by Liz Meldon
Not that she wanted to see fire, brimstone, and torture, but this wasn’t the Hell she had been expecting. After they left the check-in hall of mirrors behind, Severus flagged down one of countless black carriages loitering around outside, each more ominous and shadowy than the next. Pulled by a trio of skeleton horses, it had been quite imposing at first, and Moira had just stood there, watching him load their luggage in the trunk at the back, before allowing him to help her into the seating area inside. Much to her surprise, a spacious, comfortable cabin had awaited her, with squishy leather seats on either side, and the six windows offered an unfettered view of the hellscape around her.
Which, if she was being honest, wasn’t much to write home about. Hell’s colour scheme was predominantly grey, red, and black. Grey earth. Red, hazy sky, no sun in sight, yet somehow it was obviously daylight. Black flora—if you could even call gnarled, dead, leafless trees flora. While Severus had briefly spoken to the lead skeleton horse before they’d left, there was no one steering this ride; the horses seemed to know exactly where they needed to go.
Outside the check-in hall it had been chaotic, as demons fought to grab the best carriage, shoving and shouldering their way through the madness. Now, however, hours later, her surroundings were quiet. Dull, even, the landscape so similar that it was like they were just trotting in place, going nowhere.
Not only was it boring to sit there and stare at nothing, her butt numb, but it was hot, too. That much Moira had expected. Severus had told her Hell was a realm of weather extremes. While the cabin was no worse than a non-air-conditioned city bus, outside the heat waves spiraled off the cracked, dusty ground.
“Darling, I’m afraid we’re in the suburbs,” Severus rumbled from his seat, his long legs extended, his entire being slumped. “No fire and brimstone here. You’ll need to walk the streets of Pandemonium to see the real torture.”
“Well, I guess that’s good to know,” she muttered. At the sight of another monstrous estate in the distance, she pressed closer to the window, trying to make out the details. Every so often, they’d pass some grand, walled-in home that looked abandoned, all the windows black. Severus had assured her that people lived there—neighbours, he’d called them—but the distance between each home was so immense that she couldn’t fathom this being a single neighbourhood.
The soft growl from the demon across from her still required some fine-tuning to understand: it meant he either agreed with her, or had just acknowledged that she spoke. While Moira might have been bored, Severus had turned downright moody ever since the journey started. All the buzz and excitement from surviving the check-in process had disappeared—because every step those skeletal horses took brought him that much closer to home. She didn’t blame him for his mood; had she been in the right frame of mind, she might have suggested a more exciting, more naked way to pass the time.
But, still on edge at the thought of being in Hell, she had zero interest in doing the deed—even if the husky rasp of Severus’s demonic voice excited her. Even if the way he watched her, touched her, kissed her, was so much more passionate and forthcoming down here. Even if she thought she might be ready for that kind of intimacy, after all these weeks of innocent caresses and heated near-kisses.
This was all still new to her—and as bland as it might be, as drab as the environmental colour scheme, Moira didn’t want to miss a second of it. One needed to be on their toes in Hell; Severus had told her that.
Now, if only he could follow his own advice, rather than staring listlessly at the floor.
The carriage jolted sharply to the right, and Moira slammed into her window with a yelp.
“Nearly there,” Severus said with a long sigh as the carriage lurched ahead, gaining speed, dust flying up as the wheels whizzed along. Nodding, Moira grabbed her leather jacket and forced her arms back into it. While she hated to wear something leather and long-sleeved when it was this hot outside, she knew she looked great in the outfit, that the spikes would go over well with his parents, and that it made her strut confidently—even if she didn’t feel confident.
Beyond that, Moira wanted to make a good first impression on the family who would be keeping her safe in the underworld. If she had to sweat a little in the process, so be it.
“Hold tight.”
She scrambled to grab the worn leather loop hanging over the window, snagging it just in time for everything to come to a very abrupt halt. Moira braced herself, the entire carriage lurching forward slightly, then slamming back, hard.
