Ariadne and the Flaming Torch : The Quest
Chapter 3
Book 1: The Quest
Chapter 3
________
The irritable faerie watched as the flames danced with life. There was a smugness radiating from her; she loved this! The heat from the fire warmed her to her very ethereal soul. This was the part she loved the most - the dramatic ending. She lived for drama and thrived on it. She had read several thousands of plays written by both old and young writers. Her favorites were the works by Sidney Sheldon, Dan Brown and John Grisham. She was an avid worshiper of Shakespeare and tried to incorporate drama into every aspect of her life. She liked the darker things of life and often felt herself moved with the words of the literary geniuses whom she loved. Murder, rape, deception, cons, lies, deceit, twisted love, revenge, all of it; she loved it with a passion. It was her life and she loved her job because she could incorporate her beloved drama into her assignments.
She was standing in his room, beside his bed, gazing over his unconscious form and slowly whispering loving phrases into his ear. She thanked him, saying she had a lot of fun but no matter how much fun you had it always had to end. That was her favorite quotation; she just loved its implication - the fact that all things must come to an end. She thought it suitable for the situation. And so she used it for, after all, she was ending something precious.
She sighed and kissed his lips one last time, just for the fun of it! Then she got up from her kneeling position and looked around the room, once again feeling a smug satisfaction at the fact that she could stage a masterpiece like this; it looked like it came out from a horror movie! The furniture around the room was in a garbled mess - the side-table was broken, the lamp that once stood on top of it lying desolately in some corner of the room; the walls had scratches marking them, made by her sharpened fingernails as she fought to catch her breath , with the paint roughly peeled; traces of blood were splattered across the floor, the curtains ripped to shreds and the light bulbs reduced to broken glass which littered the floor; and now with the fire that danced wildly, it looked like a masterpiece! A bloody nightmare! The only contradicting fact was that the mess wasn't made due to a night of torture; in fact it was the completely opposite. It was the lamentation of a wonderful night filled with pleasure and passion.
She had met him at a bar and was filled with an exited pleasure at the fact that he had been so easy to find! He had been her next assignment; a one million dollar bounty was on his head and she simply couldn't refuse. Her lovely ethereal body and magnificent face had brought him to her, not to mention the fire red and golden translucent wings on her back were an awesome sight to behold; add her mischievous aura to it and you've got a sex bomb. She had mesmerized him and it didn't take long for him to get her into his bed...or that was what he thought. She had been extremely careful about this meeting and had dressed in her best clothes - by best she means sultry - and was extremely smug when he had asked her to come back to his apartment.
He was a silly lycan; a naive child who had had the audacity to steal the noble's wife's jewelry. He was going to be easy, she had thought and it turned out that her prediction had been correct. She had happily gone back to his house while still keeping a weary look-out for any kind of danger - you can never be too prepared - and had willingly gone with him to bed. He was good-looking, she had to admit that. All myths had to be in order to fool their pray into trusting them; this had been the case with her - she had fooled him with her appearance and mysterious aura. They had made rough, passionate love that night, though the term "making love" wasn't really correct; to her it was just sex - she was just setting up her stage and having sex with him just before she killed him was a bold statement to drama. The result of their night was the room; though people would assume that it was formed due to torture.
She loved to know what the people thought! After all, that was why she was going through all of this in the first place! People and their assumptions! She felt filled with glee at the thoughts of what the townsfolk would say! She smirked mischievously before roughly shaking him. He jerked awake and at first seemed a bit disoriented as he looked around, before realization finally hit him. He looked at her, his mouth gaping and eyes wide with terror. What had he gotten himself into! He knew he never should have stolen those jewels! Now they had sent the Crimson Killer after him! Bloody hell!
He knew he only had one chance to try to get out of this alive and he took it; he bolted from the bed and out the door as fast as he could. Halfway down the stairs leading to the first floor of his apartment building, he sifted. Or at least tried to. 'What happened to my shifting?', he thought with dismay. The answer immediately came to his mind. It was her! She was responsible for this! He cursed his own stupidity. He had, in the heat of their orgasm, bit her and taken into him a portion of her blood. Faerie blood neutralized all other powers; it was their defense mechanism and the reason why vampires never dared to attack them. He shouted in frustration and headed towards the door.
