“I’m genuinely impressed with how many clothes you’ve managed to fit in that bag,” Moira said from the head of his bed. Severus glanced up, grinning at the sight of her sitting there, knees drawn up to her chest, his duvet cover with them. Outside, a late-spring storm ravaged Farrow’s Hollow, thick, heavy raindrops pelting his skylight, thunder booming from the roof to the foundations of their home.

“Well, this isn’t my first trip to Hell,” he told her, fighting the urge to sneer the words—because he wasn’t upset with her. Just the circumstances. And Moira didn’t deserve his bark or his bite because of their circumstances. “You need a little bit of everything, but carrying luggage through check-in is rather frustrating. One bag will do. I don’t intend for us to be there long.”

She nodded, staring at his bag and nibbling absently at her lower lip, her finger swiping up her phone screen. Her Facebook timeline whizzed by, full of people he knew she didn’t talk to anymore, photos of ordinary humans who were permitted to do ordinary things—while she sat in his house day in and day out, waiting for all this to be over.

“Are you sure I need a winter coat?” Her voice was distant, distracted, nerves bubbling to the surface for the first time all day.

“Yes. You’ll see what I mean when you get there.” Hell was a realm of weather extremes. Boiling hot in the day, bitterly cold come nightfall. The storm pounding Farrow’s Hollow now was nothing compared to what awaited them below.

“It’s just bulky,” she muttered. “Takes up a lot of space in my bag.”

“You’ll be glad you have it, I promise.”

Again she nodded. She had been doing a lot of that today—nodding, silent and observant. After he had finally conceded to her argument, moved by her little speech about her and him, partners and what have you, Severus had spent the day educating Moira on what to expect in Hell—and doing the best he could not to let personal feelings colour his lectures. Demons were far more savage in Hell, more prone to brutality and heightened emotions. While there were only so many ways to actually kill a demon in Hell, there were thousands of options should you wish to hurt one. Severus knew that. The other demons knew it too—but Moira had no idea what she was walking into.

He would keep her safe.

Severus would protect her with his life, should that be his only option.

As far as he was concerned, as soon as they crossed the hell-gate, she was his responsibility. The only comfort he had was knowing that his inner demon was savagely possessive of her. Once he was his whole self again, he wouldn’t think twice about killing for her. He wouldn’t think twice about anything when it came to Moira.

In a way, he welcomed that—the shift. On Earth, he fretted over her so relentlessly, weighing every option and rooting out the best course of action. At least in Hell, instinct would guide him. Moira belonged to him down there, and he needn’t weigh any options—he would just do, knowing that his actions, whatever first sprang to mind, would keep her safe.

“Are you all packed then?” he asked, sighing when she nodded mutely again. “Good. You should try to get some sleep before we go.”

“I can’t.” Those ethereal blues lifted to him, and he found himself wondering if the magic of the hell-gate would alter them just as it would alter him. “There’s no way I can sleep, Severus.”

“That’s fair, I suppose.” He had done his best to explain what the check-in procedure would be like once they crossed through the hell-gate, insisting that it was quite similar to the arrivals terminal at an airport. However, he had a suspicion that much of this information had gone in one ear and out the other. As gung ho as Moira had been about tagging along to the underworld, it had become clear as the day wore on that she wasn’t looking forward to it. In fact, if the look on her face right now said anything, she was terrified.

Terrified, but she would do it all the same.

Yet another reason why he loved her.

He had tried to instruct her as best he could on Hell customs and protocols, promising her that while demons were brutes down there, Lucifer ran the realm with an iron fist. There were far more rules in Hell for demons than there were on Earth—Severus had always thought that was the reason so many applied for permission to live topside amongst humanity. Compared to Hell, Earth was like the Wild West for demons; as soon as they were approved, it was all anything goes—within limits.

Because, well, angels couldn’t exactly let demons run amok, could they?

Ol’ Lucifer still shared a few traits with his former brethren.

As Moira had sat with him throughout the day, enduring lecture after lecture, Ella and Alaric had been given a mission of their own. The pair had been sent out to shop for Moira’s trip, as she still only had a handful of her own clothes, and none were suitable for Hell. So, armed with Moira’s credit card, Ella had shopped all day with her best friend’s taste in mind, and Alaric did his best to ensure what was chosen would help her blend in.

