Chase woke up slowly, the lingering spiritual exhaustion having finally given way to a deep, restorative sleep. He felt... strangely whole. The empty ache left by Seraphina was gone, replaced by a gentle, constant warmth that enveloped his entire body. The Essence transfer had worked, pushing his spiritual battery back up to a comfortable, if not overflowing, level.
He opened his eyes. The room was bathed in the soft, diffused light of the morning. And that's when he noticed the full extent of the "constant warmth."
He was tangled in a mass of pale limbs, white hair, and, most alarmingly, a long, thick, pointed demonic tail that was wrapped tightly around his waist and chest, pinning his arms to his sides.
Rixsa.
She was curled up against him, her face nestled against his shoulder, her breathing deep and even. She had somehow managed to turn his king-sized bed into a demonic nest.
Chase stared at the ceiling, carefully calibrating his reaction. A primal instinct screamed at him to toss the intruder across the room, but the more dominant reality was that she was soft, warm, and utterly unconscious. And, surprisingly, this was the most relaxed he had felt in days. The deep, physical security of another being—even a chaotic demon—pressed against him was a relief after centuries spent as a solitary weapon.
He gently tried to shift his arm, but Rixsa only tightened her grip, her tail squeezing his torso like a boa constrictor.
"Five more minutes of research, Warrior," she mumbled sleepily into his shoulder.
He gave up the struggle; it was just a pointless waste of time.
Meanwhile, Rixsa's mind had been in a frantic loop for hours after the bath. She had left Chase sleeping soundly, but the incident—the forced climax, the intense spiritual absorption, and the subsequent, profound relaxation—had jolted her system. She found herself lying in the guest room, wide awake, the memory of Chase's warmth and the satisfying density of his Essence dominating her thoughts.
She was a creature of chaos and sensation, and the sudden, intense physical connection had left a vacuum. The spiritual stability Chase provided was addicting, and her perverted mind kept replaying the 'research' session. She missed the feeling of his presence.
Around 3:00 AM, unable to stand the emotional and spiritual void any longer, Rixsa slipped out of the guest room. She moved like smoke, padding silently down the hall to Chase's closed door.
She eased the door open and approached the bed. He was utterly still, deep in the sleep of spiritual recovery. She needed proximity. Just a few hours of stabilizing contact to settle her nerves, then she would be gone before the sun rose.
She poked his cheek gently with the tip of her tail.
"Chase? Hey, Warrior? Wake up, I need the remote," she whispered, testing him.
No response. The Abyss could open up beside him, and he wouldn't stir.
Perfect.
Rixsa carefully climbed onto the massive bed. She nestled herself beside him, intending only a light, platonic cuddle. But the sheer comfort of his stable, powerful Essence against her chaotic core was too much. The scent, the warmth, the feeling of his body as a massive, perfectly engineered anchor—it was spiritual bliss.
Her conscious intention of resting for a few hours was immediately swept away. She pressed herself tighter against him, throwing a leg over his hip and wrapping her muscular tail around his body like a security blanket. She fell into a deep, heavy sleep, entirely forgetting her promise to leave before he woke up.
Back in the present, Chase resigned himself to the situation. He reached up, carefully moving a stray lock of her white hair from his face. He should be furious. He should be setting down ground rules, boundaries, and perhaps even a locking mechanism on his bedroom door.
But the sheer, ridiculous audacity of the situation, combined with the fact that he felt genuinely rested and protected, defused his anger. She was a self-confessed chaos agent and a pervert, and this was exactly the kind of move a chaotic, lazy demon would pull.
He decided on the only logical course of action: wait until she woke up, then deliver a scathing lecture on apartment boundaries and demonic etiquette.
He closed his eyes, intending to rest a little longer.
However, a faint, metallic scent reached his nose. It was blood, but not fresh. It was the scent of Seraphina that clung to his pillow, a faint, lingering reminder of the vampire's violation. Even Rixsa's protective hug couldn't erase that particular brand of danger.
He needed to fix the damage done to his reputation before Monday. He needed a way to prove his Essence was abundant, untouched, and therefore firmly in the hands of the Alpha CEO.
He just had to wait for the demon glued to his body to wake up first.