Meanwhile, upstairs, the faerie lovingly called 'The Crimson Killer' by her fans heard his roar of dismay and smirked to herself, shaking her head to herself in blatant amusement. She felt herself get ready for the chase, it was another one of her favorites; the adrenalin pumping through her veins, making her four times as fast as she normally was; the pure concentration she had as she focused upon her prey, her kill. She slowly floated down out the door, past the hallway and onto the stairs, all the while never touching the ground, her wings providing leverage for her. She was as silent as death itself. She was his death.
Downstairs, he continuously banged himself against the door, hoping against all odds and begging and praying to the God he never believed in, for it to open. It was his last and only chance - perhaps when he was outside he'd be able to get help from others - but the damned thing wouldn't open. He roared out a curse, his voice echoing through the blazing room and as the heat escalated he realized something; the fire was spreading fast. She banged on the door one last time with all of his strength and for a second it shook and he dared himself to hope, watching with wide eyes as it rattled violently against it's bonds...before inevitably coming to a halt. He felt despair wash over him and he lost all hope; he was going to die.
"It won't work, you know. I re-enforced it myself. Strongest protection there is. Nothing can come in. And nothing can get out." her seductive voice sand from behind him, purring out the last word and he whirled around. Only to face the angel that would destroy him. She walked towards him with a sultry grace and he felt ashamed at his own stupidity. He had fallen for it and now he was going to pay. Her hand started glowing as a ball of white hot fire appeared from it and swallowed her hand up. He was about to ask her why when she spoke, as if reading his mind.
"Naive young fool; you shouldn't have committed the crime. What has the Noble Constantine done to you? Nothing! He, as a matter of fact, has helped you out."
He felt confused as him listened to her and she answered his unspoken question; How?
"He paid for the orphanage you grew up in. He saved all those children. And you stole from his house. The one decent noble there is in this land, and you had to go after him! You couldn't go after all the other retards. No! You had to go after the good one. If you had stolen from the other idiotic nobles, then I probably would have had a shred of respect for. But, no, I don't. But still, I'm not a cruel person and I'm going to try and make this easier for you. Just don't move."
Her request seemed odd to him. Of course he would move; he would fight for his life! He wouldn't be the scared pussy who begged for his life, nor would he be the calm, accepting one who would welcome death with open arms. No, he would be the warrior who fought. And fought, he did. He charged at her, running at full speed and gave a roar of determination as he flung himself at her.
She watched, irritated, as the young lycan flung himself at her, roaring with pride and determination. She was bored now and just wanted to go home. She didn't want to be cruel with the kid!
'What is it men and their pride?' she thought, thoroughly vexed, 'I offer them an easy and painless death as opposed to one of pain and which one does the idiot choose? The hard one! Men are such stupid creatures.'
Yet she still had it in her to feel impressed by the raw determination with which the young warrior charged. She admired bravery, even though she was thoroughly annoyed with it. She shook her head with disapproval and easily side-stepped him. As she flung her flaming hand at him, she resolved she would let him die painlessly. After all, that would be the dramatic thing to do! Her hand burst through his heart, instantly killing him and splashing her with blood and gore. She frowned in disgust and brought her hand out from the cavity where his heart once lay, the heart she had burned...literally. She disgustedly shook of the contents from her hand, wiping her hand across the fabric of the sofa that was nearest to her. She looked back down at his body and noticed the way his sightless eyes looked at her. She would have to add this new nightmare to her already growing list.
She shook her head, closed her eyes and breathed in deeply before she let out a sigh. She looked at the body and snapped her fingers. The body of the broken boy before her immediately burst into flames, saturating the air with the putrid smell of death and rotting flesh. She felt lonely at the fact that she had killed again but felt pleased with the theatrics of it all. She slowly walked towards the door, offering a prayer to her Goddess and begging for her to lead the soul of the young lycan back to her warm bosom. She opened the door and walked across the threshold and over the porch as she waved her hand behind her, lighting the house with a magnificent fire which would surely bring it down to its proverbial knees and burn the existence of the dead man who rested within it.
As she walked across the street, she brought out her cell phone, dialing a number. It was the number of a friend who would always be there for her and love her for who she was, death and gore and all. The dialing tone ended and the faerie named Repeat spoke, "Ariadne, I need a ride."
