The fog that night was thick enough to taste—wet wool and coal dust—and it swallowed the gas lamps on Eaton Square like secrets. Baron Cornelius Vale's townhouse stood at number 17: four stories of pale Portland stone, black iron railings, windows shuttered tight against prying eyes. From the outside it looked like any other wealthy recluse's fortress. Inside, Lila knew, it was a vault of forbidden knowledge and one very valuable opal.
The seduction team arrived first, slipping through the servants' entrance at 10:47 p.m. sharp. Lila, Elara, and Isolde wore crisp black-and-white maid uniforms—practical cotton over the sheer lace underneath, aprons starched, caps pinned neatly. They carried trays of fresh linens and polishing cloths, the picture of late-night diligence. The baron's regular staff had been given the evening off with a generous "bonus" slipped into their pay packets earlier that day—courtesy of a forged letter from the baron himself, courtesy of Vesper's forgery skills.
The three of them moved through the lower corridors like ghosts. Kitchens empty. Scullery silent. Up the back stairs to the second floor, where the baron's private study and bedchamber waited.
Lila's pulse thrummed steady. The Bloodstone Tear rested cool against her skin beneath the uniform, its power a low buzz in her veins. She could hear the house breathing: the tick of a long-case clock in the hall, the soft creak of floorboards settling, the distant murmur of the baron's voice behind heavy oak doors—talking to himself, or perhaps to the grimoires he hoarded.
Elara paused at the landing, ear pressed to the wall. "Guards are in the front hall. Two on rotation. We have twenty minutes before the next sweep."
Isolde smiled, small and sharp. "Plenty of time to make him forget his own name."
They split: Isolde to the study to scout the vault (disguised as a bookshelf), Elara to the corridor to intercept any early-returning staff, Lila straight to the bedchamber.
She knocked once—soft, deferential—then entered without waiting for an answer.
Baron Vale sat at a writing desk beside a roaring fire, back to the door. He was older than his portraits suggested: thinning silver hair, broad shoulders gone soft, velvet smoking jacket open at the throat. A crystal decanter and half-empty glass sat beside an open tome bound in what looked like human skin. The Whispering Opal rested on black velvet beside the book—a fist-sized stone the color of fresh blood, facets catching firelight like trapped screams.
He didn't turn. "You're late. The fire needs tending."
Lila stepped forward, voice pitched low and sweet. "Forgive me, my lord. The new girl. I'll see to it at once."
She crossed to the hearth, bending low to add logs—deliberately slow, letting the short skirt of her uniform ride up just enough to show the lace tops of her stockings and the curve where thigh met ass. The baron's chair creaked as he shifted.
She felt his gaze slide over her like oil.
When she straightened and turned, he was watching her fully. Eyes dark, hungry. The Opal pulsed once on the desk, as if sensing prey.
"You're… prettier than the last one," he said. Voice rough from brandy and age.
Lila smiled—demure, inviting. "I aim to please, my lord."
She moved closer, stopping just out of reach. "May I refresh your drink?"
He gestured lazily to the decanter. She poured, letting her fingers brush his when she handed him the glass. His hand closed around hers—firm, possessive.
"You know why you're really here," he murmured.
Lila tilted her head. "To serve."
He pulled her onto his lap in one smooth motion. She went willingly, straddling him, knees sinking into the velvet of the chair arms. His hands slid up her thighs, pushing the skirt higher, finding bare skin above the stockings.
"Such soft skin for a maid," he growled.
She leaned in, lips brushing his ear. "All the better to feel you with."
His mouth crashed against hers—greedy, tasting of brandy and old power. Lila kissed back, tongue teasing, while her gloved hand slipped between them, palming the growing bulge in his trousers. He groaned into her mouth.
She rocked slowly, grinding against him through layers of fabric. The Bloodstone warmed, eager. She could feel the Opal on the desk responding—its whispers brushing her mind like distant voices.
Baron Vale's hands tore at her apron, buttons popping. He shoved the uniform bodice down, freeing her breasts. His mouth latched onto a nipple—sucking hard, teeth grazing. Lila arched, moaning softly, fingers working his trouser fastenings open.
