Of all the responses Severus had thought Moira might offer upon learning Diriel had fled to the underworld, that was certainly not one of them.

“What did you…?” When he finally processed what had just come out of her mouth, she was already halfway out the door. “Moira.”

She ignored him, the stubborn creature, and Severus stalked out after her, slowing when he spied Alaric and a still noticeably drunk Ella seated together on the couch.

“Is it true?” Moira demanded, marching right up to the hybrid and blocking him from Severus’s eyeline with her distractingly beautiful figure. “Is Diriel in Hell?”

“Oh, yeah, well, he…” Alaric trailed off once Severus pointedly cleared his throat, then peered around Moira to catch his eye. When Severus’s gaze narrowed, his friend gave a barely discernable nod, and then shook his head up at her. “No, look—”

“It’s not an essay question, Alaric,” Moira snapped, hands planted on her hips as she stepped back and glared between him and Severus. “Is Diriel in Hell? Is that what you two found out today?”

Ella noisily slurped her water, having retreated to the far end of the couch, and Severus hoped the human wouldn’t insert her opinion into all this. Alaric, however, was the one who ended up disappointing him.

“Yes, he’s in Hell.” Alaric stood and skirted around her, shoving his hands in his pockets once he had some space. “My father extracted the intel from one of his inner circle today. That demon wouldn’t lie, not to him.”

The redhead leaned against Severus’s bookshelf, shrugging in response to the irate look he shot him. Moira whirled around, pinning a formidable look of her own directly on Severus.

“Then I guess we’re going to Hell.”

“We are not going anywhere,” he snarled. “Hell is no place for you.”

“Why? Can hybrids not use the gates?”

When he didn’t respond right away, she turned to Alaric. Severus looked to him too, telepathically ordering him to shut his fucking mouth—but his roommate was a wretched liar. Always had been.

“Hybrids can use the gates,” he admitted softly, then crossed his arms when Severus scoffed at him. “Look, I’m sorry, but she has a right to know.”

“Thank you.” Moira shot him a strained smile. “You’re absolutely right. I do have a right to know, and I have a right to go. I refuse to just sit here in this house, waiting for you, not knowing if you’re—”

“Do you know how dangerous it will be?” Severus demanded, crossing the room so that they stood glowering at each other on either side of the coffee table. Neither appeared keen to back down, and now that they had an audience, he couldn’t exactly seduce her into submission—not that it had worked earlier, but he was sure with enough persistence he could persuade her to forget all about it.

Three weeks. Three fucking weeks he’d gone without ravishing her, and it was moments like this, fire blazing between them, that were the hardest. “Moira, you know how dire the situation is here. Can you imagine it in Hell? Diriel fled because there’s an angel on his tail—”

“My dad,” she said curtly. Some of the fight drained out of him, and Severus pressed his lips together tight when he realized they’d fallen apart. Fuck. He hadn’t meant to blurt it out—he’d wanted more proof before he told her. Moira fidgeted with the skirt of her fetching little outfit, glancing between Severus and Alaric quickly before finding a spot elsewhere to focus on. “I know. Diriel told me he was hired by my dad to torture and kill me. He seemed to get a little kick out of it.”

The room fell silent, save for Ella rapidly tapping her nail against her nearly empty glass. Severus yearned to reach out to his hybrid, his blossoming angel. The look on her face—she couldn’t hide the hurt, no matter how even she had learned to keep her voice. All he wanted to do was to wrap her in his arms and hold her until the ache went away.

But then—she had known this very vital bit of information all this time and had never thought to share it with him. The urge to nurture faded, replaced by a swift, white-hot anger that had his hands in fists and his jaw clenched. She should have told him. She had told him nearly everything else, from the way Diriel had dug his talons into her back to the fact that he’d gotten hard when he pierced her nipples. It had pained her, but she had told him, late at night, curled up against him. Moira had been very open with him, and Severus had risked his life, daily, to bring her justice, to bring her vengeance.

