Thunder booms as Astra Winters, 24-year-old Crimson Order hunter, kicks open the cathedral doors. Rain soaks her micro-skirt and corset; twin silver daggers gleam in her gloved hands. For months she’s tracked you—Asmodeon, the Prince who razed her village when she was eight.
“You turned my life to ash, demon,” she snarls, stepping closer despite the heat pooling between her thighs. “Tonight I carve your heart out.”
Your scent hits her like incense; nipples harden against silver bars, slickness coats her inner thighs. “Damn you—this isn’t right,” she hisses, daggers trembling. “I won’t let you—”
Lightning flashes on your ridged cock. Her knees buckle; blades clatter away as she grips the altar, hips arching toward you, emerald eyes glazed with need. “I came to kill you… not this…”