His cock sprang free—thick, veined, already leaking. She wrapped her gloved hand around it, stroking slow and firm. He bucked into her grip.
"On the bed," he ordered.
Lila slid off his lap, backing toward the massive four-poster. She shed the uniform as she went—apron, dress, petticoat—until only the sheer black lace remained: babydoll clinging damply, stockings, gloves, choker with the hidden Bloodstone. The baron followed, shedding jacket and shirt, eyes fixed on her curves.
She climbed onto the bed, crawling backward on all fours—ass high, back arched, offering. He lunged, hands gripping her hips, yanking her panties aside. No preamble. He thrust in hard, burying himself to the hilt.
Lila gasped—real, sharp pleasure mingling with calculation. He was big, stretching her, filling her completely. She pushed back, meeting every brutal stroke, inner walls clenching around him.
"Fuck, you're tight," he grunted.
She smiled over her shoulder—echoing that first image that started everything. "All for you, my lord."
He pounded into her, bed creaking, headboard thumping the wall. Lila reached back, fingers finding her clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts. The Opal on the desk flared brighter—whispers growing louder in her mind: secrets, names, locations of other relics.
She was close—heat coiling tight. But she held back, waiting.
When his rhythm faltered—hips stuttering, breath ragged—she struck.
She clenched hard around him, milking his cock. "Come for me," she whispered. "Give it all."
He roared—body locking, cock pulsing deep inside her. Hot spurts flooded her pussy, thick and endless. As he came, Lila reached for the Opal—fingers closing around it. The stone burned against her palm. Power surged: his essence pouring out with his seed, funneled straight into the Bloodstone at her throat and now into the Opal itself.
The baron slumped forward, still buried inside her, gasping. Spent. Dazed.
Lila eased him off, rolling him onto his back. Cum leaked from her—warm, sticky, dripping down her thighs onto the sheets. She straddled his chest, Opal clutched in one hand, fan snapping open in the other.
Three sharp snaps.
The window shattered inward.
Ravenna dropped through first—latex gleaming black in the firelight, blade already drawn. Sable followed, garrote wire glinting. Nyx came last, silent as death.
The baron's eyes widened—recognition, terror.
He tried to speak.
Ravenna's crescent blade flashed once—clean arc across his throat. Blood sprayed in a perfect arc, pattering onto the sheets. He gurgled, hands clawing at the wound, then went still.
Sable knelt beside the body, pressing her latex-covered mound against his cooling thigh. She ground slowly—hips rolling, camel toe sliding against dead flesh. A low moan escaped her.
Nyx straddled his face—still masked in death—rubbing her outlined pussy hard against his slack mouth through the glossy suit. Latex creaked. Her breathing hitched.
Ravenna stayed standing, blade dripping. She cupped her own mound, fingers pressing the pronounced ridge, circling her clit through the thin layer. "Clean," she said. "Efficient."
Lila watched, still straddling the corpse, cum and blood mixing on the sheets. The Opal pulsed in her hand—now hers. Its whispers flooded her mind: locations of three more relics, names of cabal members, weaknesses.
She rubbed her own slick pussy against the baron's unmoving chest—slow, deliberate—feeling the last tremors of her near-orgasm crest into a small, sharp release. Latex or not, the power was the same.
Elara slipped in through the door. "Study's clear. Vault open. Isolde's taking the grimoires."
Seraphina's voice came through a small obsidian pendant at Lila's ear—magic link back to the manor. "Well done. Return with the Opal. And the body. We'll dispose of it properly."
Lila stood, legs trembling slightly. Cum dripped down her inner thigh in thick rivulets. She didn't wipe it away.
The Blade Sisters cleaned up fast—blood wiped, sheets bundled, body wrapped in black canvas. They vanished through the window as silently as they'd come.
Lila dressed quickly—uniform back on, Opal tucked into her bodice beside the Bloodstone. Both stones hummed in harmony now.
She paused at the door, looking back at the blood-soaked bed.
One more mark down.
Power shared. Power gained.
The ascent continued.