“Don’t take offense to anything they say to you,” Severus warned as he stood, brushing his pants and jacket off. “I’m sure they’ll be vile, but that can’t be helped.”
“I’m not really here to make friends, so,” she shrugged, “I think I’ll be fine.”
He offered a pitying sort of grin. “Oh, darling… No, you won’t, but that’s all right. Their opinions mean nothing.”
“I think I’ve already won over the only person whose opinion matters to me,” she said brightly, enjoying the way his cheek twitched as he extended a hand. She grasped it firmly, allowing him to help her up, then waited until he had the carriage door open so he could help her again.
Moira hopped out, boots landing hard on the unyielding ground below. It was so cracked and split, she couldn’t imagine anything growing out here, though as her eyes drifted toward the enormous white wall before her, she spied black weeds growing at its base. The structure glittered faintly under the nonexistent sun and spanned on in either direction, larger than any of the estates she had seen thus far.
“Oh my god.”
“You might want to eliminate that phrase from your vocabulary down here,” Severus whispered in her ear, the sudden proximity of his mouth to her skin making her flinch. Her cheeks warmed, and she nodded.
“Right. Sorry.” Moira gestured to the monstrosity ahead, the wall soaring up to an impressive twenty feet at least, shielding much of the house beyond. “Uh, Severus?”
“Hmm?” he murmured, his nose ghosting down the column of her throat.
“Are you, like, rich in Hell or something?”
A puff of hot, annoyed air rushed against her as her heart pounded, goosebumps littered across her skin, and he finally eased away with a scowl.
“My parents come from two upper-class clans of demon,” he said somewhat dismissively. “So, I suppose, yes, I am.”
Strange. On Earth he was so dependent on Alaric—for transportation, for living arrangements, for everything. Yet, given his outrageous escort fees, he had to be rolling in cash too—and clearly he wasn’t hurting for it down below either.
She studied him with a curt sidelong look, up and down; there was still so much she didn’t know about him. Too much. Moira pressed her hand to her chest, absentmindedly trying to rub the tight ache away.
A sharp whinny from the lead horse had her jumping out of her wallowing, her heart racing just a beat harder. It didn’t matter that she felt like she was seeing a new side of Severus’s life—and it didn’t matter that he had no plans to elaborate about it on Earth, to include her, to tell her all his stories. It just didn’t. They weren’t here for that. So, she took a deep breath and focused on the now, on not making a fool of herself in front of his judgmental parents.
Severus, however, seemed more annoyed than ever as he glowered at the white wall. She nudged him with her elbow.
“You okay?”
“Someone should be here to greet us. Fetch our bags,” he muttered, those stark red pupils slowly wandering the length of the property, his arms folded over his broad chest. Moira frowned, then shielded her eyes from the sky’s glare as she peered up, trying to see over the wall to the house beyond it.
“Your parents don’t exactly strike me as the meet at the front door kind of people—”
“Servants,” Severus said sharply before stalking to the rear of the carriage, yanking the trunk open. “I might be the lowliest Saevitia, but I’m still a Saevitia. They should be
here.”
She bit the insides of her cheeks—both to keep from smiling and to keep from commenting on just how much he sounded like a rich, petulant little brat. They could carry their own bags.
“Severus—”
“Something feels wrong, Moira,” he told her, throwing each of their bags over his shoulders. As soon as he stepped away from the carriage, it was off, the head horse steering its companions in a loop, black bones stark against the dismal grey backdrop. She watched them go, taking the same route they’d just traveled; back to the check-in, maybe, to ferry more demons around the suburbs.
Weird. Weird thought. Weird day.
She shook it off, following him to the wall, her eyebrows shooting up when he swiped his hand along it—and revealed a very dusty speaker box.
“Here, give me that,” she said softly, trying to grab her bag, but he waved her off. Holding her hands up, she stepped back. Fine. If he wanted to still be in a mood, then he could be in a mood. He was allowed to be, given all he had done for her—this being the most extreme.
