Consumed

The Marquis de Valmont strode down the narrow, cobbled street, his bootheels clocking on the worn, wet stones. Darkened homes stretched out before him on either side, their windows blind in the encompassing fog. The Marquis was tall, a bit over six feet, with shaggy brown hair, and eyes ice blue, as if he had eyes of drops of frozen Caribbean water. His great, black frock coat swung about him easily, hiding the scuffed and worn boots, but his head was uncovered, his feathered tricorner in hand. At last, he stopped before the two storied home of Lord and Lady LeMarchand.

His claws struck sparks against the door lintle at the sight of a lone lit candle in her bedroom window.

The door slowly opened, and a sleepy eyed maid peered out into the mist. At the sight of the Marquis, she became wide eyed and jittery. "Marquis de Valmont?" she hissed, her eyes darting, looking nervously behind the door, her hands twisting at her foolish lace cap. "He's with her, you know. You must leave!"

"I know." he sighed, grinning lopsidedly at the girl. "Now let me in."

"But...but..." the flushed girl stuttered. "I can't! It's...it's a trap, and he'll kill you! Skin you!" He grabbed her around the waist and swung her about until he was standing in the foyer, his face buried against the side of her neck. The raw scent of her was tantalizing, and his eyes bled yellow for a moment before he could contain himself.

"Do not worry yourself with me, little girl." he whispered into her ear, his tongue darting and making small strokes against her throat. She trembled, the thin fabric of her muslim night gown unable to hide her hardened nipples. "No one has caught me yet." With that, he snapped her neck cleanly, and pushed her cooling body out the door.

"Marie Claire!" He boomed. "I'm home!"

At the top of a sprawling staircase, in the shadowy recesses of the upper hall, stood Lord Renee LeMarchand, his long musket in hand. In the deep gloom of the house, even the sharp eyed Marquis was hardpressed to clearly see his old foe.

"So...Marquis de Valmont. You live up to your agreement, then?" LeMarchand mocked, never moving from the top of the stairs, never bringing the musket about.

"I am a Gentleman, Sir." the Marquis quipped. His eyes never left LeMarchand's shadowed form.

"You lie." With that, LeMarchand swung the rifle up and shot the Marquis, the minnie ball catching him squarely in the chest. Blood exploded from him in sheets, soaking the rug beneath him.

Won't be getting that clean, the Marquis fuzzily thought, as he fell heavily to the floor.

"Renee!" the Lady LeMarchand screeched, running down the stairs towards the fallen man. "How could you!" She grabbed the Marquis's sodden shirt and shood him. "Please, oh God, don't be dead. God, I beg you..."Blood soaked her lacy white gown and tinged the ends of her long braids. Renee wrapped his meaty hands in her red hair and yanked her off the floor.

"Whore!" he slapped her heavily, the meaty sound carrying throughout the house. "You didn't think I knew you were fucking him? Carrying on with him in my bed?" he punched her jaw, her head snapping back, flinging her down onto the gory rug. "You want to be a strumpet, bitch? Fine." He yanked the buttons open on his pants, pulling out an exceptionaly hard cock. As she lay in a semi-swoon on the floor, he ripped her expensive gown from the hem to the neck, exposing her silk pantaloons and bare, heavy breasts. Pulling a dagger from his belt, he ran the blade along her bare, pale leg, leaving a thin red line of pain behind. When he reached the crochetted trim of the pantaloons, he savagely ripped through the fabric with the sharp blade, the tearing like the hissing of a snake. "See how you like this, you stupid bitch." he whispered, unconciously stroking himself, staring at her exposed red thatched quim.

"I wouldn't touch the lady if I were you." A low, growling, grating voice came from behind LeMarchand. Renee tried to spin about, but the pants around his knees tangled him up, and he fell over. Yellow eyes were staring down at him from a great height.

With a swipe of his paw, the rust-colored Wolf ripped LeMarchand's head from its moorings, and blood showered the room as the body rippled and twitched, not really sure it was properly dead.

"Now you are a Widow." the Marquis growled at Claire as she stared in abject horror as her lover leaned over her, his furred haunches bunching up. He began licking the blood from her pale skin in long sweeping strokes of his tongue.

"What have you done?" she whispered, clearly in shock, her swollen face oozing tears. "Danforth! Help me!" Her cries for the butler went unanswered in the gloom of the house.

Claws swept over tender breasts, leaving red streaks in their wake. "Quiet, little girl. You whimper and whine now that you have what you wanted?" His tongue dipped lower, skimming her stomach.

"You...you...him..." words left Claire as the Beast's tongue circled her navel. LeMarchand's blood had soaked her long hair and had left arachic writings all over her skin.

"Finally, my Lady love, you are going to give me exactly what I want." His muzzle thrust between her legs, his tongue lapping at the blood that had dripped there. "No more begging for your favor." One claw tipped finger slipped into her surprisingly wet cunt. "Ahhhh...don't move." His cock had slipped from its sheath, glistening and already dripping.