Moira awoke with a start the following morning, her heart racing as she tried to blink visions of a sneering, black-eyed Diriel from her mind’s eye. A familiar nightmare—she hadn’t quite shaken him yet. Lately, however, she had been able to go at least a few nights without seeing him. But the stress from her spat with Severus must have triggered the dream: she was back in that room, tied up and helpless, with Diriel piercing her spine. This time, Severus had been there, watching with a cold, unfeeling fury—always out of reach. He’d spoken, but Moira hadn’t heard him; she could only see his lips moving.

Gulping down a shaky breath, she pressed a hand to her forehead and stared up at the ceiling of her third-floor room, exhaustion settling across her body like a thick, unrelenting blanket. This had been the first time in her entire month of living with Alaric and Severus that she’d spent a full night in the queen-sized bed they had bought her. The mattress was too hard and the pillows were too high—nothing like the comfort of Severus’s bed.

Since the incubus had stormed out to meet his clients before they’d had a chance to settle things last night, it hadn’t felt right to climb into his bed when he returned home shortly after midnight. It had been difficult, listening to his familiar steps ascending the various stairwells. Sleeping with him had become a comforting habit, one Moira found herself itching to satisfy as soon as his door shut soundly one floor above. But she had stayed on the never-before-used mattress, with Ella by her side and a heaviness in her heart.

Beyond the tension between her and Severus, she hadn’t thought it right to leave Ella by herself, either. Her best friend had offered to stay until things got sorted; as an apology for keeping her out of the loop, Moira had even offered to pay her rent for the entire summer at their shared home on the other side of campus. Ella fought both initially, the staying here and having her rent paid by someone else, but in the end she relented, especially when Moira explained that until Diriel was caught and the angel hybrid fervor died down, this was the safest option.

Together, they had contacted their landlord about the change. Moira had the money to pay the entire house’s rent from her inheritance anyway, and she preferred having Ella with her now that she was in the know about everything. Alaric’s house was invisible to everyone who might want to hurt her or her loved ones. Ella was now in a fortress of safety and security.

After everything had been decided, they’d even told their roommates not to worry, that they were just staying with Moira’s boyfriend—well, partying with Moira’s boyfriend, the lie that had been the easiest to sell—and they’d be back in the fall. Two someones named Alaric and Russ would be by to pack up Ella’s things; she had already started her very specific must-haves list.

Hopefully all this would settle by the fall. With just over three months between now and the start of Ella’s final year and Moira’s do-over semester in their respective Master’s programs, Moira could only hope that the Diriel situation would be dealt with—and by extension, the unpleasantness with her dad.

Last night, with Ella back in her life, she had been able to forget about all of it. They had cooked dinner together, spoiling Alaric with a roast, and the trio had played video games until the redhead had needed to go to work. With the house to themselves, she and Ella barricaded themselves in the third-floor bedroom Moira never used, continuing to hash everything out. To say her best friend had been distraught at the fact that Moira was so casually discussing a plan to kill another person was an understatement.

“But why does he need to die?” she’d asked, exasperated and a little hungover. “And why are you so comfortable with it? Moira… You’re talking about taking someone’s life like it’s nothing.”

“A demon, not a person,” Moira had argued, as if that made the idea any easier to swallow. “The rules are different in their world. For me right now, it’s kill or be killed, and Ella, I have to accept it if I’m going to survive.”

In her opinion, the whole Diriel issue had put her between a rock and a hard place, and the fact that Severus couldn’t just get on board about her tagging along to Hell with him only made things more difficult.

Sighing, she slowly untangled herself from Ella’s grasp; her sleeping best friend had snapped around her like a spider monkey when she’d woken up gasping. Temporarily freed, Moira sat up in the near pitch-black, windowless room, the only light trailing in from under the closed door. As she rubbed the sleep out of one eye, she tapped her phone, which had spent the night next to her pillow, then squinted at the blinding, too-bright screen.