How dare she keep this from him?

“Wouldn’t Hell be safer for me?” She slipped around the coffee table and gently grasped his arm. “If we’re worried about angels, then isn’t Hell better than Earth? I’m guessing they don’t exactly roll out the red carpet for angels down there.”

The inner demon rumbled contentedly at the touch, so desperate for any kind of physical contact from her that it could ignore the lunacy of her statement. Severus, however, wasn’t so easily tamed. He shrugged her hand off, pacing toward the stairwell and resting against the railing. She remained right where he’d left her, studying him with that wide-eyed imploring look, the very same she had used when he’d first shattered her world—the one that had plunged into his weak, weak heart and roped him into all this in the first place.

That look might have worked on him then, but she was no longer the wide-eyed ingenue, unaware of the evils of his world. Moira had experienced them firsthand, and now she wanted him to take her into the belly of the beast? Into the epitome of all things vile, the great black pit of treachery and torment?

No. He wouldn’t do it. Severus would move mountains for her, but not this.

“You were not meant for Hell, Moira,” he said softly, hoping that would be the end of it—and knowing that was a fool’s hope. His little hybrid huffed at him, her wide-eyed look vanishing.

“I’m not asking you to move me there permanently,” she told him, her cheeks flushed a pale pink and her eyes seeming to shimmer in the late afternoon sunshine from the nearby window. “Severus, if Diriel is in Hell, then that’s exactly where I need to be. I need to find out who my dad is so I know once and for all who’s really trying to kill me, and after that…Diriel deserves to die.”

“No. It isn’t safe, Moira—”

“Sev, you know the rules are stricter in Hell,” Alaric argued, pushing off the bookcase and crossing the room to stand next to Moira. Fucking traitor. “No one can touch her, especially if she’s a guest of your family. I’m sure they could keep her safe—”

“Haven’t you said enough today?” He seldom ever quarreled with Alaric. They had been good friends and companionable roommates for years now, so to snarl at him—Alaric stepped back as if Severus had taken a swing at him.

But he knew better than to bring up Severus’s family. He knew what those bastards had done to him. He knew nearly every sordid, gory detail, and still he presented the option anyway, encouraging Moira to keep pushing.

“They’re your family,” Alaric said flatly, hands in his pockets and brow furrowed. He wore a similar flush of colour as the hybrid by his side, but they seemed to embolden one another—a united front. “They would keep her safe. It’s been, what, nearly two centuries since you left? Longer, in Hell. People change—”

“Don’t speak about what you don’t know, Alaric. Not all of us are blessed with a father who loves us no matter the defects of our birth.”

“Okay, okay, Severus’s family is neither here nor there,” Moira interjected, physically placing herself between him and Alaric, who appeared completely thrown by Severus’s last comment. Had it really never crossed his mind? Did he not realize how fortunate he was that Verrier even acknowledged him—that he would kill for him, that he forced the boy to dine with him weekly, just the two of them, so he could catch up on his son’s life in peace?

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Alaric muttered, meandering back to the bookshelf. No. You shouldn’t have. The words danced on the tip of Severus’s tongue, but he swallowed them instead. Alaric didn’t deserve his wrath—neither of them did, yet it bubbled up his throat and burned them all the same.

Hell had a way of doing that to him, and the mere mention of his family hadn’t helped.

“It doesn’t matter, Alaric,” he managed. “It’s forgotten.”

He met the hybrid’s gaze briefly, an unspoken conversation flowing between them, one rife with apologies and acceptances, interrupted by Moira’s very long, very drawn out sigh.

“Okay, back to Hell—”

“Moira, honey…”

Severus flinched at the intrusion of a fourth party in this conversation, having nearly forgotten Ella was even there. The woman stood, tugging her short, tight clothing down in the process, and appeared much more stable on her feet this time. With clearer eyes and less slurring in her voice, she addressed Moira and Moira alone. “I don’t want to pick a side here, but I kind of agree with him.”

