Death Puss In Boots Novels & Stories

Standing at the edge of the pit above me. Not paws. Not claws. Moccasins. Leather boots, worn and weathered, too large to be Kira's. Someone else was waiting. Someone who knew I'd come. The boots step closer to the edge. I try to focus, try to see the face, but my vision is swimming. Rose snarls, trying to force my body to move— But the world tilts. The moccasins blur. And then there's nothing but blackness.

For fuck’s sake. Bloody lovesick pups. I roll my eyes as I move with purpose. A wave of my hand as the clothes I’m wearing change. Black leather skin-tight pants and a black vest top, with my black thigh high platform boots with little spike details on them. How I love these boots. Pulling my hair up into a high ponytail. I hear groans come from behind me and I chuckle at them, horny wolves. I change my attitude as I enter the prison.

Waking I rub my eyes, I’m still in the boot. I guess the benefit from this is I get to sleep, I don’t have to cook and clean after everyone, the downside is my body hurts so damn much. I need to stretch but there isn’t space. I hear voices and get ready; I don’t know what to expect. Dean will be pissed, so I don’t know what he will do. The boot opens, the sun burning my eyes, and I feel someone pull me out, dragging me into the house.

My boots crunch over the brittle twigs as I walk and try to locate the exact spot Xylus and the rest were. The stench of blood hits first. My chest grips with the thought of what I’m about to see. "Dominic?" Xylus calls out as my boots rustle with the dry leaves and branches. "Almost there." I respond to him sharply as I clear the path, and there they are. Xylus and two other warriors, and the dead one laying on the floor. His chest is ripped wide open, ribs cracked apart, his heart completely gone. My hands curl into fists at my sides.

Her expression was practically gloating. Without saying a word, I grabbed my suitcase and turned to leave. However, Dad stopped me. "Wait. You can stay but on one condition." He continued, "You're already 30 years old and still single. Mr. Strom is a good man. I've already accepted his money, so get ready." I couldn't help but laugh, though I was more annoyed than anything. "You mean Mason Strom, the 52-year-old with a limp, who drinks, gambles, and is a total womanizer? That's your idea of a 'good man'?"

When she lifts her head, a pair of polished black shoes came in her view. Leftover of a cigarette butt landed beside her fingers. On her instinct she moved her fingers a bit back. The person lifted one of his shiny boots up and pressed on the cigarette butt. Crushing under his foot. Gradually her pain-filled green eyes travelled up all the way through the long legs and her breath stuck when she saw the vicious face of the devil. Like that the scene how brutally he slayed those men flashed in front of her eyes. For a moment Ana felt like she was dreaming a cruel dream and its one of her nightmares.

The breakfast was hot coffee and pancake just perfect for the morning, I rushed it and then went back to putting on my clothes, I put on the black leather pants, and the next was the crop top, and finally the leather jacket, I unboxed the last box and it was a shining leather boot just like my clothe, putting it on I can't help but to think that I look like those mafia’s wife on the tv series, It came with black sunglasses and then a black Versace handbag, I packed my hair in a ponytail and threw on my sunglasses and lastly, I picked my new baby….the key to my new ride, we are about to shock some asses. I left the room. Walking down the stairs the boot was making sound, which caught my older

Jo fired again, turning the would-be matronly murderer into black char. The other guy was down but not out. He lay groaning on the ground, holding his shoulder. “Damn, I missed,” Jo muttered, placing her thick black boot on his neck and ignoring his pleas as she fired into his head. “Not this time,” she said as the sole of her boot thunked on the dingy, off-white linoleum, skidding in the pile of ash that occupied what used to be the outline of the Vampire.

I looked out the shattered side window, the forest floor a dizzying tilt of brown and green. Then I heard the crunching sound of footsteps on dry grass. I froze, my heart leaping into my throat. They were here. Through the haze of smoke and dust, I saw them. Four men, moving with slow, predatory confidence toward the wreckage. Then, I saw the boots, they were heavy, steel-toed combat boots, the leather scarred and reinforced with strange, rusted metal plating around the ankles. There was a specific notch on the heel of the lead man’s boot, a detail that sent a jolt of paralyzing shock through my veins as I recognised it immediately.

I jump half out of my pants when I turn from the door and see Boot standing in my room partially hidden in the shadows. "What are you doing here?" From his expression it's something bad. "My son is missing. He talks about killing hellhounds all the time. His plastic knife is missing along with his bicycle." Fear seizes me. Hellhounds are the creatures of my nightmares, and the terror I feel at even the thought of being near them almost takes me to my knees. "He would go out alone to find them?"