I asked curiously, "So what's next?"
Chief Lilith didn't even lift her eyes from the holographic reports.
"We are going to capture and detain the two new hellfire awakeners, give them mandatory therapy from the succubi division, and finally recruit them into the Supernatural Organization. You two are off-duty until the next mission. Rest."
We both nodded, rose from our chairs, gave the formal bow, and left the conference room without another word.
The moment the doors sealed behind us, Lilith killed the reports. The room went dark except for a new set of holograms that blossomed above the table: our entire private archive. Six months of footage, every angle, every moan, every "I love you, husband" and "Breed Mommy again." The speakers kicked in at full volume: wet slaps, screams, milk dripping, piss swallowed, sisters begging their "brother" to never pull out. The conference room became a private theater of pure filth.
Lilith leaned back, thighs parting under the table. Her blazer fell open; the silk blouse followed. One hand shoved her lace bra down, freeing breasts so heavy they spilled over her forearm, milk already beading at the dark nipples. She squeezed hard, forcing thin streams across her collarbone while her other hand tore the crotch of her stockings wide. Four fingers plunged into her pink, dripping pussy without warning, curling viciously as her thumb ground her clit. She bit her lip until blood mixed with the milk on her chin, eyes locked on the screen where "big sister" was currently riding reverse-cowgirl, heart-shaped pupils glowing, screaming "Stay inside me forever!" Lilith matched the rhythm perfectly, hips bucking, squirting across the obsidian table in a long, violent arc that hissed against the holograms. She didn't stop until the third orgasm left her trembling, milk and slick pooling beneath her, the videos still looping.
Outside in the corridor, Ace and Kai walked side by side, hands in pockets, casually discussing the finer points of the mission.
Workers passed by constantly:
"Welcome back, heroes!"
"Nice work topside!"
A werewolf in tactical gear fist-bumped Kai. Two incubi saluted Ace with coffee cups.
Halfway down the hall, two succubi in cropped jackets and micro-skirts intercepted them, tails swishing, eyes glowing violet with hunger.
Succubus One pressed her entire body against Ace, purring, "Heard you two just mind-broke an entire bloodline. My shift ends now… wanna break something else?"
Succubus Two already had Kai's belt half-undone. "My room's soundproof and the bed has restraints. Race you."
Ace and Kai exchanged a single glance, shrugged, and each claimed one.
"Lead the way, ladies," Ace said, smacking the first succubus's ass hard enough to echo.
"Try to keep up," Kai added, letting the second drag him by his tie.
Doors slammed in two separate directions. Within seconds the hallway filled with the unmistakable symphony of moans, wet flesh, and furniture being destroyed.
Another mission complete.
Another night of celebration.
Another perfect day in Hell's most elite division.
Seraphine and Riven stepped back into the frost-kissed corridor that led to their private quarters, the faint scent of smoke and scorched concrete still clinging to their coats from the burning hotel. Mission report delivered, the two newborns safely detained and already scheduled for succubi therapy, Lilith had simply nodded once (approval without warmth) and dismissed them.
The door to their shared suite hissed shut behind them. Riven thumbed the lock, the heavy mag-seal clicking into place.
He stripped without ceremony: jacket, shirt, tactical pants hitting the floor in a careless pile until he stood gloriously naked, his thick, half-hard cock jutting proudly upward like it had never learned the meaning of exhaustion. He yawned, scratched his abs, and flopped face-first onto the massive bed, the mattress groaning under his weight. Within seconds his breathing evened out; he was out cold, cock still pointing skyward like a defiant flagpole.
Seraphine watched him with a soft, almost maternal smile. She peeled off her own clothes slowly (ice-blue corset top, skin-tight leggings, lace panties already soaked from the adrenaline of the mission). Her pale, perfect breasts spilled free, nipples instantly hardening in the cool air; between her thighs, her pink, glistening pussy lips peeked out, swollen and ready even in rest. She crawled onto the bed beside him, sliding under the heavy silk sheets.
Riven stirred instinctively, rolling toward the familiar warmth. One muscular arm looped around her waist and pulled her flush against him. His face nuzzled straight into the soft valley of her breasts, lips brushing a nipple as he exhaled in his sleep. His cock (now fully hard again) nestled hot and heavy along the seam of her pussy, sliding through her slick folds with every slow breath.
Seraphine wrapped her arms around his shoulders, fingers threading through his damp sea-green hair, ruffling gently.
"Good night, sweet dreams, little brother," she whispered, pressing a lingering kiss to the crown of his head.
He mumbled something incoherent (half moan, half sigh) and tightened his hold, cock giving a lazy twitch against her entrance, smearing pre-cum along her clit.
She smiled into the darkness, legs tangling with his, and let sleep take them both: bodies pressed together, his face buried in her chest, his cock resting exactly where it belonged (right against the sister who would freeze the world before letting anyone take him from her).
Outside their door, the base kept moving.
Inside, the Frostborn siblings slept deeper than the arctic sea: warm, safe, and forever each other's.
