The morning after initiation dawned gray and damp, the kind of London light that seeped through leaded windows like spilled mercury. Veil Manor smelled of coffee, incense, and the faint metallic bite of freshly sharpened steel.
Lila descended the spiral staircase in her new uniform—same sheer black babydoll and lace accents as the night before, but now the silver thread at the hem caught the light like a warning. Her body still hummed from the ritual welcome: muscles loose, skin hypersensitive, the Bloodstone Tear warm and steady against her sternum like a second heartbeat. Every step reminded her of the slick heat between her thighs, the way Seraphina's gaze had unraveled her completely.
She entered the war room on the lower level—a circular chamber carved from dark basalt, lit by floating orbs of violet flame that cast no heat. A massive obsidian map table dominated the center, etched with glowing ley lines that traced London's hidden power nodes: aristocratic residences, banks, private vaults, occult societies. Around it stood the sisters in various states of dress—some in full maid regalia, others in silk robes half-open, a few already changed into something far more lethal.
These were the Blade Sisters.
They occupied the far wall like shadows given form. Three of them today: tall, lean, silent. Their uniforms were nothing like the seductive lace of the seduction cadre. Skin-tight latex—glossy black, seamless, molded to every curve as though poured onto their bodies. The material caught the violet light and threw it back in wet, liquid gleams. High necklines, long sleeves, gloves fused to the suit. Thigh-high boots with razor heels. No visible seams, no zippers—just smooth, unbroken latex that hugged breasts, waist, hips, and cleft with obscene precision.
Camel toe was not an accident. It was deliberate architecture: the suit pressed so tightly that the outline of labia was unmistakable, a sculpted ridge running down the center like a seam waiting to be split. The latex creaked softly when they shifted weight, a sound like stretched skin.
The tallest—called Ravenna—stood with arms crossed beneath her breasts, pushing them higher against the glossy constraint. Her hair was cropped platinum, eyes ice-blue. A thin silver blade hung at her hip, curved like a crescent moon. She didn't speak when Lila entered; she simply tilted her head, assessing.
Beside her, Sable—ebony-skinned, locs braided with silver wire—leaned against the wall, one boot propped back. Her suit gleamed wetly under the orbs, the latex so thin over her mound that the darker shadow of her slit showed through. She twirled a stiletto between gloved fingers, casual as spinning a coin.
The third, Nyx from last night's ritual, had traded velvet chaise for lethal black. She was the quietest, eyes half-lidded, lips painted matte charcoal. Her suit clung like a second skin; when she shifted, the latex pulled taut across her pussy, outlining every fold in high relief.
Seraphina stood at the head of the map table, dressed in her usual sheer gown, silver chain glinting between her breasts. She looked up as Lila approached.
"Our newest sister," she said, voice carrying that velvet command. "Lila Voss. Bloodstone thief. Already dripping with potential."
Soft laughter rippled through the room—some teasing, some approving.
Seraphina gestured to the Blade Sisters. "Meet the other half of the Veil. Where we seduce and harvest, they excise. No rituals. No essence transfer. Just clean removal when a target becomes too dangerous, too resistant, or simply in the way."
Ravenna stepped forward first. Her voice was low, almost a growl. "We don't fuck them. We end them. Quick. Quiet. Final."
She reached down, palm flat against her own latex-covered mound. The material was so tight that the press of her hand created a subtle indent, outlining her clit beneath. She rubbed once—slow, deliberate circles—then lifted her fingers to her lips and licked them through the glove.
"After the kill," Ravenna continued, "we mark the moment. Rub ourselves through the suit. Feel the adrenaline, the power, the wet proof that we're still alive while they're not. It's… cleansing."
Sable smirked. "Some of us come harder after a throat's been opened than after any cock."
Nyx said nothing. She simply slid her hand down the front of her suit, fingers tracing the pronounced camel toe, pressing until the latex dimpled inward. A soft, wet sound escaped—fabric shifting against slick skin. Her eyes never left Lila's.
Lila felt heat bloom low in her belly. Not fear. Curiosity. Hunger.
Seraphina tapped the map table. The ley lines flared brighter, zooming in on Belgravia. A glowing red pin hovered over a Georgian townhouse on Eaton Square.
"Baron Cornelius Vale," Seraphina said. "Fifty-eight. Collector of forbidden grimoires. Current owner of the Whispering Opal—facet-cut fire opal the size of a quail's egg, set in blackened silver. Legend says it captures spoken secrets from up to fifty miles away and replays them in the wearer's mind. Useful for blackmail. Useful for us."
Elara—still in her silver-threaded maid uniform—leaned over the map. "He's paranoid. Triple wards on the vault. Personal guard—six ex-military, armed. And he's begun dabbling in counter-magic. Already sniffed out two freelance thieves this year."
