Art Book Resident Evil Novels & Stories

She pulled it out, sneezed once as dust motes tickled her nostrils, and lowered the book on the coffee table. The title was written in cursive gold letters, 'The Art Of The Body'. Clearly out of curiosity, she opened to the middle of the book, and her eyes nearly popped out in pure mortification. The book contained explicit diagrams of men and women in different, erotic, sexual poses.

She pointed at her and declared sternly, “DaraSmith, I just did a full inventory. The Carters’s medicine is indeed missing! And the missing items match exactly with what’s in your bundle! What do you have to say now?!” ***

The dust from the ancient stone wall settled onto my damp, sweat-sheened skin. Every muscle in my body felt heavy, vibrating with the residual aftershocks of the frantic, possessive encounter that had just wrecked us against the bones of the dead. But as my eyes stayed locked on the weathered bas-relief—on the black crescent moon and the names Arturus and Viviana—the post-coital warmth evaporated, replaced by a skin-crawling dread. Arthur stood rigid beside me. He had already buckled his tactical vest back over his chest, his matte-black rifle raised, but his hands were trembling. The silver light from his flashlight illuminated the ancient carvings, making the letters bleed shadows.