They had returned with mountains of clothing, mostly black, regal, maybe even a little punk, which would suit her just fine. Pants, skirts, dresses, blouses—structured, lacey, billowing, tailored, studded, spiked. Moira was spoiled for choice, and before the incubus had left for his night with five different clients, she, Ella, and Severus had chosen about twelve outfits to carry her through the trip.

If Severus had belonged to a low-class family, it wouldn’t have mattered. Alas, he would be bringing her home to the head of the Saevitia clan—a clan with centuries of upper-class pedigree and weight behind it. The sprawling estate that had been his childhood home was also the seat of his family’s power, steeped in patriarchal tradition; his father was the eldest-born son, one of six, and therefore led the family in all matters—in the nicest home of the lot, too. What Moira wore would matter, particularly with his mother. How she styled her hair, applied her makeup, and paired her shoes to her outfit would matter.

It wasn’t the prospect of hunting Diriel that would make this trip a nightmare—it was his fucking family.

The very thought of how tedious the whole affair was going to be made Severus want to slam his head against a brick wall until he was bloody and numb.

Naturally, that wasn’t an option. He was to be Moira’s protector and guide through the drudgeries of Hell; she’d need him in top form, alert and observant in all matters. He had taken so many clients this evening to ensure that his strength would last him at least a week. Hell would heighten his senses, but he knew he needed more than that. He needed to be brimming with life essence—and he was.

Having returned only a half hour earlier, just after midnight, he had practically floated up to his room, passing Moira and Ella in front of the TV on Alaric’s level on his way to take a quick shower. His roommate was working at the bar tonight, Ella had fallen asleep midway through the movie, and Moira had padded upstairs to join him some five minutes ago, her unease palpable.

“Severus?”

He picked up a freshly ironed dress shirt, folding it. “Hmm?”

“Tell me about your family.”

His jaw clenched, and he set the shirt into its proper place in his large bag. With Moira’s gaze burning a hole straight through him, he straightened with a sigh, then went back to his closet to grab the next item. “Why?”

“Because you seem to hate them.”

He offered a cold, dead sort of laugh. “Picked up on that, did you?”

“And because they’re the only thing you haven’t told me about Hell,” she added after a tense beat passed. “I should know as much as you can tell me.”

“I’m afraid there isn’t much to tell,” he said tersely, ignoring the tremor in his fingers as he folded a pair of black slacks over his arm, then in half again, and placed them in the bag. “Typical family tragedy, I suppose. Parents didn’t love me. No one respected me.”

Parents didn’t love me. No one respected me.

The biggest understatements of the year. His cheek twitched, fully aware that he was playing it all down for her—and perhaps it would be better to be frank.

But he couldn’t do it.

And he hated himself for that—for his weakness, still, all these years later.

“Why?”

“No one rejoices when they discover they’ve sired an incubus, I’m afraid.” He paused, hands planted on his hips, and glowered down at the neatly packed piece of luggage. “It’s all very dull, Moira.”

She leaned forward, crawling down the bed until she reached his bag. He would have preferred her to crawl straight to him, those delicately parted lips used for something much more enjoyable than this conversation.

“I want to know.”

“It…” He shook his head, glaring up at the skylight now, at the storm raging outside. “It’s not something I enjoy talking about.”

“Okay.” She sat back on her heels, fiddling with his bag’s zipper. “That’s fine. Forget I asked.”

“No, no.” Severus closed his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose, then took a resigned seat at the end of the bed. She was right, after all; she ought to know what she was getting into. “Look, to say my parents were disappointed that I hadn’t popped out a chaos demon like my mother and my older brother is an understatement. Incubi are the lowest in demon society—I was an insult from my first breath, especially for a family who had the power and prestige mine did. I’ve always been an embarrassment, a disappointment… I eventually left. If I’d stayed, someone would have wound up dead, and it very likely would have been me.”

His jaw clenched, and he fought to hold back the tidal wave of memory flooding toward him.

It all stopped when Moira grabbed his hand. Just a touch, and he was back in the present, staring at her exquisite features as she moved his luggage out of the way and shuffled closer.