Nearly 5 AM. With only four hours of sleep under her belt, she really ought to try and get some more shut-eye. However, this was around the time she and Severus had been rolling out of bed for weeks—Moira’s mind didn’t want to keep sleeping. Her body wasn’t all that excited to get up, but she was awake now. Alert. Ready to start another day. No going back.

So, with a heavy sigh, she slipped out from under the thin duvet cover, arranged it snugly around Ella, and then tiptoed to the bathroom. Toilet used. Face washed. Teeth brushed. Normally she would have tackled her unruly, obscenely long white locks too, but Ella had braided them into a thick crown around her head last night while Moira crushed Alaric at Mario Kart. Sleep had tugged wisps of white loose, and she smoothed them down, knowing they wouldn’t stay, before digging a grey wool cap out of her duffel bag and throwing it on.

She hadn’t felt the need to cover her hair anymore—not after she had accepted it for what it truly meant. However, her white hair made her distinct, and Severus and Alaric both agreed that it would be best to keep it covered when she was out in public.

As quickly and quietly as she could, Moira changed out of her sleep shorts and cozy tee, swapping them for a pair of old, comfortable jeans and a slouchy white T-shirt. The pants were finally starting to fit better after a month of eating the proper amount of food for her insane new metabolism, and the T-shirt was just a little sheer—enough so that she could see her deep purple bra underneath. She pursed her lips, studying herself in the bathroom mirror, then nodded in approval and crept out.

Ella was still asleep when she stopped to check on her, hugging Moira’s pillow now rather than Moira herself. Tiptoeing away, she grabbed her cell phone and purse, then snuck out of the room and gently shut the door behind her. She paused for a moment, waiting, listening for movement. With nothing more than Ella’s soft, even snores buzzing inside the bedroom, Moira hurried downstairs. She continued to creep silently but swiftly, knowing Alaric would have only gotten home from the bar an hour or two ago. She carried along right to the ground floor—only to stop halfway down that final stairwell when she found Severus standing at the front window.

He glanced over his shoulder, turning fully when she came to a stop. While his expression was more unreadable than she liked, much of yesterday’s hard anger had disappeared. The dark circles under his eyes told her that his night had been just as restless as hers, and she studied him for a moment in silence, gripping the thin metal railing, then finally offered a shy smile. “Hi.”

Her heart beat faster when he returned the smile, even if it didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Morning.”

“I wasn’t sure if you’d still want to…go,” she told him, taking the rest of the stairs slowly and stopping when she reached the bottom. He already had his shoes on, the usual dark grey sweatpants and black T-shirt clinging to the muscular frame beneath.

“I’m game if you are,” Severus remarked. While Moira couldn’t help but feel like he lacked his usual enthusiasm, at least he was here. He hadn’t forgotten—purposefully or otherwise. His gaze lingered on her face, the irises a near-perfect match to his pupils. Clearly he had stocked up last night with his clients; Moira swallowed hard, ignoring the sudden painful stab of jealousy in her gut.

She had insisted he keep seeing clients for his own good. She wasn’t allowed to be jealous.

“Yeah, of course.” She nodded, forcing her smile to stretch a bit wider. “Always.”

“Right.” He headed for the door, gaze dropping at last. “I’ll fetch the car.”

“Okay.” Moira reached out for him as he passed by, but he was out the front door too quick for her to catch. Her arm hung there for a moment, fingers grasping and outstretched, before it fell back at her side, limp.

Something needed to change. She refused to let it carry on like this—not with Severus. One stupid fight, regardless of how important the issue, wasn’t going to wreck what they had.

So, she slipped her feet into her beat-up runners, shoved her phone in her purse, strung the purse across her body, and hurried for the kitchen. The boys had only seen fit to tell her after her daring escape attempt down the back of the building that there was an exit at the far end of the pantry.

