The morning following the massacre on the driveway was deceptively peaceful. The sun rose over the Atlantic, casting a brilliant, shimmering path across the water that bled into the floor-to-ceiling windows of the mansion. Inside, the air was still, but the internal "Lattice" of the household had shifted irrevocably. The heavy, pressurized atmosphere of a man living under a contract had evaporated, replaced by the salt-tangled breeze of the coast.
Chase was in the kitchen, leaning against the marble counter and nursing a coffee that actually tasted like coffee rather than a stimulant, when Alex practically drifted into the room. She looked revitalized, her golden halo glowing with a soft, buttery light that suggested she'd had the best sleep of her divine life.
"Chase!" she chirped, her eyes sparkling like polished coins. "Rixsa told me the most amazing thing while we were checking the pantry. She said you don't work for the scary red lady anymore? That you... quit?"
Chase set his mug down, bracing himself for the wave of divine enthusiasm. "That's right, Alex. No more strategist meetings, no more corporate reports, and no more 'Alpha' sessions. I'm focusing on the house. On us." He paused, glancing at the shimmering ring above her head. "And I see you got your halo back. Your powers are returning; that's a good sign for the wards."
Alex let out a squeal of pure joy that made the lightbulbs in the kitchen flicker with a surge of holy energy. She surged forward, wrapping Chase in a hug that felt like being enveloped in warm, mid-summer sunlight.
"Oh, thank the Heavens! Lilith always smelled like she wanted to eat you, and not in the nice way," Alex muffled into his chest. She pulled back, beaming. "Now you can stay here and help me with my garden! And we can go to that 'Target' place Rixsa talks about without you checking your phone every five minutes or looking like you're about to kill someone!"
Chase chuckled, patting her shoulder. "I think I can manage a few trips to Target, Alex. But remember, we still have to keep a low profile. Just because I quit doesn't mean the world stopped being dangerous. If anything, the target on our backs just got a lot bigger."
"I know, I know," Alex said, waving a hand dismissively as she floated toward the fridge. "But it feels like a weight is gone. You look... younger, Chase. Less like a statue and more like a person. It's a good look on you."
As Alex bounced away to find Kaelen and spread the "good news," Chase felt a steady hand on his shoulder. He turned to find Vincent standing there, raiding a large chocolate box he'd found in the pantry. The boy-commander popped a truffle into his mouth, his expression as unreadable as a frozen lake.
"You look troubled, Vance," Vincent noted, his voice carrying that melodic, ancient resonance. "For a man who just reclaimed his soul from a demon CEO and survived an assassination attempt, you seem to be overthinking the aftermath."
Chase sighed, leaning back against the island. "The fighting? I can handle that. Politics? Fine. But this... this thing with Rixsa. I've spent five hundred years as a soldier and twenty-two in this world. I realized last night that I have no idea what I'm doing. I don't know the first thing about how to date a demon."
He looked at Vincent, who had lived an entire lifetime with a demon noblewoman. "You and Kaelen... you survived a war and a century of separation. Give me some advice, Vincent. How do you actually date a demon? Especially one as volatile and sharp-tongued as Rixsa?"
Vincent's lips twitched into the ghost of a smirk. He set the chocolate box down and leaned in, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. "It is simpler than you are making it, Surgeon. Demons are creatures of high sensation and ancient pride. They do not care for your human 'dates' of bland dinners and flickering movies. If you wish to keep a demoness of her caliber satisfied and loyal, there are only two things you must master."
Chase raised an eyebrow, his professional curiosity piqued. "I'm listening."
"First," Vincent said, holding up a finger, "you must be exceptionally good at sex. A demon's Essence is tied to their passions; it is their fuel. She may ask you to do things you consider... extreme. She might push boundaries that would break a normal man. It will be fine, Chase—even if she passes out from the intensity of the activities, it is merely a sign of a successful exchange. If you cannot match her fire in the bedroom, she will eventually become restless and destructive. Luckily, as the Surgeon, I imagine your 'stamina' and precision are not lacking."
Chase felt a rare, prickling heat creep into his neck and ears. "And the second thing?"
"Quality," Vincent replied, his gaze intensifying. "Demons have skin that is far more sensitive to the textures of this world than ours. If you want to show her she is valued, do not buy her the synthetic rubbish they sell in the city malls. Buy her clothing made of the finest materials—Ether-silk, high-thread-count wool, or organic cotton of the absolute best quality. It anchors them to their physical form and makes them feel... cherished. Treat her skin as well as you treat her soul, and she will follow you into the Void itself."
Vincent paused, picking up another chocolate. "One more thing. When buying that clothing? Make sure it's easy to slip out of. For well... obvious reasons. Efficiency is a virtue, even in romance."
Chase blinked, absorbing the blunt, practical wisdom of the commander. "Silk and... performance. That's the foundation?"
"That's the foundation," Vincent confirmed, turning to walk toward the gym. "The rest is just surviving her temper. But I believe you've already had plenty of practice with that. Good luck, Surgeon. You're going to need it."
Chase stood alone in the kitchen for a long minute, looking at the empty space where Rixsa usually lounged with her feet up. He pulled out his phone and opened a high-end luxury shopping app, navigating away from "tactical gear" and "surveillance tech" and toward "premium textiles."
"Ether-silk," he muttered to himself, his thumb hovering over a midnight-green robe that looked like it was made of liquid shadows. "I think I can manage that."