“Sounds awful,” she murmured, curling up at his side, her head nuzzled under his chin. Severus swallowed hard, the inner demon rumbling contentedly within, and watched her collect his hand and place it on her thigh. These last weeks, he had forced himself to ignore what a delightful temptation his little hybrid could be, battling instinct and desire and downright need with everything he had.

Yet he couldn’t blame her for this—for comforting him. Because it worked. Moira kept the memories at bay, her touch healing him in ways it had never been before. Sighing, he pulled her closer and brushed his lips against her forehead.

“It was,” he whispered, “terrible. I doubt much will have changed, though I suspect they’ll applaud me for corrupting an angel, hybrid or otherwise.”

She tipped her face toward him. “Corrupting an angel?”

“Why else would an angel ever voluntarily go to Hell?” he mused, another lifeless chuckle slipping out. “They must be corrupted.”

“I’m not corrupted.” She sounded insulted at the idea.

“No. You’re not.” Severus trailed an open-mouthed kiss from her forehead to the tip of her nose, his smile feeling more genuine at last. “Not even close.”

“So, okay…” Gripping his shoulders, Moira shuffled about on his lap, not settling until she sat straddling him. Face-to-face. Hers beautiful, determined. His very likely in awe of the exquisite creature who deigned him worthy of straddling. “Just for the sake of preparedness, why don’t you give me the CliffsNotes version of everybody? Basic rundown, so I kind of know what to expect.”

He pursed his lips, gaze dropping to her pale pink ones. There were a thousand other things he’d rather do to her in that moment than discuss his family, but she sounded so damn earnest—so genuinely interested in knowing him.

No one had ever wanted to know him before.

He swallowed hard at the thought, mouth threatening to dip into a frown—until she wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing them closer together, her head cocked to the side.

“Well,” he started with a heavy sigh, “my father, Ira, is bitter and cruel. I doubt he’ll say more than two words to you until he considers you worthy of his time.”

Moira nodded. “Okay. Dad’s an ass. Noted.”

“My mother, Bellona, is a chaos demon,” Severus continued, the woman’s face flashing across his mind—forever pinched with annoyance, but only when it came to Severus. “However, she was demoted to housewife and mother when she married, so I suppose she’s bitter too. Angry. Angry at the world—unless you’re my brother. Her primary interest in you will be figuring out how best she can pick you apart.”

Moira’s hands slid to his shoulders, then down his chest, fiddling with his shirt buttons. “Sounds like a real treat.”

“My brother Malachi is one of those lucky bastards born with brains, brawn, and pedigree,” Severus muttered, distracting himself from the sudden rush of anger and anxiety by watching her fingers pluck at his shirt buttons. Long, elegant fingers, rippling with raw power—all she needed to do was learn how to use it. He snatched her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing each fingertip before pressing them over his heart. “My brother is older and stronger than I am. He tormented me when we were children, and he delighted when others did the same. I can guarantee that his interest in you will be primarily carnal—”

“Ugh.”

“And when he realizes you’re taken,” Severus growled, yanking her flush against him, his inner demon roaring to life at her surprised squeak, “he’ll leave you be.”

“Fantastic,” she muttered, their lips no more than a breath apart. Severus bucked beneath her, relishing the gorgeous red that painted her cheeks in response.

“Yes, they really are a joy,” he grumbled, wincing when his steadily hardening cock nudged against her thigh. If he let this carry on for too long, the damn thing would become far too difficult to ignore—and he didn’t want to force that on her. So, he focused on her supple lips, perfect for nipping at, and the inquisitiveness of her gaze, able to both pierce his sordid exterior and warm his broken soul. Severus cleared his throat, his voice thick as he said, “The light of my very existence, even.”

Huh. Not quite as jovial as he’d hoped to sound. Moira likely saw right through him, so he nuzzled her cheek instead, hoping to distract her. “You sure you still want to go?”

“Positive,” Moira said, grimly, but without missing a beat. “It’s good to be prepared, even if what I’m preparing for sounds like it will be the literal worst experience of my life…” Her breath hitched. “Excluding, you know, being tortured by a psychopath.”