Given that she hadn’t even realized there was a pantry, imagine her surprise when they’d shown her a near-invisible door next to the bar under the stairs. It opened to reveal a fully stocked pantry, six shelves high and almost ten feet deep, at the back of which was a heavily fortified door that opened to the alley.

Passing through the cool, dark space, a soft yellow glow emanating from the light that ran the full length of the room, Moira spotted two baskets of fresh blueberries on the fruit counter.

“Pancake breakfast it is,” she mused, pausing to poke through the piles of plump little fruit. Ella was a fiend for pancakes of any kind, but blueberry pancakes had been the staple that Moira’s mom made for breakfast every Sunday when they all lived together. The thought made her smile, happier times flashing across her mind—only to be dampened by the faint roar of the SUV pulling into place behind the building. Moira attacked the various locks on the exit door with gusto, knocking them out in a tight fifteen seconds, which was a drastic improvement from the full minute it used to take her.

Why everything had to be so damn complicated was beyond her. No one could even see the building—why did the back door need ten different locks of varying combinations?

She stepped outside and breathed in the fresh morning air. Above, the sky shook off the darkness, the purply-black of night giving way to the rosy pink of dawn. As the door swung shut behind her, she glanced back, pleased that she could still see the building even if she was no longer touching it.

Before Cordelia had gone back to summering in Hell—“I’m missing the height of the social season!” she’d proclaimed dramatically—the witch had carved her secret mark over Moira’s ribcage. A shoddily drawn pentagram, nothing more than a star encircled, now lived on her body forever, allowing her to see beyond Cordelia’s illusions. It technically allowed Moira to come and go from the building as she pleased, but she only ever went out with Severus—and only before sunrise.

Gripping her purse strap, she hurried down the alleyway and made a beeline for the awaiting vehicle. The giant black beast belonged to Alaric, but Severus used it to take her out each morning, switching the plates often and adding ridiculous bumper stickers when necessary. As she clambered into the passenger’s seat, a chill raced down her spine—he had the air-conditioning blasting already. Just as Moira turned it down, Severus slammed on the gas, the inertia forcing her back into her seat. Glowering, she buckled herself in, then settled in for the ride with a heavy sigh.

If he could, Severus tried to take a different route each morning. Today, he had opted for the most direct path through the city—not a great sign. The pair sat in a tense silence until Moira turned on the radio, flipping through stations until she found one that she liked. By then, they were approaching the northwestern side of Farrow’s Hollow, cutting through family neighbourhoods that steadily devolved into FHU student-dominated suburbs. Within twenty minutes, he was pulling into the parking lot, and Moira was out before he even cut the engine.

The towering FHU football stadium loomed before her, stretching at least a hundred feet high to accommodate all the seating. Despite the fact that the venue was separated from the FHU campus by several large neighbourhoods, students always trudged out, by foot or by bus, to watch all the local games—even with the school’s terrible ranking in the university football division. The edges of Moira’s mouth twitched up when she spied the team logo emblazoned across the exterior wall: Farrow’s Falcons—a grimly determined cartoon falcon wearing a football helmet and everything. The team might suck, but it was their team. Students still managed to fill the entire stadium on game nights.

Now, however, it was desolate and quiet, the nighttime floodlights still on around the vacant parking lot. Moira flinched at the sound of Severus’s door slamming shut, and he emerged from behind the enormous vehicle moments later, a cigarette behind his ear and his sketchbook under his arm.

Their eyes met briefly as he marched by, each footstep made louder by the crunch of gravel underfoot. Moira followed a few feet behind, her head down.

While the main public entrance to the stadium was locked down tight, Severus had found a way in through one of the back doors weeks ago. All it took was a good jiggling and the lock sprang free, and thus far, no one had come by to fix it. He held the door open for Moira, waiting, and she strode by with a quick nod, taking the stairs two at a time.

