The "Council of Three" had sent an envoy who looked more like a high-end tax attorney than a supernatural mediator. He had sat in Chase's living room, speaking in measured, monotone shades of "structural stability" and "jurisdictional authority." They wanted Chase to be their Marshal—the ultimate enforcer of the Sanctuary's laws. They needed a deterrent, a man who could keep the peace or dismantle anyone who dared to threaten the delicate truce between the hidden worlds.
Chase's refusal had been surgical and short. "No thanks. That work is behind me now. The Surgeon is retired; it's just Chase now. Find someone else to hold the leash."
The envoy, sensing the finality in Chase's tone, merely thanked him for his time and vanished into the morning fog.
Chase returned to the quiet interior of the mansion to resume his long-awaited vacation. By the afternoon, the tension of the meeting had melted into the humid coastal air. He was currently submerged in the infinity pool, the water a perfect, heated turquoise that seemed to merge with the clear horizon. He leaned against the edge, arms resting on the sun-warmed stone, while Rixsa was perched precariously on his shoulders.
She was draped in one of the midnight-green Ether-silk robes Chase had ordered, though she'd let it slip down to her waist to soak in the sun. She was currently occupied with a family-sized bag of salt-and-vinegar chips, the crunching echoing rhythmically in the quiet air.
"You know," Rixsa said between bites, "being a Marshal would mean you'd have to wear a badge. And probably pants. I think you made the right call. The world isn't ready for a fully dressed Chase Vance on a power trip."
"That would be one hell of a hassle," Chase muttered, closing his eyes against the glare of the sun. "The powerful from our old world aren't even on the Council. We all know the clans of this world should be able to solve their own problems without me playing babysitter. Besides, I'm retired, Rixsa. The only thing I'm enforcing today is my right to do absolutely nothing."
The peace was shattered by the sharp, rhythmic click-clack of heels on the stone patio. Chase didn't even have to open his eyes; the heavy scent of jasmine and expensive, pressurized perfume preceded her arrival like a formal announcement.
Lilith stood at the edge of the pool. She wasn't wearing her usual sharp-shouldered power suit; she was in a simple, elegant sun dress that moved with the breeze, making her look uncharacteristically vulnerable. She stopped a few feet away, her eyes landing on Chase, then darting up to Rixsa.
Rixsa stopped mid-crunch, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. She delivered a stare so icy it threatened to freeze the pool water solid.
"Chase," Lilith began, her voice soft, stripped of its usual predatory resonance. "I'm not here to fight. Or to demand anything from the 'Warrior'."
Rixsa leaned forward, resting her chin on the crown of Chase's head, pointing a jagged salt-and-vinegar chip at Lilith like a dagger. "Then why are you here, Boss Lady? The 'Consort' position is permanently closed. Or is it that your life has no meaning once your precious Chase is gone to greener—and better looking—pastures?"
Lilith flinched, a flicker of genuine hurt crossing her face before she masked it. She kept her gaze fixed on Chase. "I wanted to apologize. For the Summit. For the way I've treated our... arrangement. I was arrogant. I thought I could own the only thing in this world that actually made me feel secure."
Chase opened his eyes, looking up at her. The fatigue was etched into her features. Without his strategic mind, OmniCorp's standing was likely in freefall; the other Elite Families were undoubtedly circling like sharks, sensing blood in the boardroom.
"I'm sorry it came to that, Lilith," Chase said quietly.
"I need you back, Chase," she said, her voice trembling just a fraction. "Not as a battery. I need your expertise. You are a core member of the company—the heart of our development. You're the one who makes the stories in our games resonate; you make the players crave more. If you leave, we lose the spark that built OmniCorp. I'm asking—humbly—for you to return. Our relationship will stay strictly professional. I won't make advances. I won't play games. I just need my Lead Strategist."
Rixsa let out a loud, theatrical crunch, staring Lilith down with pure, unadulterated spite. She shifted her weight on Chase's shoulders, her legs dangling over his chest to make her claim undeniable.
Chase looked from the woman who had tried to cage him to the woman currently using his head as a chin-rest while eating junk food. The contrast was absurd, yet it was the most honest moment he'd had in years.
"I'll think about it, Lilith," Chase said after a long silence. "But the terms are different now. I work from here. I set my own hours. And I don't answer to 'Alpha' commands. I'm a consultant, not a subject."
Lilith let out a breath she seemed to have been holding for days. A small, sad smile touched her lips. "I can live with those terms. I'll have the secure terminal sent over tomorrow." She turned to leave, but paused, looking back at Rixsa. "And Rixsa? Try not to get crumbs in his hair. It's a tragedy to ruin something that expensive."
"I'll eat my chips however I want, Boss Lady," Rixsa chirped, popping another one into her mouth as Lilith walked away.
Once the patio doors clicked shut, Rixsa looked down at Chase. "You're actually going back? Even part-time?"
"She needs the help, and the company is a good cover for our presence here," Chase said, reaching up to squeeze her ankle. "Besides, someone has to pay for all that Ether-silk you're wearing. Quality isn't cheap."
Rixsa grinned, leaning down to press a salty, lingering kiss to his forehead. "Fair point. But if she tries to get 'professional' in a way I don't like, I'll kill her. Professionally, of course."
"Deal," Chase laughed, reaching up and pulling her down into the water with him.