“The black sheep has returned,” he growled into the speaker, pushing the little button at the bottom, “so open the fucking gate.”
Moira slipped her hands into the very tight pockets of her pants, opting not to question where the hell this gate was supposed to be, because all she saw was wall. Seconds later, however, a chunk of wall directly in front of her shimmered—and then disappeared.
“Oh.” She really needed to get a handle on all this gasping; nothing screamed Hell novice like being startled by everything, but she couldn’t help it.
Because beyond the wall was an oasis of lush, green beauty in the middle of a depressing wasteland.
“Cordelia’s mother is also an exceptional witch,” Severus mused, strolling over to her and facing the sprawling wonder with a sigh. “She did most of the landscaping centuries ago, although it seems my parents have let it get a bit out of hand.”
Moira nodded; a bit out of hand was one way to put it, she supposed. While the grounds had all the foundations of landscaped artistry, with clusters of floral arrangements throughout, growing in precise locations amidst the thick, knee-high grasses, it was wild now. Wild and beautiful, just like the demon standing beside her, slipping his fingers between hers and grasping her hand tight. She tore her gaze away briefly, smiling up at him, then forced her feet to move—into the wild.
A lone path of grey stretched from the wall up to the manor, greenery strewn about it, trying to bridge across and connect the two jungles. As soon as she and Severus were past the wall, it shimmered shut, trapping them inside. Moira glanced back with a gulp, then let herself get distracted by the savage ivy crawling across the interior, riddled with thorns and little purple flowers.
“The house belonged to my grandfather, my father’s father,” Severus remarked stiffly, his pace brisk but doable as they strode down the path. “The floral additions come from my mother’s side. A lot of witches on that family tree, and some have a penchant for plant life.”
“It’s…a lot.”
A lot of everything. Colour sliced through the greenery, and while she couldn’t tell what was on purpose and what had wheedled its way in, to Moira, it was all beautiful. Overwhelming. Dense, but not oppressive—nothing like the hazy sky or the endless stretches of cracked grey land. This was a breath of fresh air.
The house, meanwhile, was not a house: it was a mansion. An estate. An expansive monstrosity that looked like it could fit the house she and the girls rented in Farrow’s Hollow a hundred times over. Three levels high. White, all white, with lightning bolts of grey crackling throughout the otherwise smooth stonework. A behemoth worthy of a spot in Rome, its architecture reminding her of old pagan temples with the columns connecting the front porch to the tiled, flat rooftop. Square windows—all dark.
“Kind of looks like nobody’s home,” she offered as they drew nearer. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Severus nod, his brow furrowed. They climbed the pair of dusty front steps together, stopping between two of the larger pillars, a black arched door ahead.
A door that, just as Severus reached for it, wrenched open suddenly—and standing there was a demon Moira could only describe as beastly. Lumbering. Broad. Wilder hair than hers—golden blond and long, giving him a rather lionesque appearance. Black horns, curved like Severus’s. The same eyes, too. Handsome, in a more unkept, domineering sort of way.
Moira felt about an inch tall in front of him—all she could do was gawk, mouth hanging open, utterly frozen in place.
“Fucking finally!” the creature boomed, muscle rippling beneath the remnants of what must have once been a finely tailored burnt-umber suit, now tattered and frayed. “Done with your little tantrum then?”
Severus scoffed. “What are you—”
Then, before she knew it, the demon yanked Severus into a bone-crushing hug. Literally. She could hear bones cracking as he hoisted the incubus off the ground.
“I’ve missed you, little brother…”
Chapter Seven
Crunch. There went a rib.
Crack. That had to be something in his back.
“Malachi,” Severus choked out, his arms pinned at his side as his older brother continued to crush him—in a hug, at that. They had never hugged in the entirety of their relationship, unless Malachi secretly planting some horrid creature on him mid-embrace counted as a hug. “Y-you’re crushing me.”