Severus hated to think about it, Diriel’s hands on her body, but what he hated more was that she still thought about it—and would for years to come. It wouldn’t help the situation for him to become enraged every time she brought it up, to throw a fit, break something, stomp about snarling. Sure, it would vent his frustrations with the whole thing, unleashing some pent-up rage so it didn’t consume him, but it wouldn’t help Moira. Moira was the one who mattered here. It wasn’t his place to make a scene when the pain truly belonged to her.

So, he held her. He battled the surge of desire within as she trailed her ever-so-slightly-parted lips across his cheek and exhaled sweetly as she passed his ear. Her arms tightened around his neck, and his hand brushed up her back before threading into the loose white mane fanning out around her. Hugs were healing, she’d once whispered, cradled in his arms after awakening from a nightmare. Severus had merely smiled against her skin, not believing it, but doing his part all the same.

Yet as they held one another now, listening to the storm outside, he realized the truth of the matter—that he needed a hug, a real embrace, before they departed for Hell in a few hours. To her, it might be healing, but to Severus it was empowering. To feel the weight of another being, to have them lift and protect him, envelop and keep him—it made him feel stronger, somehow.

The inner demon purred like a pussycat at her touch, no longer an untamable lust monster, but a pacified beast, content to languish in her embrace.

She had awoken his truest self.

Yet she had finally calmed him too.

Eyes closed, Severus buried his face into the nape of her neck, clutching her harder, breathing her in. When she murmured his name—choked it, more like—he loosened his hold, expecting her to admonish him. But Moira continued to cling to him, the warm rush of her exhales dancing across his shoulder.

“What is it, darling?”

“Did your family ever hire someone to torture and kill you?”

He swallowed hard and shook his head. “No, I’m afraid they didn’t.”

They had never hired anyone, but the torture had been there—torture without an end. And so, he had left.

“Right,” Moira murmured. Her long, nimble fingers played distractedly with the hairs on the back of his neck. “Well, I guess that’s something.”

Severus let out a long sigh. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

Thunder crashed overhead. Rain pummeled his skylight, relentless. And the two held one another through it all, not moving, not untangling themselves, until the worst of the storm had finally passed.

* * *

“Oh my god, what is that smell?”

Severus slammed the passenger-side door of Alaric’s SUV, biting back a grin at the sight of poor Ella. Hands clamped over her nose, she appeared utterly distressed, the poor lamb, at the sudden onslaught of stink.

“I’m afraid that’s the hell-gate,” he told her as Moira clambered out toward her distraught best friend, wrapping an arm around her with a frown. He threw a nod over his shoulder toward the swampy bog in the distance, illuminated by the SUV’s headlights. “It’s designed to dissuade humans from approaching.”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” the woman muttered, her words followed by a quick, noticeable gag. Moira shot him a narrowed look.

“A little heads-up would have been nice.”

Severus raised his hands innocently. “I’m afraid it doesn’t affect demons in the same way. It slipped my mind entirely.”

She rolled her eyes before steering Ella toward the back of the vehicle, blitzing by Gibson and Kingsley, who had already started unloading their luggage. The SUV rumbled beside him, mud-soaked from its recent trek through the unpaved stretch of road leading up to the hell-gate. They were the only ones making use of it that morning, arriving about an hour before dawn—which, in Severus’s opinion, was the best possible scenario. They needn’t announce to all of demonkind that Moira was inexperienced with the process of traveling between realms.

“You ready for this?” Alaric asked as he sauntered around the front of the vehicle, hands in his pockets and eyes bleary. The hybrid had clocked maybe two hours of sleep after he returned from his shift at the Inferno, but despite that, he had been all too happy to drive Severus and Moira out to the hell-gate. Ella had appeared equally exhausted when she emerged from the third-floor bedroom, but she’d been an incessant chatterbox the whole drive out there—nerves, probably. Who wouldn’t be anxious about their dearest friend going to Hell?

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he remarked, snapping at Kingsley before the vampire dumped his bag on the wet grass. The thunderstorm had tapered off an hour ago. Puddles abounded on the drive to the forested north end of the city, leaving the SUV a muddy mess. The ground squished underfoot with every step, grass clinging to and dirtying his oxfords. He’d need to ensure they were spotless before he strolled into his childhood home—as if he hadn’t been gone for, what, perhaps four centuries in Hell? Time moved far slower in the underworld, which was why Alaric and Ella had agreed to wait at the hell-gate until they returned.