They emerged halfway up the stadium seating, and she inhaled deeply, filling her lungs as she basked in the predawn peace. Completely empty, the rectangular open-roof stadium was the most tranquil place in Farrow’s Hollow this time of day. City parks were out; Severus had nixed the idea early on, stating that demon drug dealers liked to visit the sprawling greenery to sell their wares. So, here they were. Totally alone—and yet, as Moira followed him up the metal stairs, wide and low, their footsteps echoing, she couldn’t help but feel as though they were somehow crowded today. Just the two of them—and the tension hanging between them.

Three was most definitely a crowd.

Nibbling her lower lip, Moira watched as Severus climbed the seats in the last row, then lifted himself up onto the five-foot back wall that fenced the spectators in. Once he was seated, Severus offered a hand to her, and even though they both knew she didn’t need the help, she grasped it anyway, allowing him to hoist her up. She settled in beside him, their thighs touching, and threaded her hands together on her lap. Feet dangling, she studied the horizon and estimated they had about fifteen minutes before sunrise, a gentle pink stretching over the far edges of Farrow’s Hollow.

Severus had brought her here every morning. No matter how late he was out the night before, no matter what her mood after she woke from nightmare-plagued sleep. Every morning, just the two of them—together, watching the sunrise. He had promised that she wouldn’t feel caged this time, that she wouldn’t be a prisoner in her new home. After her ordeal with Diriel, she had no intention of sneaking out on her own again, but had these morning jaunts not existed, even with her daily routine, she’d be going stir-crazy by now.

He had made sure that didn’t happen.

Always looking after her—from the very beginning.

At the sound of his lighter flickering, she glanced at the flame as Severus carried it to his mouth, held it there to light the end of the cigarette dangling between his lips, then snuffed it out when the cap snapped sharply into place. Openly staring now, Moira watched him tuck it away, then take the first few drags, fingers pinching the long white stick. Smoke soon rushed from his nostrils in two thick streams, and Moira caught his wrist before he could take another drag.

“Can I…?”

“Sure.” He held the cigarette out for her, and she latched onto it, her eyes fixed to his, blue to black, then inhaled. Ordinarily she couldn’t stand the stink of cigarette smoke, but Severus bought a brand made in Hell—and somehow it was sweet. Citric. Sharp, yet woodsy too. Pleasant. She had loved sitting in the smoke, breathing it in, but today was the first morning she dared ask for a puff.

It burned down her throat, making her eyes water—but not in an entirely unpleasant way. She sat back, holding the blend of flavors and scents in her mouth, before less than gracefully coughing it all out.

“Lemon?” she asked, her hand in front of her mouth as she continued to cough. “And mint?”

“More or less,” Severus remarked. He watched her with the first real grin she had seen that morning, a warm affection in his eyes. “The herbs aren’t called that down below, but that’s roughly the equivalent.”

She swallowed hard, the last of her hacking subsided. “I kind of like it.”

“Here.” Severus shifted about, digging the pack out of his pocket and holding it open for her. Tentatively, Moira plucked one long, white stick for herself, then popped it between her lips. Even unlit, the cigarette’s fragrances danced across her taste buds, and she leaned in when Severus produced a flame. The demon cupped a hand around the end of her cigarette, keeping the gentle breeze from stealing her fire. Once again, Moira watched him the entire time: the downcast of his eyes, the thickness of his lashes, the supple lines of his lips.

“Now, my little cigarette virgin,” he said, the snap of the lighter closing jarring her back to the moment, “when you inhale, don’t hold it in until it chokes you. Just breathe. It’s a cigarette, not a joint.”

She shot him a look, one of the don’t patronize me looks that she had perfected since meeting Severus. He merely smirked back, his cigarette still burning in his other hand. Mirroring the way he held it, she took her first real drag, allowing the lemon, the mint, the woodsy green aftertaste to linger on her tongue, down her throat, for just a moment before blowing it out.

“Better?”

“We’ll make a smoker out of you yet,” he mused.

