The containment vault's doors sealed behind them with a hiss of frost and steam.
Seraphine and Riven Frostborn strode side-by-side down the obsidian corridor, boots leaving faint trails of crystalline ice that melted almost instantly in the infernal heat of SCAD Headquarters. Their white-and-sapphire combat suits were scorched black in places, streaked with soot and flecks of cooled lava. The air around them still carried the scent of brimstone and scorched marble from the burning hotel.
Seraphine's long platinum hair was slightly disheveled (a rare sight), a few strands clinging to her sweat-damp forehead. Her ice-blue eyes glowed faintly with residual power. Riven, younger by three years, walked with the easy swagger of someone who had just surfed a tidal wave through a lake of molten glass and come out laughing. His silver-blue hair was tousled, cheeks flushed, sea-green eyes bright with adrenaline.
They stopped in front of the conference room. The doors recognized their biorunes and slid open without a sound.
Lilith Valerious sat alone at the head of the table, legs crossed, reviewing a holographic after-action report. She didn't look up, but the corner of her mouth curved in approval.
"Langford and Reed are in the crucible cells," Seraphine reported, voice crisp as cracking glaciers. "Both alive. Both… cooperative, for now. Hellfire cores are stable at ninety-eight percent saturation. Minor collateral damage to the city block contained. Zero civilian fatalities."
Riven flashed a lazy salute. "Hotel's a swimming pool of lava now, but the important parts are in one piece. You're welcome."
Lilith's golden eyes flicked up, amusement glittering. "Efficient. Clean. Beautifully ruthless. Dismissed. Go wash the ash off yourselves."
The siblings bowed (Seraphine sharp and formal, Riven loose and teasing), then turned and left without another word.
Their private quarters were at the far end of the residential wing: a sprawling suite carved from living ice and black glass, temperature perpetually just below freezing, the air scented faintly of salt and winter storms. The moment the door sealed behind them, Riven exhaled like a man finally allowed to breathe.
He kicked off his boots, peeled away the scorched combat suit in one fluid motion, and let it drop to the floor in a heap of frost-rimmed fabric. Naked, he was breathtaking: lean, sculpted muscle under pale skin kissed with faint blue runes that pulsed like frostbite. His cock (thick, long, already half-hard from the rush of battle) swung heavy between his thighs as he crossed the room. He dove face-first onto the massive bed, a circular slab of glacier-blue silk and cloud-soft furs, sprawling on his back. Within seconds his breathing evened out, chest rising and falling in deep, exhausted sleep, cock resting thick and proud against his stomach, pointing straight at the ceiling like a defiant flag.
Seraphine watched him for a long moment, something soft flickering behind the ice in her eyes.
She unfastened the hidden clasps of her own suit with deliberate slowness. The white material slid from her shoulders, pooling at her feet. Her body was a study in lethal elegance: full, high breasts tipped with pale rose nipples already peaked from the cold, narrow waist flaring into hips made for sin, long legs that could crush a man's skull or wrap around his waist with equal ease. Between her thighs, her pussy was flawless (smooth, pink, glistening faintly with the faintest trace of arousal that the mission had left behind).
She crawled onto the bed beside him, the furs cool against her bare skin. Riven stirred in his sleep, instinctively rolling toward her, one arm snaking around her waist, pulling her flush against him. His cock (now fully hard from the warmth of her body) nestled hot and heavy along the seam of her pussy, the thick length sliding between her slick folds without entering, just resting there, pulsing with his heartbeat. He buried his face between her breasts with a contented sigh, lips brushing one nipple, breath warm against her chilled skin.
Seraphine's fingers threaded gently through his damp silver-blue hair, nails scraping lightly over his scalp. She pressed a soft kiss to the crown of his head.
"Good night, my sweet little brother," she whispered, voice barely louder than the hush of falling snow. "Sweet dreams."
He mumbled something incoherent (half moan, half sleepy affirmation), nuzzling deeper into her cleavage, one hand sliding down to cup the curve of her ass possessively.
She smiled, small and secret, and let her eyes drift shut.
Within moments the only sound in the room was the soft, synchronized rhythm of their breathing and the occasional faint, wet shift of Riven's cock gliding lazily along her slit as they both slipped into deep, dreamless sleep (two perfect weapons of winter, tangled together like they had been since the day they were born). Dawn bled through the crystalline ceiling of their suite, casting pale aquamarine light across the bed.
