The rain had turned to sleet by the time Lilith and Seraphina reached the flat. Hackney's streets were quiet now, the late-night revellers long gone, leaving only the hiss of tires on wet asphalt and the distant wail of a siren that never quite reached them. They slipped through the side entrance of the converted warehouse block—Lilith's current safe house—up three flights of narrow stairs that smelled of damp concrete and old paint.
Inside, the flat was sparse: one large open room with exposed brick, a king bed shoved against the far wall, a small kitchenette, and a single battered couch facing a window that overlooked the canal. No decorations. No photos. Nothing personal. Just survival.
Lilith locked the door, triple-checked the deadbolt, then leaned against it, exhaling slowly. The demon's ash still clung to her skin like faint black glitter; she could feel the residue of its essence burning low in her veins, mixing with Kane's tarry soul. It didn't feel clean. It felt like swallowing smoke.
Seraphina stripped off her red halter dress without ceremony, tossing it into a corner. Underneath she wore black sports bra and briefs—practical, always ready. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on her collarbones. She padded barefoot to the fridge, pulled out two bottles of water, tossed one to Lilith.
"You good?" Seraphina asked, twisting the cap off hers.
Lilith caught the bottle, pressed the cold plastic to her forehead. "Better than good. Worse than good. That thing… it wasn't human. The soul wasn't human. It tasted like burning wires and old blood."
Seraphina nodded, leaning against the counter. "I felt it too. Through you. When we shared Kane, the connection opened wider. I saw fragments—throne of bones, shadows with crowns. Same as you?"
"Exactly." Lilith uncapped her water, drank deeply. The cold helped ground her. "It called itself a servant of the Sovereign. Said we're stealing what belongs to him."
Seraphina's storm-gray eyes narrowed. "Then the Sovereign is the one pulling strings. Feeding corruption into the world so his demons can harvest the fallout. We're cutting into his supply chain."
Lilith pushed off the door, crossed to the bed, sat on the edge. The silver veins on her chest had spread another inch—delicate, almost beautiful, like frost patterns on glass. She traced one with a fingertip. It tingled.
"We need more," she said quietly. "More souls. More sisters. Before whatever this Sovereign is sends something bigger."
Seraphina joined her on the bed, sitting cross-legged, close enough that their knees touched. "Irina Volkov. She's the next piece. Crowe's memories showed her working his parties—bruised, but unbroken. If she survived him, she might have awakened the same way we did."
Lilith closed her eyes, letting Crowe's soul-echoes surface again. Flashes: Irina in a silver dress, pouring drinks with steady hands, eyes scanning exits. A back room. Crowe's hand on her thigh. Her whispered Russian curse. Then—nothing. She'd vanished after that night.
"She was at Velvet Abyss once," Lilith murmured. "Crowe's private event. Six months ago. If she's still in London, she might still go back. Places like that… they become habits. Safe in their danger."
Seraphina reached out, brushed a strand of raven hair from Lilith's face. The touch lingered—electric, familiar now. "Then we go back. Tomorrow night. We hunt for her. And if we find another mark along the way…"
Lilith opened her eyes, met Seraphina's gaze. "We take what we need."
They didn't speak for a long moment. The flat was quiet except for the sleet tapping the window and the low hum of the city beyond.
Seraphina leaned in first.
Their lips met—soft at first, testing. Then deeper. Hands slid under fabric, tracing silver veins and scars. Clothes came off in quiet rustles. They moved together on the bed—slow, deliberate, no rush. Not a hunt. Not a harvest. Just two women grounding each other after touching something infernal.
Lilith rolled on top, straddling Seraphina's hips. She kissed down her neck, tasting salt and adrenaline. Seraphina's fingers dug into Lilith's back, nails leaving faint red lines that healed almost instantly—another gift from the souls they'd taken.
When they came, it was quiet—shuddering breaths, muffled gasps against skin. No glowing orbs. No threads. Just release. Just connection.
Afterward they lay tangled, breathing in sync.
"We're changing," Seraphina whispered into Lilith's hair.
Lilith pressed a kiss to her temple. "We're becoming what we need to be."
Sleep came in fragments—haunted by throne shadows and crowned silhouettes.
Morning arrived gray and cold.
They spent the day preparing.
Lilith cleaned and sharpened Seraphina's knife while Seraphina hacked into club security feeds using a burner laptop she'd lifted from a low-level dealer weeks ago. Grainy footage from six months back confirmed Irina had worked at least three events at Velvet Abyss. No recent sightings, but the club's VIP list still had Russian surnames popping up regularly.
"Pattern," Seraphina said, zooming in on a booking. "Same promoter every time. Viktor Kuznetsov. Owns half the import-export front companies in East London. If Irina's still alive and in the game, she'll be at his next private night."
Lilith nodded. "Tonight's Saturday. Prime feeding time."
They dressed for war disguised as seduction.
Lilith chose deep emerald green—a backless halter dress that clung like liquid, thigh-high slit, black lace garters visible when she moved. Hair loose, crimson lipstick, eyes lined in kohl that made the faint glow of her irises look intentional.
Seraphina went lethal-minimal: black leather corset top, high-waisted trousers, boots with hidden blades. Platinum hair in a sleek braid. A thin silver chain around her neck—stolen from Kane's corpse—now hummed faintly with absorbed power.