Chapter 3
________
The irritable faerie watched as the flames danced with life. There was a smugness radiating from her; she loved this! The heat from the fire warmed her to her very ethereal soul. This was the part she loved the most - the dramatic ending. She lived for drama and thrived on it. She had read several thousands of plays written by both old and young writers. Her favorites were the works by Sidney Sheldon, Dan Brown and John Grisham. She was an avid worshiper of Shakespeare and tried to incorporate drama into every aspect of her life. She liked the darker things of life and often felt herself moved with the words of the literary geniuses whom she loved. Murder, rape, deception, cons, lies, deceit, twisted love, revenge, all of it; she loved it with a passion. It was her life and she loved her job because she could incorporate her beloved drama into her assignments.
She was standing in his room, beside his bed, gazing over his unconscious form and slowly whispering loving phrases into his ear. She thanked him, saying she had a lot of fun but no matter how much fun you had it always had to end. That was her favorite quotation; she just loved its implication - the fact that all things must come to an end. She thought it suitable for the situation. And so she used it for, after all, she was ending something precious.
She sighed and kissed his lips one last time, just for the fun of it! Then she got up from her kneeling position and looked around the room, once again feeling a smug satisfaction at the fact that she could stage a masterpiece like this; it looked like it came out from a horror movie! The furniture around the room was in a garbled mess - the side-table was broken, the lamp that once stood on top of it lying desolately in some corner of the room; the walls had scratches marking them, made by her sharpened fingernails as she fought to catch her breath , with the paint roughly peeled; traces of blood were splattered across the floor, the curtains ripped to shreds and the light bulbs reduced to broken glass which littered the floor; and now with the fire that danced wildly, it looked like a masterpiece! A bloody nightmare! The only contradicting fact was that the mess wasn't made due to a night of torture; in fact it was the completely opposite. It was the lamentation of a wonderful night filled with pleasure and passion.
She had met him at a bar and was filled with an exited pleasure at the fact that he had been so easy to find! He had been her next assignment; a one million dollar bounty was on his head and she simply couldn't refuse. Her lovely ethereal body and magnificent face had brought him to her, not to mention the fire red and golden translucent wings on her back were an awesome sight to behold; add her mischievous aura to it and you've got a sex bomb. She had mesmerized him and it didn't take long for him to get her into his bed...or that was what he thought. She had been extremely careful about this meeting and had dressed in her best clothes - by best she means sultry - and was extremely smug when he had asked her to come back to his apartment.
He was a silly lycan; a naive child who had had the audacity to steal the noble's wife's jewelry. He was going to be easy, she had thought and it turned out that her prediction had been correct. She had happily gone back to his house while still keeping a weary look-out for any kind of danger - you can never be too prepared - and had willingly gone with him to bed. He was good-looking, she had to admit that. All myths had to be in order to fool their pray into trusting them; this had been the case with her - she had fooled him with her appearance and mysterious aura. They had made rough, passionate love that night, though the term "making love" wasn't really correct; to her it was just sex - she was just setting up her stage and having sex with him just before she killed him was a bold statement to drama. The result of their night was the room; though people would assume that it was formed due to torture.
She loved to know what the people thought! After all, that was why she was going through all of this in the first place! People and their assumptions! She felt filled with glee at the thoughts of what the townsfolk would say! She smirked mischievously before roughly shaking him. He jerked awake and at first seemed a bit disoriented as he looked around, before realization finally hit him. He looked at her, his mouth gaping and eyes wide with terror. What had he gotten himself into! He knew he never should have stolen those jewels! Now they had sent the Crimson Killer after him! Bloody hell!
He knew he only had one chance to try to get out of this alive and he took it; he bolted from the bed and out the door as fast as he could. Halfway down the stairs leading to the first floor of his apartment building, he sifted. Or at least tried to. 'What happened to my shifting?', he thought with dismay. The answer immediately came to his mind. It was her! She was responsible for this! He cursed his own stupidity. He had, in the heat of their orgasm, bit her and taken into him a portion of her blood. Faerie blood neutralized all other powers; it was their defense mechanism and the reason why vampires never dared to attack them. He shouted in frustration and headed towards the door.
