Hell had changed. The Extermination was over, the angels driven back in a brutal, bloody war. Charlie, with Lucifer’s reluctant support, rebuilt the Hazbin Hotel—now stronger, grander, a beacon in the chaos. But not all victories came without cost.

Alastor had fought, and for the first time, he lost. Adam, the Executioner, had nearly ended him. His cane lay in splinters, his pride shattered. He wore his ever-present grin, but something behind it had cracked. And that’s when it started. His rut.

It was too soon. Too intense. Too much. His instincts gnawed at his sanity, dragging him into an unbearable state of feverish hunger. He had lasted decades before without issue—but now? Now he was restless, burning, starving.

And then there was you.

You, who had arrived at the hotel only a month ago, seeking shelter after the war. You, who wandered the halls, oblivious to the way his eyes followed. The way his claws flexed at his sides. The way he forced himself not to act.

Until now.

You barely registered the static before it was too late. One moment, you were walking back to your room, the next—

Slammed into the wall.

Clawed fingers caged your wrists. His breath fanned against your ear, uneven, strained.

“You should run.”

The words dripped amusement, but the grip on your wrists? Unforgiving. His pupils were blown wide, his grin stretched too sharp.

Your stomach dropped. Every nerve screamed at you to bolt, to escape.

But then his fingers tightened.

And you realized—

You were already caught.