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Red Lipsthis story is part of the FanClub (fm:sci-fi/fantasy, 6646 words)
Author: Mark914 Picture in profileAdded: Jun 16 2013Views/Reads: 1835/984 [54%]Story vote: 9.58 (12 votes)
You know she is evil. You know it is dangerous just to be alone with her. But when your friends and neighbors start to disappear, you rise up, summon your courage and face her devastating seductiveness...

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Red Lips 

He walked down the dark stone corridor of the castle's underground
chambers. The torch in his hand was his only light source. The air was 
cold and damp. He shivered from the cold and his fear. He had to find 
her and kill her before the sun had set. He had barely an hour before 
it set now. 

He came upon the massive wooden and iron door. It was locked from the
inside. He knew that her rest chamber must be on the other side. He 
drew a heavy steel chisel from his belt and drove it into the wood 
around the lock with the heavy hammer he carried. The wood was hard and 
it required a tremendous effort to break away just a small piece of the 
door. He had to work faster or he would be doomed. 

As he worked on the door, he remembered the first time he had seen her.
The dark mysterious woman was so beautiful. Her heavy black satin cloak 
that was trimmed with a slight stripe of red had hidden most of her 
from view. But those eyes and those lips were not hidden, such deep, 
dark, beautiful eyes. They stole a man's very soul as he looked at 
them. And then there was her mouth, those full, deep red, luscious 
lips. The way they pouted and begged to be kissed. It was no wonder no 
man had resisted her. 

The door of the inn swung open, her coachman holding it for her. She
flowed into the room, almost floating upon the dark mist that lay 
beyond the door. Never once did she move completely into the light, but 
even from the shadows it was deathly apparent that she was 
devastatingly beautiful.  The men in the room stared hungrily as she 
opened her cloak, drinking in her curvaceous figure along with their 
ale. Her eyes burned onto each of them from the looming darkness. Then 
a hand slipped from the folds along the side of her satin cloak. The 
hand extended to a pointing figure, aimed at his best friend. The 
finger slowly curled, drawing him back to her. She had said only, "Come 
to me," to his friend that night. His friend was absolutely powerless 
to resist. Even though his fiancé was across town, safe in her father's 
house, dreaming of her wedding day, which was only two weeks away, he 
had left with her a moment later amid catcalls from all the others 
about getting laid. They had departed with the dark coachman closing 
the door behind them. The rest of the men stayed behind, laughing and 

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