Seraphina's violet eyes flicked to Lila. "Which is why we send both cadres tonight. Seduction team infiltrates as new household staff. You, Lila, will lead point—get close, get him aroused, get the Opal during the act if possible. If he resists… if he tries to bind you or alert his guards…"
She looked to the Blade Sisters.
Ravenna smiled thinly. "We follow in shadow. One signal from you—fan snap three times—and we move. Silent kill on the baron, cleanup on any witnesses. Then we rub one out over his cooling body. Tradition."
Lila's pulse kicked. "And if the seduction works?"
"Then you harvest," Seraphina said. "Ride him until he spills everything—seed, secrets, soul fragment. The Opal will answer to the strongest will in the room. Make sure it's yours."
The map dimmed. Seraphina straightened.
"Preparation begins now. Lila—training room with the Blades. Learn their signals, their pace. You may not need to kill tonight, but you must be ready to watch it done."
Ravenna jerked her head toward a side door. "This way, little thief. Time to get your hands dirty."
Lila followed the three assassins down a narrow corridor lit only by faint crimson strips along the baseboards. The air grew cooler, sharper—scented with leather, oil, and something faintly coppery.
They entered a long, windowless chamber. Black mats covered the floor. Racks along the walls held blades of every description: kukris, tanto, garrotes, throwing stars. At the far end, three heavy bags hung from chains—each painted with a crude male silhouette, red X over the throat.
Ravenna stripped off her outer cloak—revealing the full latex suit in unforgiving detail. Every muscle stood out under the glossy black; her nipples were hard points pressing against the material, her camel toe a pronounced, inviting ridge.
"First lesson," she said. "The suit isn't armor. It's distraction. Men see curves, they see sex, they forget danger."
She demonstrated: slow walk toward one of the bags, hips rolling, latex creaking. When she reached it, she spun—blade flashing—slashing a perfect line across the painted throat. The bag split; red sand poured out like blood.
Sable moved next. She approached her target from behind, pressed full-body against the bag, grinding her latex-covered pussy against the rough canvas. The friction made a soft, obscene squeak. Then—without warning—her arm hooked around the "neck," garrote wire snapping taut. She pulled back hard, thighs flexing, camel toe grinding harder as the bag jerked and went limp.
"Feel the kill," Sable murmured. "Feel how wet it makes you."
Nyx was last. Silent. She simply stepped close to her bag, hand sliding down to cup her own mound through the latex. She rubbed—firm, rhythmic circles—while staring at the painted face. Her breathing deepened. Then, in one fluid motion, she drove a thin dagger up under the ribs—precise, surgical. The bag shuddered. Nyx kept rubbing as it sagged, latex gleaming with fresh sweat between her thighs.
She withdrew the blade, wiped it on the bag, then pressed three fingers hard against her outlined clit. A low, shuddering moan escaped her—first sound she'd made.
Lila's mouth went dry.
Ravenna turned to her. "Your turn."
Lila stepped forward. The suit they handed her was identical—latex so tight it felt like being vacuum-sealed into her own skin. She stripped without hesitation, letting the maid uniform fall. The sisters watched, appraising, as she worked the glossy material up her legs, over hips, breasts. It hugged every curve, pressed her labia into a perfect, visible ridge. Camel toe pronounced, shameless.
She moved to the nearest bag.
Walked slow, like Ravenna taught—hips swaying, feeling the latex pull and slide with every step. Reached the bag. Pressed her body against it—breasts flattening, nipples scraping through the thin layer. Ground once—hard—feeling the friction spark heat straight to her core.
Then she drew the practice blade from her hip.
One clean slash across the throat.
Sand hissed out.
Lila didn't stop. Hand dropped between her legs, palm cupping the latex ridge. She rubbed—slow circles at first, then faster—feeling the material heat, slickness building beneath. Her breath came in short gasps.
The sisters watched. No mockery. Only approval.
When the first tremor hit—small, sharp—she pressed harder, riding it out against her own hand while the bag slumped at her feet.
Ravenna stepped close, voice low. "Good. Now remember that feeling. Tonight, if the baron fights back, you'll give him the kiss of steel instead of cock. And when he's gone… you'll finish what you started. Rub one out over his corpse. Mark the victory."
Lila nodded, chest heaving.
Sable grinned. "Welcome to both sides of the Veil, sister."
Nyx simply touched her own camel toe once—firm press—then walked away.
Lila lingered a moment longer, fingers still tracing the wet outline through latex. The Bloodstone pulsed in time with her heartbeat.
Seduction.
Assassination.
Both paths led to power.
And tonight, Baron Vale would learn exactly how far she was willing to go.