Red Lips (fm:sci-fi/fantasy, 6646 words)
|Added: Jun 16 2013||Views / Reads: 1842 / 985 [53%]||Story vote: 9.55 (11 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...|
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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