They left at dusk.
Velvet Abyss was already alive when they arrived. Queue around the block. Bouncers waved them through after one look at Lilith's smile.
Inside, the air was thicker—sweat, perfume, spilled vodka, bass so deep it vibrated in the ribs. They split again: Seraphina to the floor, Lilith to VIP.
Upstairs felt different tonight. Tension in the air. Guards more alert. Eyes scanning.
Lilith spotted Viktor Kuznetsov immediately—broad shoulders, shaved head, expensive black suit, gold chain thick enough to choke a man. He sat in the largest booth, flanked by four bodyguards and three women—none of them Irina.
But one of the women looked up as Lilith approached.
Dark hair. Sharp cheekbones. Eyes the color of winter sea. A faint scar above her left brow.
Irina Volkov.
Recognition flashed both ways.
Irina stood—slow, deliberate—excused herself from the booth. Kuznetsov barely noticed, already distracted by another girl.
Irina walked past Lilith, close enough to brush shoulders, and whispered without turning: "Roof. Five minutes."
Lilith waited two minutes, then slipped out a side door, up the emergency stairs.
The roof was gravel and vents, city lights sprawling below like scattered jewels. Sleet had stopped; cold wind cut through her dress.
Irina waited near the edge, back to the city, arms crossed.
"You're the one who took Crowe," she said without preamble. Accent thicker in person—Kiev edge. "I felt it. Six months ago. Like someone ripped a tooth out of the world."
Lilith stepped closer. "You felt it because you're like us."
Irina laughed—short, bitter. "Like you? I killed my first mark three weeks after Crowe tried to sell me. Woke up with silver in my veins and voices in my head. I've been running ever since."
Lilith studied her. No fear. Just wariness. And hunger.
"We're building something," Lilith said. "A sisterhood. We take from the corrupt. We grow stronger. We fight what's coming."
Irina's eyes flicked to the silver lines visible on Lilith's collarbone. "And what's coming?"
"Demons. A Sovereign who owns the corruption pipeline. We took one of his servants last night. It didn't like that."
Irina's jaw tightened. "I've seen them. Shadows in corners. Watching me. Waiting."
"Then join us," Lilith said. "Stop running. Start hunting."
Irina looked out over the city. Wind tugged at her dark hair.
Before she could answer, the roof access door slammed open.
Three figures stepped out—Kuznetsov's bodyguards. Guns drawn.
Behind them, Kuznetsov himself—smiling, unhurried.
"Gentlemen," he said, "these ladies have been asking questions. Let's have a conversation."
Irina moved first—fast, feral. She lunged at the nearest guard, knee driving into his groin, hand snapping his wrist. Gun clattered. She snatched it mid-fall.
Lilith was already moving—emerald dress ripping at the slit as she vaulted over a vent, tackling the second guard. They hit gravel hard. She pinned him, felt the thread—corrupt, greasy. She pulled. He screamed as his soul ripped free—orb sinking into her chest.
Seraphina burst through the door a heartbeat later—speed blurring her form. She disarmed the third guard with a spinning kick, knife flashing across his throat—not deep enough to kill, just to drop him.
Kuznetsov backed up, hands raised. "Wait—wait—"
Irina pressed the stolen gun to his temple. "You sold girls. You sold me."
Kuznetsov's smile faltered. "Business. Nothing personal."
Lilith rose, dress torn, silver veins glowing brighter. "Everything's personal now."
She stepped close. Kuznetsov's eyes widened.
She kissed him—hard, claiming. He froze. The thread snapped taut.
Irina and Seraphina flanked her. Hands on his shoulders. Three threads converging.
His soul poured—thick, black, reeking of containers and cash and cruelty.
The orb emerged—huge, pulsing green-black.
They absorbed it together.
Power crashed through the three of them like a storm.
Kuznetsov crumpled—empty.
But the air shivered.
Black smoke rose from his body—thicker, faster than before.
Another demon coalesced—taller, horns spiraling, wings of tattered shadow.
It roared—louder, angrier.
"You dare."
Lilith grinned, power singing in her blood.
"Try us."
The fight was brutal.
The demon swung—claws raking concrete. Seraphina dodged, blurring, slashing at wings. Irina fired—bullets sinking into obsidian flesh, sizzling. Lilith leaped—higher than before—landing on its back, arms locking around its throat.
She pulled—harder than with the last one.
The demon thrashed, slamming her into vents. Metal crumpled. Pain flared in her ribs.
But she held.
Irina and Seraphina attacked low—knife and fists and stolen gun.
The demon's essence tore free—burning, jagged.
Lilith took the brunt. Visions flooded: endless halls of bone, a crowned figure turning slowly, eyes like dying stars.
Then—release.
The demon dissolved into ash.
The three women stood panting on the roof.
Irina lowered the gun. Looked at Lilith and Seraphina.
"I'm in," she said simply.
Lilith smiled through bloodied lips.
"Welcome to the sisterhood."
Below, the club still throbbed—oblivious.
Above, the stars watched.
And somewhere, far deeper than the city's roots, something ancient stirred.
It had noticed them now.