Severus straightened when she gestured in his direction, though her unimpressed scoff had him pursing his lips rather than smiling triumphantly as he’d initially wanted to.

“I mean, you’re talking about Hell here,” she continued. “Like…fire and brimstone Hell.”

“And you think that doesn’t scare me? You think I’m looking at this like it’s some tropical vacation?” Moira faced Severus again, imploring him to understand. Of course he understood. Did she think him so simple that he couldn’t grasp the nuances of why she would want to be there when they finally tracked Diriel down? Far from the long-reaching grasp of her father, she could find answers and justice in Hell—but Severus couldn’t let her do it. The risk was too great. His parents alone would eat her alive.

“No, Moira, I don’t think that,” Ella insisted, plopping down on the armrest of the couch when it appeared her legs had given up. “But you need to really consider his opinion. These guys are from Hell, and you’re…not.”

“If I can pass through the hell-gate, then I can go to Hell too.” Moira took a step toward Severus, desperation etched plain as day across her face. “Please. I’ll sit in whatever house you tell me to. I’ll wait. I won’t go looking for him, or try to pick a fight, or make a big display, but I need to be there to get the answers I deserve, and…” She inhaled sharply, her lower lip wobbling before she steadied it. “And I deserve to punish the creature who haunts my nightmares.”

“No, Moira.” Severus pushed away from the railing, closing the distance between them with a few steps of his own. “You deserve to live. I cannot guarantee that in Hell.”

“This isn’t living! Hiding in your house isn’t living, Severus! I want to do something. I want to—”

“Well, I’m afraid we don’t always get what we want, do we?” he remarked, fighting to keep his temper in check—fighting, and soon failing.

“But—”

“Enough.”

Ella gasped when the windows rattled, Severus’s anger manifesting in the shuddering walls of the building around them. He regretted it as soon as the word left his mouth, but he couldn’t have her argue about this anymore. He couldn’t listen to her reasoning. He couldn’t look into those desperate eyes, seconds away from brimming with tears. He just couldn’t. Because then he would give in, and he would hate himself for it.

“Maybe we should just take a breath,” Alaric suggested, breaking the tense silence. With a sigh, Severus finally glanced over at Moira, an apology brewing—but he didn’t find her frightened by his outburst. He didn’t see a cowering woman, but a fierce goddess enraged. His gaze dropped to her hands, half expecting to see them aglow. Tight little fists trembled at her side, and Severus knew that a breath wouldn’t quell the fire within her. So, he walked away.

“Yes. Fine. A breath,” he hissed, grasping the thin metal railing and thundering downstairs. Overhead, he vaguely heard Alaric’s voice, followed by the gentle pitter-patter of feet padding toward the couch—Moira, most likely, seeking comfort from her human ally.

None of them knew Hell as he did. Not Alaric, whose trips to Hell had always been with his father, with whom he was looked upon as the son of a prince. The hybrid was practically worshipped down there. Ella appeared to be on his side, but she knew nothing of the true Hell either, for it was hardly all fire and brimstone, but more mocking words and cruel laughter.

And Moira. Sweet Moira—she had no idea what she’d asked of him. None. And the fact that she couldn’t accept his reluctance at face value enraged him.

Hadn’t he done everything for her already? Hadn’t he acted in her best interest, his actions dictated by the desire to keep her safe and alive? The one time he had yielded and brought her along for the ride had fucked them all over—and Hell would be no different.

His lips curled into a snarl, ignoring the way the inner demon scalded his esophagus with a fresh bout of acid reflux—clearly unimpressed with how he’d handled the situation.

“Oh, what do you know?” he seethed, shoving his feet into his loafers by the door before digging his cigarettes out of a coat in the closet. “You hated it too. You were the reason we left in the first place.”

Not that there was a we back then. Severus’s true self, the beast within, had fled Hell, and Severus’s human-friendly shell, curated by the hell-gate’s magic, had been picking up the pieces in Farrow’s Hollow ever since.