“Only here.” Only with you. “Only at sunrise.”

Severus’s head bobbed. “Agreed.”

They sat side by side in an easier silence now, watching as the sun crept above the horizon. It was her favourite time of day, the great glow painting the darkness away with broad sweeps of oranges, pinks, and reds. Moira felt most at ease then, especially right now, nursing the Hell-made cigarette, her leg against Severus’s—basking in the sunrise of a new day. The shimmering orb rose, ever-present and beautiful, just as it always did. For some reason, Moira found that comforting—the familiarity of it all.

It was only sometime later, as the sun continued its climb across the great wide blue, that she heard the scrape of charcoal on paper. Blinking the flashes of sunlight from her eyes, she looked down—and found Severus halfway through this morning’s sketch. Her profile. He was adding detail to her eyelashes now, his face pinched in concentration.

He’d bought a new sketchbook just for this—drawing her. Every morning, Moira would find a new work of art awaiting her. It was always her face. Sometimes just her eyes. In the beginning, Severus had told her to give it time—that in a few weeks, she would see the difference in herself. The bags under her eyes would disappear. The sorrow too. He wanted to track it—to show just how far she had come.

She cocked her head to the side after flicking the cigarette butt over the edge of the stadium wall, studying the profile portrait. She knew he felt her watching, but he carried on as he always did, never missing a beat—going, going, going, until finally he would snap the book closed and pack everything away, never saying a word about it, not since his first explanation.

He really was a talented artist. Fluid with the charcoal. The shading, the lines, the minute details—Moira only wished he had found a more interesting subject to chronicle.

“Why didn’t you tell me about your father?” Severus asked, bathed in sunlight, his eyes hooded as he worked. “That you knew he’d hired Diriel?”

Moira drew in a soft, sharp breath. She’d known that would come back to bite her. Looking to the rising sun, she used it, its unrelenting brightness, to hide the sudden rush of tears.

She hadn’t told him because she was afraid.

I was afraid you’d leave.

Angels frightened Severus too, and if he knew that her dad had been behind everything—well, what if he’d washed his hands clean of her? She wouldn’t have been able to survive the last few weeks without him.

Moira didn’t want him to leave. Her dad didn’t get to steal yet another piece of her.

“I…” She shook her head, blinking back the tears. Her bright blues faltered under the sunlight, aching, but she continued to stare at it, knowing she could take it. “I needed time to process it.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, his charcoal scratching harder across the paper. Another blink had the tears streaking down her face, but she brushed them away with a sniff, the movement as nonchalant as she could make it.

“I didn’t keep it from you to…to…I don’t know, keep it from you,” she managed, grimacing. This wasn’t the conversation she had hoped to sort out this morning; it felt like a waste of a sunrise. Still, he had brought it up—clearly it was important to him, and if Moira wanted him to hear what was important to her, she needed to do the same. Swallowing thickly, she shifted about, lifting a folded leg up onto the cement wall so she could face him properly. “Severus, I didn’t do it to lie to you. I just needed some time. I’m sorry. I know it could have been crucial information… I’ve just been a bit all over the place after—”

“It’s fine.” His lips barely moved as he said it, but she caught the way the bulge in his throat bobbed afterward. The charcoal pencil stilled, and he shot her a sidelong glance. “I understand.”

“You know,” she plucked the pencil from his fingers, tapping it against her lips when he straightened, “if I hadn’t known that my dad was behind everything, the way you seemed ready to just blurt out this hurtful, heartbreaking, potentially devastating information yesterday… I mean, yeah, you said Diriel was working for an angel, not my dad, but who else could it be? You know I would have asked for more information. You know I would have…”

Now it was his turn to grimace. Moira nodded knowingly, then handed the pencil back, noting how the charcoal had stained the side of his hand.

“Yeah, if I hadn’t known, kind of a shitty way to break the news—mid-argument,” she finished, arching an eyebrow at him, fighting a smile when his cheeks flushed ever so slightly.

