Chapter 8 #2
I wiped my hands on my sweatpants—no time to change, so I was still in the sweatpants, still shirtless—and tried to look unruffled as the doorbell sang out its three-note jingle.
Annie shot me a look that was half warning, half mischief. “You look like a college athlete who just got up for his first ethics seminar.”
I grinned, baring teeth. “Let’s hope the mayor grades on a curve.”
She rolled her eyes and went to the door, swinging it open with a flourish.
Mayor Vepar was even smaller than I remembered, which was saying something.
He stood barely five foot three, with a build like a keg of beer in a three-piece suit.
His head was mostly horn and beard, the eyes beady and gold set deep behind steel-rimmed glasses.
The goatee, once black, had gone to salt and pepper, but the effect was more “Satanic distinguished professor” than “mall Santa.” His hooves clicked sharply on the tile as he entered, not bothering to wait for an invitation.
He gave Annie the up-and-down, a long, unnerving look that started at her boots and cataloged every inch up to the tip of her liner-flicked lashes.
Annie didn’t flinch, just arched an eyebrow and held the look, like she’d been stared down by bureaucrats before and wasn’t impressed by the horns or the tiny, cashmere vest.
“Ms. Harris,” he said, voice nasal and precise, “you seem well-rested for a woman who barely survived her intake interview.”
She grinned, baring her teeth, and I nearly flinched at how much she looked like she was ready to bite him. “Your staff made it clear I’d need my energy for the next round.”
The mayor didn’t smile. “That’s the spirit.” He produced a clipboard from the folds of his suit, along with a ballpoint pen so glossy and black, it looked as if it had been dipped in oil. He flicked his gaze to me.
He squinted at me for a long, uncomfortable moment, clicked the pen, and said, “Mr. Samiel. Everything in order?”
I braced for reprimand—maybe a comment about my attire, or the visible scratch marks on my chest, or the fact that we’d left a carnage of cheese rinds and berry stains across the picnic blanket in the entrance hall—but the mayor’s gaze slid past me, focusing entirely on Annie.
“Ms. Harris,” he said, pen poised over the form, “you are aware you may end this arrangement at any point in the next seventy-two hours? Without consequence or retaliation?”
She nodded, unflinching. “I read the fine print,” she said. “I’m not here under duress.” Her voice was dry as a Nevada summer, but the mayor wanted more.
“Can you confirm for the record that Mr. Samiel has not coerced, manipulated, or compelled you through infernal means—explicit or implied?” The question was so formal, I could smell the legalese simmering off it.
Annie blinked, then tilted her chin up so her gaze met the mayor’s dead-on. “No, sir. I let him do everything to me of my own free will. Twice.” She paused, then added, “Three times, if you count the kitchen.”
The mayor’s mouth opened, then snapped shut. For a moment, the only sound was the gentle hiss of the espresso machine.
“Duly noted,” the mayor said, and I watched the tip of his pen tremble just a fraction as he recorded Annie’s answer. “And I assume, Mr. Samiel, for the record, you are satisfied with the progress of the arrangement thus far?”
I tried to play it cool, but Annie’s words had kicked my nervous system into overdrive. I could feel the tips of my ears go hot. “Completely,” I said, voice low and uncooperative. “There have been no—incidents.” I could hear the mayor’s pen click in approval, but he kept his eyes on Annie.
She didn’t flinch, just squared her shoulders and said, “He’s been a perfect gentleman.” Then, with a sidelong look at me: “Mostly.”
The mayor pursed his lips, considering. I felt a familiar dread needle up my spine—forty years of mandatory check-ins, of always being the one under review.
I’d expected it to be different with Annie here, with an actual chance at a match, but the old panic had been hibernating just beneath the surface, waiting for the moment when everything could still be taken away.
The mayor shuffled his pages, eyes never leaving Annie. “You will, of course, participate in the Chase this evening?” He said it like a threat, but the question was directed at her.
Annie grinned like she’d been waiting for the prompt. “Oh, absolutely. It sounds like a blast. But what I want to know is—is it just a Samiel thing, or do all the demons here do it?”
Mayor Vepar’s lips twitched, barely suppressing a smirk.
“It’s policy. The tradition is older than the town itself.
If you read the orientation materials, you’ll find it was originally designed to give both parties a measure of recourse.
” He paused, shifted the clipboard to his other hand, and fixed his gaze on Samiel.
“Some of the more… aggressive types found the Chase cathartic. For the less physically inclined, it’s symbolic.
Either way, the end is the same: negotiation, followed by reconciliation.
” He said the last with a sardonic twist, like he doubted any negotiation would last more than a minute against a demon built like a linebacker.
Annie turned to me, eyes sparkling, and asked, “So what are the odds you’ll actually catch me?” She made it sound like a joke, but I could see the question behind her eyes: what will you do to me if you win?
I smiled, but it felt like borrowed confidence. "You look like you do cardio," I said, eyes flicking down her frame before I could stop myself. "I'm guessing you don't just run from commitment."
She arched a brow, unconvinced. “But?”
I hesitated, and in that half-second of pause, I realized what was really eating at me.
The Chase was tradition, yes, but it was also risk.
It was the last test, the real one—the kind that couldn’t be rehearsed or papered over with jokes.
It was the hinge point where Annie would either decide she liked the monster in me, or she’d see it for what it was and run until she hit the state line.
I wanted her, needed her, with a ferocity that was starting to scare me. I worried that if I let her see it, she’d flinch. Or worse, she’d pity me.
I shrugged, making it an afterthought. “I’ll chase you,” I said, voice low. “I’ll run you to ground. But I won’t touch you unless you let me.” The line was a bluff, a dare, and I watched her eyes go sharp with want.
The mayor’s gaze flicked back and forth between us, reading the room with predatory precision. “Excellent. If there’s nothing further, I’ll check back at dawn.” He tucked the clipboard under his arm and left, hooves ticking on the tile, the door snicking shut with finality.
We stood in the silence, the shadow of the mayor’s visit lingering.
Annie broke first, crossing the kitchen and opening the fridge, as if the world could only be reset by the ritual of snacks.
She rooted out a bottle of mineral water, cracked it, and regarded me over the rim of the bottle.
“You’re going to win, aren’t you?” she said. “You’ve already decided.”
I watched the motion of her throat as she swallowed, the way her jaw flexed with calculation.
The answer was so obvious it almost felt stupid to say it out loud.
I could pick her up and pin her to the fridge in less time than it would take her to scream.
The only suspense was in how she’d make me work for it.
“Yeah,” I said, honest. “I’m going to win.”
She grinned, but it was all teeth. “Then you’d better make it worth the chase.”