Rain lashed the windows of the penthouse like it wanted in. London at midnight was a glittering beast—neon veins pulsing through the fog, the Thames a black mirror reflecting the city's sins.
Inside, the air was thick with expensive cologne, aged whiskey, and the low hum of a man who thought he owned everything he touched.
Victor Hargrove. CEO. Philanthropist on paper, predator in practice.
Lilith stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass, backlit by city lights. Black lace bodysuit clung to her curves—sheer panels teasing, straps crossing thighs and hips in deliberate invitation. Long raven hair still damp from the shower she'd taken after he summoned her. She'd played the eager escort perfectly. Now the mask was slipping.
Victor lounged against the headboard, shirt unbuttoned. "Come here, darling. Let's make this night worth the fee."
She smiled—slow, predatory. Something inside her had shifted weeks ago. A whisper in the dark. A heat in her veins. Tonight she would test it.
Lilith crossed the room, hips swaying, heels clicking. She climbed onto the bed, straddling his lap. His hands were immediately greedy.
"You're something else," he murmured. "Most girls beg by now."
"I don't beg," she whispered. "I take."
She kissed him. Soft at first—then deeper, pressing her body flush, grinding slowly. Heat built. Victor groaned, hands tugging straps.
Inside her, something uncoiled.
A pulse. Hungry.
As his arousal pressed against her, she felt it—the thread. Thin, invisible. His soul. Corrupt, oily, pulsing with sin.
She guided him inside her in one smooth motion. He thrust up, rough. She rode him slowly at first—controlling the pace.
"Harder," he demanded.
She obliged—but not the way he wanted.
"You like power, Victor? You like taking?"
"Damn right."
"Then feel what it's like to lose it."
She clenched around him—and something snapped.
A rush. White-hot. Victor's eyes widened in panic. "What the—?"
Lilith pinned his wrists. Strength she hadn't had an hour ago. His soul poured out—black-tinged energy streaming into her. Flashes: screaming workers, tear-streaked faces, bribes.
He thrashed. "Stop—"
"Shh. Almost over."
She came hard as the last of it ripped free.
A glowing orb materialized—blue-white, flickering—then sank into her chest. Warmth spread. Muscles tightened. Skin flushed. She felt… stronger.
Victor went still. Eyes glassy. Empty husk.
Lilith dismounted, adjusted her bodysuit, looked down without remorse.
A voice—not her own—whispered in her mind.
More.
She smiled.
She slipped out the service door into the rain-soaked night.
The city had just become her hunting ground.
Three nights later. Shoreditch. Narrow streets slick with drizzle, graffiti bleeding under neon signs.
Lilith moved like she belonged to the dark—leather jacket over the same black lace, hood up, boots silent on wet pavement. The power from Victor still hummed under her skin. Sharper senses. Faster reflexes. A faint crimson glow in her irises when she caught her reflection in a puddle.
She wasn't hunting tonight. Not exactly.
She was being followed.
The sensation started halfway across the city: eyes on her back, footsteps too careful to be casual. Not police. Not one of Victor's security goons—they'd have come louder.
She turned into a narrow alley behind a closed bar. Stopped. Waited.
A woman stepped out of shadow—early twenties, short platinum hair, leather pants, cropped jacket, knife strapped visibly to her thigh. Lean. Dangerous. Eyes the color of storm clouds.
"You're sloppy," the woman said. Voice low, accented—Eastern European maybe. "Leaving bodies breathing but brain-dead. Someone's going to notice."
Lilith tilted her head. "And you're here to… what? Lecture me?"
"Observe." The woman stepped closer. No fear. Curiosity. "Three nights ago. Penthouse. Hargrove. You took something from him. I felt it ripple."
Lilith's pulse quickened. "You felt it?"
A small, dangerous smile. "I'm Seraphina. And yes. I felt it because I've done it too."
Silence stretched.
Seraphina pulled up her sleeve. A faint scar circled her wrist—like something had been burned out. "First one was my stepfather. Piece of shit. I was sixteen. Thought I'd killed him. Turns out I only took the part that made him human."
Lilith studied her. No lie in the eyes. No threat posture.
"Why follow me?" Lilith asked.
"Because I'm tired of doing it alone." Seraphina's gaze flicked to Lilith's chest—where the orb had entered. "And because whatever you took… it's louder than mine. Brighter. I want to know how."