“Well, we’ll be waiting, however long it takes,” Alaric told him, nodding with approval when his vampire babysitter set Severus’s bags on top of the car instead. “I’ll drop Kingsley off first before sunrise, get some food for Ella, and then we’ll just come back and wait here.”

“Look after her,” Severus muttered, taking a few steps to the side of the vehicle to check on the girls. They were holding one another in a tight hug, with Moira nodding as Ella whispered in her ear. He sighed. If only he could fault their emotional farewells—but he could understand, from a human perspective, why this was so terrifying. Returning to Alaric’s side, he crossed his arms. “I suspect Moira will be quite displeased if she comes back to find her best friend…indisposed.”

“Of course I’ll keep an eye on her.” Alaric nodded toward Gibson, who was prowling around the vehicle with his demonic eyes on display, scanning the surrounding forest for threats. “Gibson promised he’d mind her while I nap. She won’t be a problem, though she might talk him to death.”

“Hmm.”

“Sev…” The hybrid gripped his shoulder, that emerald-green stare seeking out his own. “Don’t do anything stupid down there. I know your family drives you fucking insane—”

“Understatement,” Severus mused with a smirk, “but go on.”

“Look, try not to get sucked into their bullshit,” Alaric told him, sounding genuinely concerned. “It’ll be tough enough finding and cracking Diriel—”

“I can assure you, I don’t need the lecture,” Severus insisted—but he appreciated it all the same. Moira had been the one to tend to his feelings earlier, sensing how uncomfortable he was to be going home, but Alaric had proved himself a true friend in that regard too. Severus almost wanted to hug him.

He didn’t, of course. Hugging Moira and enjoying it was enough hugs for one day. They might revoke his demonic citizenship should he go for a second.

Instead, he managed a manly pat on the arm, and the two dislodged with a matching pair of awkward smiles. A quick check of his wristwatch told him that they needed to get moving; the check-in terminal was a pain on a good day, but since the Hell social season was currently in full swing, more demons would be flocking home to take part in the festivities.

Roasting human souls on a communal spit, hellhound fights, galas where every crystal glass sparkled with fae blood—you know, standard summer fun.

“Moira,” he called, beckoning her over. “We need to get going.”

She held up a finger, insisting he wait a minute, and Severus let out a huff, running a hand through his hair.

“Like an old married couple, you two,” Alaric said with a teasing grin. A month ago, a comment like that would have provoked a barbed response from Severus—today, he merely smiled and went to grab the luggage off the top of the SUV. Moira’s duffel bag was small but compact, stuffed full of various outfit combinations that would hopefully give her a slight in with his parents. Severus, meanwhile, had an enormous bag overflowing with everything, as he was going into this trip under the assumption that the personal belongings he had left behind had either been sold or destroyed.

The ladies joined them a few moments later, and before Severus could offer to carry her bag for her, Moira tugged the strap off his shoulder and threw it over her own. Ella, meanwhile, had resumed gagging, her face pale and twisted with disgust.

“Here.” Kingsley, vampire in shining armor, appeared at her side so suddenly that she yelped. His murmured apologies seemed to soothe her—as did the small container of squishy blue earplugs he handed her. Blushing, Ella dug out a pair and stuffed one in each nostril.

“Thanks,” she said thickly. The vampire nodded and strode back to stand beside Gibson, looking a little too pleased with himself. Severus rolled his eyes.

“Okay, well,” Moira cleared her throat, her brow knitting, “I guess this is it, then.”

“Sounds a bit final, Moira. You’ll be back before any of us even realize you’re gone. Guarantee it,” Alaric told her, pulling her into a one-armed hug. She snaked an arm around his thin waist in turn, squeezing back.

“Thanks, I guess,” she said with a forced chuckle. Then, tears welling in those ethereal blues, she launched herself one last time at Ella, who hugged her back like the very world was coming to an end. Severus glanced at Alaric, hoping he didn’t expect the same dramatics.

“You want anything when you get back?” the hybrid asked.

“Some sort of takeout,” Severus told him, readjusting his bag over his shoulder. “I doubt Moira will enjoy the bounty of Hell. Let Ella pick her favourite.”

“Deal.”