“Not my finest moment,” Severus said with a sigh. He tossed his head from side to side, cracking his neck, and then looked to the horizon. “I apologize. Yesterday’s conversation was…heated. I should have handled myself better.”

She nibbled her lower lip, sensing an in to the conversation she actually wanted to address. Still, if it had gotten him heated yesterday, it would very likely do the same again today.

“Severus.” Moira gently grasped his forearm, holding it as he flicked what was left of his cigarette onto the row of bright yellow seating below. “I need to go to Hell with you.”

He stiffened, jaw clenched and muscles rippling along it. She shuffled closer, adding her other hand to his arm and searching out his gaze, but he refused to let her meet it.

“This is my problem,” she continued, forcing the fight out of her words so that he wouldn’t feel attacked. “It’s my dad, my issue. I was the one who was tortured. Mutilated—”

The demon turned away from her, but she caught the flash of rage in his eyes, the subtle snarl of his mouth.

“You can’t do this without me.” She gave his arm a little squeeze, hoping it felt more affectionate than insistent. “I know you can, theoretically. I don’t bring much to the table. I can’t control my light yet, and I know nothing about Hell, but I deserve to be involved. You’re doing this all for me, and I can’t in good conscience let you keep throwing yourself to the wolves while I sit on the sidelines and watch—”

He shrugged out of her grasp, then set his sketchbook aside, closed, and hopped off the wall. While the rest of the stadium had fold-out seats, the very top row was nothing more than a bench, the wall she was sitting on used for back support. If you were unlucky enough to be seated this far up, there was a good chance you were standing, anyway.

Scowling, Severus stood there for a moment, his hands in tight fists, before he shook his head and strode away from her, back toward the stairs. He moved with one foot in front of the other, oddly graceful, as he balanced himself along the bench seating.

Moira watched him go, her hands clasped tightly, fighting the urge to jump down and follow—because she knew he wouldn’t leave her up here by herself.

And sure enough, he stopped, just at the end of the bench, then whirled around to glare at her. Sunlight dappled his handsome face, soaking him in the early-morning glow.

“Hell is… Hell is hell, Moira. You speak of throwing me to the wolves, but I can assure you that the real wolves are down below. Why are you so eager to go there?”

“I’m not,” she argued, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. He was latching on to the insignificant issues here—not the one that actually mattered to her. “Severus, please don’t mistake my need to be involved with some twisted interest in taking a tour of Hell. That’s not what’s happening here.”

He stepped off the bench, moving farther and farther away with each passing moment—nearly out of reach. “Yes, well—”

“I just need answers,” Moira argued, “and I’m not going to let you go find them by yourself.”

As he started down the stairs, hands shoved in his pockets and expression hard, Moira hopped off the wall and hurried after him. She stopped at the top step, the feel of him slipping out of her grasp more painful than she cared to admit.

“Severus, we’re partners.” The word snagged in her throat, and her eyes prickled once more with tears. “Partners. We shook on it. Just you and me, doing this together.”

He finally stopped, his entire being rigid, his back still to her.

“Please,” she said, knowing she was on the verge of begging him—begging a demon to take her to Hell. “You can tell me everything. Give me the worst. Make sure I’m prepared, that I’m going in with my eyes open. But, Severus,” she swallowed hard, her vision blurring until she blinked, “if you’re going, I’m going. Because we’re partners. We agreed. Me and you—that’s all I want.”

She dragged in a shaky breath, then brushed the hot streams from her cheeks again. The emotions were unexpected—all Moira had wanted was a civilized discussion, and here she was bawling. Again.

Severus stayed right where he was, roughly eight steps between them. Before, she had been so confident that he wouldn’t leave her behind, but now she wasn’t so sure anymore.

An eternity later, he faced her, and she let out a long sigh of relief as he started to make his way back up. Her lower lip quivered, but she fought the emotion this time, reining it back in until she was sure the floodgates were sealed.