Wrenching the front door open, he strode forth onto the sidewalk, holding a flicker of flame to the end of his cigarette before he stuffed the silver lighter back in his pocket. He took a deep, long drag, prowling back and forth across the breadth of the alley between the neighbouring apartment buildings. Pacing. Stalking. Like a caged animal stewing in his own anger, he finished the cigarette without even tasting it, then tossed the butt aside with a grimace.

He couldn’t take Moira to Hell. Even if his family did offer her sanctuary, how could he face them again after all this time?

No one had come looking.

Did they think him dead?

He kneaded his chest, hating the way it constricted at the thought. None of this mattered—he hadn’t asked after them, either.

Moira mattered.

Severus ceased his pacing when he realized he was being watched, and not by Gibson from his tinted apartment window across the street. Two demons stood before the flower shop at the base of the building Alaric’s hired babysitters rented an apartment in. One had the courtesy to carry a bouquet in the crook of his arm, but they were both watching him.

Severus and Alaric had paid three different sources, none of whom were affiliated with the demon mob families, to spread rumors that Moira had left Farrow’s Hollow. Included in those rumors was the part about Diriel kidnapping her, just to add some credibility, but the emphasis was placed on the fact that the first angel-human hybrid Farrow’s Hollow had ever seen had fled the coop.

For now, that had taken some of the heat off her, and Severus estimated in another month or two her novelty would blow over completely. However, there were some rather persistent fucks who liked to sniff around the alleyway—ordinary demons, like the two across their street, their dull, boring vibrations an affront to Severus’s sensibilities.

Many in the Farrow’s Hollow demon community knew that Alaric Crowley had some link to said alleyway. After all, parking his garishly white Lamborghini in front of it wasn’t exactly subtle. Still, no one could crack Cordelia’s enchantments. No one was getting in. No one even knew the house was there. As far as they were concerned, Severus and Alaric waltzed into an alternate realm whenever they disappeared, with magic similar to the hell-gates propelling them away from Earth.

Besides, Verrier’s involvement usually kept anyone from interfering.

He did worry about angels dropping in on them, but in all the years they had lived there, Severus hadn’t found so much as a rogue feather around their property. Cordelia was a prodigy. Her magic was air-tight.

Still, that didn’t exactly stop fuckers from looking, did it?

He flipped the pair across the street the bird, but before he could march over there and take out a little of his pent-up anger on their skulls, Gibson appeared in the doorway of the flower shop. While Severus couldn’t hear what was said, he could assume Verrier’s name was dropped, and the demons scampered off less than a minute later. He offered the demon a nod, one that wasn’t returned, and then returned indoors, only marginally less annoyed now than he had been before.

The day felt like it had dragged on forever, and it wasn’t four in the afternoon yet—and he still had three clients scheduled this evening. Cursing under his breath, Severus grabbed one of Alaric’s top-shelf bourbons from the bar under the staircase, cracked open the lid, and drank straight from the source. The liquid burned all the way down, quashing the inner demon’s temper tantrum and warming his core. Upstairs, he could hear the faint murmurs of a conversation, one he had no intention of rejoining anytime soon.

Alcohol seemed like his best option. So, he settled at the breakfast bar, bourbon in hand, and brought the bottle to his lips again—hoping that by the time he finished it, all would be right again between him and Moira, and neither would waste another breath on the subject of Hell.

Ha.

He thought back to the desperation in her voice, the rage gathering around her like the tense stillness before a devastating storm. Moira wouldn’t let this go. She would fight him, passionately pleading her case, blindly putting her trust in him to keep her safe in the pit, pushing and pushing and pushing until he yielded. Again. And not for the last time, either—of that much he was certain.

Her stubborn tenacity was one of the things that drove him positively insane, yet it endeared her to him, too. It lured him in, ensnared him, infuriated him.

Severus took a large gulp of bourbon, knowing that, in the plainest sense—it was also one of the reasons he loved her.