Meanwhile, upstairs, the faerie lovingly called 'The Crimson Killer' by her fans heard his roar of dismay and smirked to herself, shaking her head to herself in blatant amusement. She felt herself get ready for the chase, it was another one of her favorites; the adrenalin pumping through her veins, making her four times as fast as she normally was; the pure concentration she had as she focused upon her prey, her kill. She slowly floated down out the door, past the hallway and onto the stairs, all the while never touching the ground, her wings providing leverage for her. She was as silent as death itself. She was his death.
Downstairs, he continuously banged himself against the door, hoping against all odds and begging and praying to the God he never believed in, for it to open. It was his last and only chance - perhaps when he was outside he'd be able to get help from others - but the damned thing wouldn't open. He roared out a curse, his voice echoing through the blazing room and as the heat escalated he realized something; the fire was spreading fast. She banged on the door one last time with all of his strength and for a second it shook and he dared himself to hope, watching with wide eyes as it rattled violently against it's bonds...before inevitably coming to a halt. He felt despair wash over him and he lost all hope; he was going to die.
"It won't work, you know. I re-enforced it myself. Strongest protection there is. Nothing can come in. And nothing can get out." her seductive voice sand from behind him, purring out the last word and he whirled around. Only to face the angel that would destroy him. She walked towards him with a sultry grace and he felt ashamed at his own stupidity. He had fallen for it and now he was going to pay. Her hand started glowing as a ball of white hot fire appeared from it and swallowed her hand up. He was about to ask her why when she spoke, as if reading his mind.
"Naive young fool; you shouldn't have committed the crime. What has the Noble Constantine done to you? Nothing! He, as a matter of fact, has helped you out."
He felt confused as him listened to her and she answered his unspoken question; How?
"He paid for the orphanage you grew up in. He saved all those children. And you stole from his house. The one decent noble there is in this land, and you had to go after him! You couldn't go after all the other retards. No! You had to go after the good one. If you had stolen from the other idiotic nobles, then I probably would have had a shred of respect for. But, no, I don't. But still, I'm not a cruel person and I'm going to try and make this easier for you. Just don't move."
Her request seemed odd to him. Of course he would move; he would fight for his life! He wouldn't be the scared pussy who begged for his life, nor would he be the calm, accepting one who would welcome death with open arms. No, he would be the warrior who fought. And fought, he did. He charged at her, running at full speed and gave a roar of determination as he flung himself at her.
She watched, irritated, as the young lycan flung himself at her, roaring with pride and determination. She was bored now and just wanted to go home. She didn't want to be cruel with the kid!
'What is it men and their pride?' she thought, thoroughly vexed, 'I offer them an easy and painless death as opposed to one of pain and which one does the idiot choose? The hard one! Men are such stupid creatures.'
Yet she still had it in her to feel impressed by the raw determination with which the young warrior charged. She admired bravery, even though she was thoroughly annoyed with it. She shook her head with disapproval and easily side-stepped him. As she flung her flaming hand at him, she resolved she would let him die painlessly. After all, that would be the dramatic thing to do! Her hand burst through his heart, instantly killing him and splashing her with blood and gore. She frowned in disgust and brought her hand out from the cavity where his heart once lay, the heart she had burned...literally. She disgustedly shook of the contents from her hand, wiping her hand across the fabric of the sofa that was nearest to her. She looked back down at his body and noticed the way his sightless eyes looked at her. She would have to add this new nightmare to her already growing list.
She shook her head, closed her eyes and breathed in deeply before she let out a sigh. She looked at the body and snapped her fingers. The body of the broken boy before her immediately burst into flames, saturating the air with the putrid smell of death and rotting flesh. She felt lonely at the fact that she had killed again but felt pleased with the theatrics of it all. She slowly walked towards the door, offering a prayer to her Goddess and begging for her to lead the soul of the young lycan back to her warm bosom. She opened the door and walked across the threshold and over the porch as she waved her hand behind her, lighting the house with a magnificent fire which would surely bring it down to its proverbial knees and burn the existence of the dead man who rested within it.
As she walked across the street, she brought out her cell phone, dialing a number. It was the number of a friend who would always be there for her and love her for who she was, death and gore and all. The dialing tone ended and the faerie named Repeat spoke, "Ariadne, I need a ride."