Riven woke slowly, the familiar heat of morning wood sliding along Seraphine's slick folds. She was still asleep, one arm draped possessively over his chest, her soft breathing tickling his neck. For a moment he just lay there, savoring the way her pussy kissed the underside of his cock with every tiny shift, but duty (or something like it) tugged at him.
Carefully, he eased out from under her arm, his shaft dragging reluctantly through her wetness one last time. Seraphine stirred, mumbling something sleepy, but didn't wake.
He padded naked to the bathroom, showered fast under ice-cold water that did nothing to kill the ache in his balls, then dressed in his usual black tactical jacket, cargo pants, and combat boots. When he stepped back into the bedroom, Seraphine was sitting up, sheet pooled around her waist, perfect breasts on full display, silver hair tousled.
"Big sis, I'm heading out. Solo run. I'll be back after nightfall."
Her ice-blue eyes narrowed instantly.
"No. I'm coming with you."
He was already shaking his head.
"No buts. I'm going alone."
"But—"
"Sera." He cut her off gently but firmly, using the nickname only he was allowed. "I need to do this one by myself. I'll be careful. Promise."
She stared at him for a long moment, lips pressed into a thin line, the temperature in the room dropping a few degrees. Then she sighed, the frost receding.
"Fine," she said, voice soft but laced with steel. "Be back before dawn, little brother. Or I will freeze the entire city looking for you."
Riven leaned down, kissed her forehead (lingering just long enough for her to feel the promise in it), then turned and left.
Minutes later he was tearing through the hidden tunnel on his matte-black sport bike, engine snarling like a caged beast. The false supermarket facade rolled up behind him, and he shot out into the pre-dawn city, wind whipping past, destination known only to him.
Whatever he was chasing today, he was doing it alone, for the first time in years.
And somewhere behind him, Seraphine watched the door he'd walked through, fingers tracing the lingering warmth on her thigh where his cock had rested all night, already counting the hours until her little brother came home.
Riven rolled the bike into a shadowed spot right outside the little hole-in-the-wall café (some indie place tucked between a record store and a tattoo parlor, the kind of spot that still had mismatched chairs and real vinyl spinning behind the counter). He killed the engine, pulled off his helmet, and let the morning air hit his face for the first time in forever without Seraphine's ice-cold presence glued to his side.
Freedom tasted like burnt espresso and city exhaust.
Inside, the barista (a girl with purple hair and a septum ring) barely glanced up from her phone when he ordered a straight black coffee, no frills. Two minutes later the mug was in his hand, steaming and bitter. He took the corner table by the window, kicked his boots up on the opposite chair, and just… existed.
No missions.
No succubi flirting.
No overprotective sister ready to freeze the planet if he looked at someone the wrong way.
Just him, the coffee, and the low hum of an old jazz record.
He leaned back, closed his eyes for a second, and let out a long, slow breath.
"Finally," he muttered to himself, smirking into the mug. "A whole damn day where nobody's trying to ride my dick or save my soul."
The sun climbed higher outside the window, people walked past without a clue that the guy in the black leather jacket sipping coffee could drown the entire block in a tidal wave if he felt like it.
For once, Riven Frostborn was completely, perfectly off the clock.
And it felt fucking amazing.
The bell above the door jingled.
She walked in like she owned gravity itself: late thirties, maybe early forties, curves that turned every head without even trying. Tight white blouse straining across breasts so heavy the buttons looked one deep breath away from surrender, pencil skirt hugging an ass that swayed like a metronome set to "kill me." Dark auburn hair in a messy bun, red lips, heels clicking like a countdown.
She ordered an espresso, took the small table right next to mine (close enough that her perfume, something expensive and sinful, drifted over), and sat with her back to the wall, legs crossed, skirt riding just high enough to flash the lace tops of her stockings.
Exactly my type.
I was already picturing bending her over the counter, skirt hiked up, hand fisted in that hair while I (phone rang).
Her ringtone was shrill, panicked. She snatched it up, listened for three seconds, and her entire body went rigid.
"Yes… yes, I'm coming now. Which ward? …I'll be there in ten."
She hung up, face drained of color, grabbed her bag, and bolted, coffee untouched, heels clacking like gunshots as she burst out the door and flagged the first taxi.
Something twisted in my gut. Not lust anymore. Curiosity. Instinct.
I dropped cash on the table, helmet under my arm, and followed.
My bike snarled to life. The taxi was three cars ahead, weaving through morning traffic. I kept pace easily, lane-splitting when I had to, eyes locked on that auburn bun visible through the rear window.
Fifteen minutes later the taxi pulled into the emergency bay of St. Augustine's General Hospital.
She practically threw money at the driver and ran inside, skirt riding higher with every frantic step.
I parked in the shadows, killed the engine, and watched her disappear through the sliding doors.
Whatever had her that terrified… I needed to know why.
Because something told me this wasn't random.
And when something this perfect walks into your quiet morning and runs straight into chaos?
You follow.
I pulled my gloves tighter, cracked my neck, and walked in after her.