Lilith considered. The voice in her head was quiet tonight. But it had been whispering more ever since the penthouse.
She extended a hand. "Lilith."
Seraphina clasped it. Grip firm. Electric.
A spark jumped between them—not pain. Recognition.
Both women inhaled sharply.
"You felt that too," Seraphina said.
Lilith nodded. "Like calls to like."
Seraphina's smile turned feral. "Then let's go hunting. Together."
Friday night. Private gallery in Mayfair. Black-tie. Champagne. Art that cost more than most people's houses.
Target: Elias Crowe. Art dealer. Launderer for several trafficking rings. Buys silence with paintings and threats.
Lilith wore crimson silk—low back, high slit. Seraphina in matte black gown—practical, easy to move in, knife hidden in garter.
They entered separately. Met eyes across the room. A nod.
Crowe was holding court near a Basquiat. Mid-fifties. Silver hair. Smile like a blade.
Lilith approached first. "Mr. Crowe. I'm a great admirer of your… taste."
He turned. Eyes lit. "And I of yours, my dear. Join me for a private viewing?"
"Delighted."
Upstairs. Dim room. One painting lit. Crowe locked the door.
He poured wine. "You know why you're here."
Lilith set the glass down untouched. Stepped close. "Enlighten me."
His hand grazed her hip. "Pleasure. Business. Both."
She let him pull her in. Kissed him—cold, calculated. He responded hungrily.
Seraphina slipped in through the side door—silent. Watched.
Lilith guided Crowe to the chaise. Straddled him. Silk rode up. His hands explored.
Then she felt it—the thread. Thicker. Darker than Victor's.
She ground against him. Slow. Teasing. Building.
Seraphina moved behind him. Whispered in his ear: "You like control, Elias?"
He startled. "Who the—"
Lilith clenched. The thread pulled.
Seraphina's hand pressed to his chest. "We share."
Two threads now. Converging.
Crowe panicked. Thrashing.
They rode the surge together. Souls pouring—his corruption vivid: girls in containers, payoffs, bodies in rivers.
The orb emerged—larger, darker-edged.
They absorbed it in unison.
Power crashed through both. Lilith's vision sharpened. Seraphina's movements blurred with new speed.
Crowe slumped. Empty.
They stood. Breathing hard.
Seraphina licked her lips. "That was… shared."
Lilith smiled. "Stronger together."
Sirens in the distance.
Time to go.
Back at Lilith's flat—small, anonymous, East London.
They sat on the floor. Bottles of cheap red between them.
Power still buzzing. Skin too sensitive. Colors too bright.
Seraphina traced the scar on her wrist. "Every soul leaves a mark. Not always visible."
Lilith lifted her shirt. Faint silver lines—like veins—radiating from her sternum.
"Mine's spreading," she said.
Seraphina nodded. "Mine too. Faster now."
Silence.
Then Seraphina: "I saw something when we took Crowe. Flashes. Not just his memories. Something… older. Watching."
Lilith's stomach tightened. "The voice in my head. It said 'more' after Victor. Tonight it was quiet. Almost… satisfied."
Seraphina leaned closer. "We're not the only ones who can do this. There are others. Some hunt us."
Lilith met her eyes. "Then we hunt first."
A knock at the door.
Both tensed.
Seraphina drew her knife.
Lilith stood. Opened it cautiously.
No one.
Just an envelope on the mat.
Black wax seal. Symbol: a coiled serpent eating its tail.
Inside: single photo. Grainy CCTV. Them leaving the gallery.
And one line typed:
You're collecting what belongs to us.
We collect back.
Seraphina paced. "We need more. More souls. More power. Before they find us."
Lilith stared at the ashes. "We need others like us."
"Where do we even start?"
Lilith thought of the flashes from Crowe's soul. Names. Faces. Places.
"One of them was a woman. Young. Russian accent. Worked his parties. Disappeared six months ago."
Seraphina stopped pacing. "You think she's like us?"
"I think she might have been his next victim. And if she survived…"
Seraphina grinned. "We find her. We bring her in."
Lilith felt the hum in her chest again. Stronger.
The voice returned. Soft. Pleased.
Yes. More sisters. More power.
They looked at each other.
"Tomorrow night," Lilith said. "We hit the club where she was last seen."
Seraphina nodded. "And we feed."
Outside, rain started again.
Somewhere in the city, eyes were already watching.
But now there were two hunters.
Soon there would be three.