Riven stirred first. His thick cock (still rigid from dreams he would never admit aloud) was nestled snugly between Seraphine's thighs, the swollen head gliding slowly back and forth along the slick seam of her pussy with every unconscious shift of his hips. A thin string of her arousal stretched and snapped each time he rocked forward, coating the underside of his shaft in glossy warmth. He groaned low in his throat, eyes fluttering open to the sight of his sister's perfect breasts rising and falling with sleep, one pale nipple still glistening from where he'd been unconsciously mouthing it during the night.
For a long moment he just watched her (the ice-queen mask softened in sleep, long lashes fanned against porcelain cheeks, lips parted on the faintest sigh). Then duty and restlessness won.
Carefully, he eased his hips back, biting back a hiss as his cock slipped free with a wet sound, leaving a shining trail across her inner thigh. Seraphine made a small, displeased noise but didn't wake. Riven pressed a feather-light kiss to her forehead, then rolled off the bed.
The shower was a glass cylinder of living ice in the corner of the room. He stepped inside; needles of near-freezing water blasted over his shoulders, racing down the grooves of muscle, swirling around the base of his still-throbbing cock. He braced one hand against the wall, let the cold bite, and forced himself to think of anything except how easy it would be to crawl back into bed and sink into her until neither of them could move.
Ten minutes later he was dressed: matte-black combat jeans that hung low on his hips, a charcoal hoodie layered under a sleeveless white tactical jacket lined with frost runes. Fingerless gloves, heavy boots, silver-blue hair still damp and tousled. He looked every inch the reckless young weapon the Directorate loved to unleash.
Seraphine was awake now, propped on one elbow, sheet barely clinging to her breasts. The morning light turned her skin translucent, nipples dark rose against the pale.
"Big sis," Riven said, voice rough from sleep, "I'm heading topside. Need some air that doesn't smell like brimstone and bureaucracy."
She sat up fully, sheet pooling at her waist. "I'll come with you."
"No." The word came out sharper than he meant. He softened it with a crooked smile. "I want to go alone this time. Just… need to ride until my head stops buzzing. I'll be back after nightfall, promise."
Seraphine's ice-blue eyes narrowed, searching his face. She saw the tension coiled in his shoulders, the faint tremor in his fingers (aftermath of the mission, aftermath of holding her all night and not taking what they both pretended wasn't already his). Something unreadable flickered across her expression, gone as quickly as frost under sunlight.
"No buts?" she asked quietly.
"No buts," he echoed. "I'll ride the coast, maybe hit the old pier. Clear my head. I'll ping you every hour if it'll stop you from freezing the entire base in worry."
A faint smile ghosted over her lips. "Be careful, little brother." She extended one hand, cupped his cheek, thumb brushing the sharp line of his jaw. "Come back to me in one piece."
He turned his face into her palm, pressed a kiss to the center of it (warm lips against cold skin), then stepped back before the want in his blood could drag him under again.
"Always," he said.
Then he was gone.
The residential wing's door sealed behind him. He jogged through the corridors, nodding to the few early-shift agents who greeted him with respectful "Morning, Prince" and "Nice work last night." Down sixty-six floors in the obsidian elevator, past the armory where he grabbed a slim comms earpiece and a pair of mirrored shades, then out through a side exit that opened directly into an underground garage lit by cold blue strips.
His bike waited exactly where he'd left it: a custom Kuroyume Phantom (matte black carbon frame laced with living ice runes that glowed faint cyan when the engine turned over). The machine growled to life between his thighs like a barely-leashed dragon.
He snapped on his helmet (visor tinted midnight), revved once, twice, then shot up the spiral ramp and out into the pre-dawn world. The hidden gate irised open at the edge of the abandoned mall parking lot, and suddenly he was tearing through empty city streets, wind screaming past him, salt air already teasing his nose as he aimed the bike north toward the open coast.
Behind him, the secret entrance sealed without a trace.
Ahead of him stretched an entire day of freedom, speed, and the dangerous kind of quiet that let a boy think about things he wasn't supposed to want.
Riven grinned into the wind, twisted the throttle harder, and disappeared into the rising sun.