He stopped one step below her, bringing them to roughly equal standing. Her eyebrows lifted slightly, an unspoken question floating between them, and she slowly closed her eyes when he cupped her face. Two large hands held her, cradled her head between them. Moira never felt safer than when Severus touched her, and she hoped he saw it in her eyes when she opened them again, their gazes locking.

The demon stared back, black and full, and an array of feeling danced across his face as he studied her. Raw hurt—anger even, his fingertips biting into her. She clutched at his wrists, taking the twinge of pain because she knew she could. Then, with his gentle sigh, the pressure eased and the pain vanished, as did the anger, the hurt. Still raw, Severus blinked and the demon was gone; in its place, a resignation that made her heart race and her stomach knot.

“Fine,” he croaked, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs. “Fine. You’ll come with me. We’ll stay with my family,” his lips lifted in a snarl at the word, “and we’ll find Diriel, and together we’ll get your answers.”

“Okay,” she whispered. His gaze dipped to her lips, lingering there, and she let them part ever so slightly with her soft inhale. Not only had sex been off the table for the last three weeks, but Severus hadn’t kissed her—really kissed her—in that time either. Her hands slid down his taut forearms

“If we go, I call every shot,” he murmured, still watching her lips—his gaze aching. “Do you understand that? Me. No matter what you might think, I will make every decision.”

Moira’s first instinct was to rebel—to argue that she had a right to decide what was best for her. But she knew that would be pushing her luck, that when it came to Hell, she didn’t know a damn thing. Besides, Severus would act with her best interests in mind. She had to think that—she had to trust him.

She did trust him.

“Deal,” Moira said softly, nodding when his gaze finally lifted to hers. “Promise. No unnecessary risks. You make the game plan. I throw the first punch when we get Diriel.”

“Naturally,” he murmured, though his tone lacked the easy charm, the teasing edge, that she had come to expect. His gaze dipped to her lips once more, briefly, before he released her and started off down the stairs. Moira watched him go with a frown; he wasn’t exactly running, but clearly he needed to leave. Shaking her head, she darted back to where they had been sitting earlier and grabbed his sketchbook, then jogged after him. Down the stairs she skipped, her feet hammering the metal noisily, announcing her arrival as Severus’s pace slowed.

Grinning as soon as the idea popped into her head, Moira suddenly moved faster—not stopping until she was practically on top of him, and by then, she jumped. Severus staggered down a few steps when she landed on his back, arms coiling around him, legs locking into place.

“Cheeky minx,” he growled once he steadied himself, his smile glorious. He adjusted her on his back, making it more comfortable for both of them with his hands tucked snugly under her knees. She hung his sketchbook in front of them, her pointer fingers wedged into the spiral binding at the side. When she caught him looking at her, nothing more than a slight glance to the side, Moira swooped down and kissed his cheek.

He stopped suddenly, standing there at the bottom of the stairs, the expanse of the stadium field before them. She had only meant for it to be a quick kiss, something sweet—something to express how happy she was with his decision. But he had stopped. And so had she, her lips lingering against his cheek. His scruff snagged against her, sharp and angry from his recent shave. She glanced up tentatively and found his eyes black again, his breath hard and uneven.

She murmured his name against his skin, then kissed his cheek again, quickly this time. “Thank you.”

Eyes closed, he took a moment to compose himself. When he opened them again, the black had disappeared, and he reached up to grasp the back of her head, fingers digging into the fabric of her wool cap.

“You’re welcome,” he offered thickly, turning his head toward her, their lips but a breath apart. Moira gulped, then kissed the tip of his nose instead, retracting with a shrill giggle when he snapped his teeth at her. Severus’s chuckles intermingled with her laughter, and he readjusted her on his back again before carrying her down to the car—the air infinitely lighter between them.

And a trip to Hell ahead.