His brother squeezed harder, this time splintering his collarbone. Pain bloomed throughout his body, but Severus could already feel the breaks healing, even in the confines of the chaos demon’s embrace. Finally, Malachi released him, setting him back on his feet and dusting his jacket off. With a frown, Severus swept his gaze up and down his brother’s figure; this was not the demon he had known all those years ago. Malachi had been a prized peacock in his youth, obsessed with style and reputation and influence. He strutted about, keeping his emotions hidden, always dressed in the very best that their parents could afford. He had been a trendsetter. A go-getter. The envy of all their peers.
Now, the chaos demon wore his relief like a second skin, and that outfit—the old Malachi would have never stepped out of the house with frayed hems and jagged rips. Never. He had thrown a servant off the balcony once when she had forgotten to replace a missing button on his pajamas, for fuck’s sake.
What the hell was going on down here? First, the gardens, the care of which his mother had micromanaged with an iron fist, were woefully overgrown. Wild, even. And now his brother looked like—that. Like he’d been wearing the same clothes for months, and his once-lustrous golden mane hadn’t seen a comb in far longer.
“I’m sorry, Severus,” the demon rumbled, still smoothing out his suit, dusting him off. “Do you know how long it has been down here since you’ve left?”
“Well, I’ve been on Earth for two centuries—”
“Nearly five down here, you fuck,” his brother snapped, scowling as he folded his arms across that great burly chest of his.
Brawn, brains, and pedigree—that was the Malachi Saevitia that Severus had once known.
So, what had gone wrong? Why did he look like this? Why were his emotions so, so, present?
“When I left, I told you all that I had no intention of returning,” Severus said stiffly. Malachi snorted, the annoyance fading away to something verging on—affection?
What. The. Fuck?
“I always thought it was just a tantrum, a snit,” his brother mused, that great booming voice Severus had long tried to forget echoing across the estate. “Figured you’d be home in a couple decades, but not this.”
“Well, I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for—”
“No matter,” Malachi crooned, voice dropping to a purr and eyes snapping to Moira as soon as Severus gestured to her. “And who is this exquisite creature?”
Jealousy, possessive rage, flooded his system. His hands curled to tight fists, claws sinking into flesh, and he fought the
urge to strike the leer off his brother’s face.
“Moira,” he forced out, swiftly falling to her side, grasping the nape of her neck with a growl. “We’ve come together.”
Malachi held his hands up, chuckling. “All right, all right. So, you finally found someone who wants to play, eh, little brother? Good. We were all worried you’d be some simpering virgin forever.”
“I wasn’t a virgin when I left—”
“Oh, fae don’t count—”
“Then neither do vampires, brother—”
“Okay,” Moira interjected loudly, glaring up at them both—but mostly at Severus. The demon pair fell quiet at the unspoken admonishment. “We’re not here to bicker.”
“Darling, you haven’t met the rest of the family yet,” Severus told her, eyes narrowing at his smirking brother. “All we do is bicker.”
And nitpick, abuse, torment—it was one of the many reasons he had seen fit to leave. To shuffle off to Earth, head hanging low, and try to rebuild what they had destroyed. Not this time. Severus was stronger now. He had a purpose. He had a life.
And he had a woman he loved.
They couldn’t touch him, the filthy ingrates—
“Well, all we did was bicker.” Malachi’s wheedling cut through his thoughts, and it took him a few long moments to process it. Did. Past tense. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to his brother’s; his smirk seemed hollow now.
“As if either of them has changed,” Severus said, hoping to have the higher ground here, the moral authority, just this once. Malachi merely stared back, until that smirk disappeared completely, until his hands hung limp at his sides and his brow furrowed. Puzzled. Severus had never seen his brother puzzled before; nothing in life had ever challenged him enough to puzzle him.
“Don’t you know?” Malachi asked, head tipped to the side, that great tatty mane giving him the appearance of a lion crossed with a bear—crossed with a pup who just didn’t understand. “Severus, Mother and Father are dead. They’ve been dead for over a century.”
