greeted, the prickly bastard of a doorman giving him the usual sneer. Towering over both of them at nearly seven feet, the grey-haired demon drew a breath, likely to insult him further, but his words seemed to die on the tip of his tongue when his black-eyed gaze landed on Moira.

“Hello,” she said, offering a shy smile before Severus steered her toward the nearby bar. He rolled his eyes, feeling the doorman’s gaze clinging to him as he escorted the most beautiful woman present—succubus waitresses included—toward a barstool. Moira followed slowly, absorbing the place with a wide-eyed stare, her hand clasped in his and hanging between them, arms stretched taut.

Just as he’d hoped, it was an ordinary Wednesday night. Unlike the last Wednesday he’d stopped by, the place was half-empty and quiet. Music tinkled out of the overhead speakers, but the floor vibrated from the bass beats pounding through the nightclub on the lower levels. Alaric’s usual post at the back bar wasn’t even open yet, the lights over the shelves of liquor dimmed, so Severus had no choice but to plant Moira at the main bar next to the front door.

A few eyes followed them, but Severus felt the heat of their stares falling squarely on him. They could sense him, an incubus, a lowly creature among the other demons. Moira would be a black hole to them, a void without the usual vibrations. Hopefully that, and his much-too-large leather jacket, would shield her from any curious onlookers. After all, hybrids gave no vibration. Alaric was the same—just a bunch of nothingness. Severus thought it an advantage; no supernatural beings could read them. He’d kill for that kind of anonymity.

“Now, sit here,” he urged, helping her onto the high stool with a hand around her waist, “and order whatever you like.”

Their arrival caught the attention of the succubus he had hoped would be working tonight, and she sauntered over with an exaggerated sway to her hips—wearing nothing but bright pink nipple covers over her generous breasts and a pair of skimpy cut-off shorts below. Moira’s eyes widened with each step, but her incredulous, mildly horrified expression disappeared when Severus gave her waist a sharp pinch.

“This is Madeline,” he said with a nod to the purple-haired succubus, her silky mane rolling down her back in exaggerated waves tonight. “She’ll take care of you while I have my meeting with Verrier.”

He caught the succubus’s eye as he said the last part, raising his voice just enough for her to catch his meaning.

“Of course,” Madeline purred back, though she only smiled when Severus shook her hand and slipped a hundred-dollar bill into it, just for added security. She knew she’d get a second when he returned to find Moira still in one piece where he’d left her.

“We’re the same, she and I,” he added to Moira, and she nodded at the very slight, hardly noticeable lift of his eyebrows, as if catching his meaning. You don’t need to be frightened of her.

“Hardly the same,” Madeline protested, sprawling across the bartop and propping her chin up on her fists. “I’m much, much better.”

“I can see that,” Moira said, a faint quiver in her voice. “Nice to meet you.”

“Oh, she is a precious thing,” Madeline cooed as she straightened, the movement so sudden that Moira all but jumped back against Severus. He held her in place, not wanting Madeline to know she startled easily.

“Keep an eye on her,” Severus remarked. He then snatched her wrist, hard, when Madeline appeared to be reaching across the bar to cup Moira’s chin. “And don’t touch her.”

“Men.” The succubus snorted and tossed Moira a quick eye roll. “So possessive. What can I get you to drink, honey?”

“Uhm.” Those haunting blue eyes darted to the drinks board overhead. “A martini?”

“Sure thing. Olive?”

“Please.”

“So polite,” he heard Madeline coo, as if speaking to a toddler, while Severus checked his watch. “Wherever did you find her, Sev?”

He scowled; no one but Alaric was allowed to take such liberties with his name. Unfortunately, he hadn’t the time to snarl back, so he kissed Moira’s cheek instead, told her to drink slow, and headed for the staircase at the far side of the bar. He shot one last glare over his shoulder, catching and holding Madeline’s eye, and she waved him off with a huff he could feel across the room.

Sketchbook in hand and heart in his throat, he took the stairs two at a time, hoping that Verrier was in a pleasant, helpful mood. One could never be certain with a prince of Hell—they smiled when they liked you, but they supposedly smiled just before they slit your throat, too.

And Severus had no idea how to spot the difference.