They shook hands, gripping a little harder than they ordinarily might, then broke apart—and the womenfolk were still clinging to one another. Severus released a long sigh, stealing a quick look at the hell-gate over his shoulder.

While it appeared to be just a swampy bog, congealed algae and thick green moss floating across the top of still, murky water, it really was a feat of magical engineering. Located in the middle of the very same forest that housed Mammon’s old dilapidated castle, nestled amidst a small clearing that allowed demons to be dropped off and picked up by family members or cronies, the Farrow’s Hollow hell-gate was designed to blend in with the surroundings. Its stench kept most humans away—should Ella go any closer, she would likely start vomiting profusely. All hell-gates across the planet could be found in the middle of nowhere, designed to look and smell unappetizing to humanity and their four-legged friends alike.

Severus had yet to tell Moira how the hell-gates actually worked—and what she would need to do to cross between the realms. From the panicked expression on her face as she hugged Ella, he’d need to break the news gently.

“Okay, okay, let’s go,” he murmured, finally calling an end to the display of tears and whispered words. “I’ll bring her back in one piece, I promise.”

“You’d better,” Ella said, scowling up at him as he gently pried Moira away. As fierce as her glare might be, it was difficult to take such a short creature seriously—her voice nasally courtesy of the giant blue earplugs protruding from her nostrils.

“I give you my word,” he offered, pressing a hand to his heart. The incubus then straightened with a sigh and turned his attention to Moira. “Shall we, dearest?”

“We shall,” she said, her nod firm but her voice a little shaky. After yet another round of goodbyes, which Severus abstained from, lips pressed into a thin line, they finally got moving, marching side by side through the muck across the field. Halfway toward the bog, Moira cleared her throat. “Is that sulfur?”

“The smell? Hmm, probably.” The bog looked innocent enough, but hikers miles away would catch a whiff of it, whether they were upwind or down. “Among other things. Try to ignore it.”

Not only would humans smell the rank odor of rotten eggs, but the creators of this gate had thrown in the scents of vomit, garbage, and cow shit, just for good measure. A veritable cornucopia of delights for the senses. Mercifully, Moira didn’t look as affected as her friend.

In fact, his little angel hybrid appeared quite calm about the whole thing. Her voice might quake and her smile might not reach her eyes, but she wore her determination well. Good. Demons gravitated toward the weak—if only to kick them when they were down. Like a circling pack of hyenas, they delighted in rooting out the sickliest, most pathetic in the herd and tormenting them to no end.

Severus would know.

But Moira carried herself like a hell-born demon, one who had something to be proud of—no one would bat an eye at her, even with her free-flowing white mane. They had agreed that it would be best to own her hybrid heritage; while the demons on Earth would like nothing more than to dissect her, if only to find a weakness that would help them combat the local angels, the demons of Hell would appreciate that she had chosen them over her heavenly brethren. To them, Moira was a success story—corrupted and turned by Severus’s demonic wiles. Not to say that Hell was safer than Earth, but at least he wouldn’t have to worry about some marauding pack of idiots kidnapping her, especially if she was a registered guest of the Saevitia clan.

For once, the family name would serve him well.

Dressed in one of her new outfits, she approached the bog with a confident stride, her shoulders back and her head held high. The fitted leather jacket would go over well down below, and the extra-sharp spikes that detailed each shoulder would be a scream—even more so since Alaric had taken a knife and sharpened each point so that it would do real damage. Her loose white tee was just sheer enough to show off a black lacey bra, which Severus’s eyes dipped to anytime he spoke to her, and her skinny dark grey denim pants clung to her long legs beautifully. Her wedge-heel ankle boots, suede and tan, were all but ruined by the muddy trek, but the hell-gate would fix that; his mother would never be forced to suffer such an insult.

He rolled his eyes at the thought.

All in all, Moira was a woman Severus would be proud to show off to his relatives. He would always have been proud, from the moment he met her, but tonight he felt like she could really hold her own, too.

That is, until they stopped at the edge of the bog. Lips pursed, Moira crossed her arms and cast him a sidelong glance.

“So, what,” she started, her disgust with the filthy, opaque brown water obvious, “do we get teleported in or something?”

“Well, no.” Severus adjusted his bag, swinging it to his other shoulder so that the bulky thing didn’t hang between them. “We have to go into the bog. Once we’re fully submerged, the magic of the gate will transport us to Hell.”

Her eyes widened, mouth thinning, and Severus caught his snort before it even left his throat.

“I assure you, you’ll only be temporarily wet,” he promised. “Hell-gates clean as they go, removing all enchantments and blemishes along the way. The moss won’t—”

“Severus, I don’t give a fuck about the moss,” she snapped. “You expect me to wade into that…that…cesspool?”

“Oh, darling.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek, grinning when she jerked away—pouting like a brat. “I can assure you, there are far fouler things in Hell to contend with. If this bothers you so much, perhaps you ought not go.”

“I’m fine,” she grumbled, sounding anything but. “It’s fine. I can do this.”

“The parades they’ll throw upon your return, praising your bravery and valor—”

“Oh my god, shut up.” She grabbed his hand, her sharp smile soon mirroring his own. “Just don’t let me get lost.”

“Then don’t let go,” he murmured, stealing a kiss from her lips this time, one she pushed into, up on her tiptoes. When they broke apart, Severus grinned, the inner demon positively aquiver. Amidst the smell of sulfur and bile, hands clasped with the woman he desired most in both realms, his truest self crept ever closer to the surface, eager to be free.

At least someone was looking forward to this homecoming.

Together, they took their first step into the bog. Moira stiffened immediately, face crinkled in disgust.

“Ugh, it’s warm.”

“Dignity, darling, in all things.”

“Fuck off, Severus.”

He tugged her in a few more steps, chuckling at the horrified expression she carried the entire way.

“How’s the water?” Ella’s voice drifted toward them, breaking the atmosphere of sloshing water and chirping crickets. Moira raised her hand, offering a thumbs-up, and her friend’s laughter caught on the breeze.

“Now, we’ll need to be completely submerged,” Severus told her, quickening their pace as the water rose to his thighs, leading her onward toward the abyss. “Don’t open your eyes. Don’t open your mouth. You’ll only be under for a few moments before the gate transports us. You won’t need to breathe.”

“Like I’d open my mouth in this disease-ridden—”

“Down we go, darling,” he crooned when the muddy, slimy, squishy floor gave way to a steep slope, taking them both down suddenly, the water up to their shoulders. Moira squealed, lifting her head to avoid it—but she wouldn’t be able to fight it much longer. He gave her hand a squeeze, forcing her gaze back to his. Trying to appear reassuring, he nodded, adopting one of the unassuming smiles that he used with anxious clients. “Don’t let go of me.”

“Never,” she whispered.

His next breath hitched, no longer able to contain the beast within. Black eyes, obsidian and eager, drank her in after he blinked.

“Here we go,” Severus growled, lowering himself toward the surface, scattered clumps of ivy-green moss parting around him. Moira mirrored him exactly, her lip suddenly quivering, her hand clamped around his like a bear trap. He took a deep breath, a slight nod encouraging her to do the same. She did, but shakily, her fear palpable now, all her previous confidence shattered. So, he breathed again, and again, over and over until hers came out even, until she could finally blink back her tears, stopping them before they fell.

“Severus.”

“Come here,” he murmured, tugging her against him, the magic of the gate humming through his feet. “I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen to you. Just trust me.”

“I do,” she whispered, and while her voice was still tight, she’d stopped shaking. With a nod, he smiled and sank lower, the water at his chin. Moira did the same, her white mane, recently cut back to shoulder length, splayed out around her.

“On three,” he told her. Her hand clutched his tighter, so hard that he couldn’t feel his fingers anymore—and he didn’t care. No one had ever held him so tight. Severus tipped his head back, submerging it below the water, warm like the sea at the tail end of summer, so that only his face remained above. Swallowing hard, Moira did the same, and he tried to rub his thumb along hers, hoping it settled her.

“Don’t let go,” she whispered, words muffled by the water, by the pulsating hum of the gate.

“Never,” he promised. “One. Two. Three…”

He inhaled sharply, then dragged himself under. Moira did the same, her little squeal amplified below the surface. Severus yanked her closer, wanting nothing more than to talk her through this—until a sharp tug at his ankles had them both careening between worlds.