Scarlet Letter Ch 19 Novels & Stories

Sin Frostfire Solutions Carla stood before me in six-inch high stilettos, her pale face containing a bit of shine. Her lips were a deep red, complemented by the blood red dress she was wearing. As beautiful as she turned out in her vampiric form, I still couldn’t get my mind off how Scarlet was humping Jerk in the college grounds. Carla’s lips were moving as she gestured with her hands. But I wasn’t listening. Although I was elated to see her, it was difficult to erase the picture of Scarlet and another man in my mind. Even when I knew there was little I could do to change the situation.

And I didn’t want out. END OF CHAPTER 19

There’d be a lot of questioning—and she didn’t have any answers. Scarlet finally reached the end of what felt like the longest hall in the school, came to the last door, and grabbed the knob. She braced herself and took a deep breath, clutching her books in one hand, and opened it. “The algorithm for a triangle that does not exceed—”

Hungry roared in my gut, like a beast demanding its next meal and I would feed it the blood of my enemies. Opening the door I let myself in, everything was exactly as I remember it, even the flowers on the small round table had not changed. Red and white tulips, their sweet scent filled the air like never before. I guest I was sensitive to scent as well as sounds. The discovery brought both joy and distraction. Focus, Scarlet. Deciding to save the Mayor for last, I made for the stairs in search of Melanie and her mother, finding them in Mrs Redford’s room, with the latter weeping uncontrollably and Melanie dry eyed and trying to calm her.

My heart quickened as the sound drew nearer, anticipation mingling with fear. Then, Scarlet emerged, her expression blank and unreadable. I held her gaze, searching for any flicker of humanity in those eyes, but found none. Before I could plead with her, reason with her, she silenced me with a single, disdainful glance. "Scarlet, think about what you're doing. You don't—" My words faltered, swallowed by her interruption, by the weight of her disregard.

The people continued to cheer him, chanting his name from every corner of the field. Scarlett settled down, closing her eyes. By the time she opened them again, they were staring intently at Caliban's legs. They were studying his movements, and registering every move they made. Even when Caliban charged at her again, Scarlett stood still, her eyes still on his feet. Before the young man could raise his sword on her, Scarlett swayed her sword to the left side, and it caught Caliban right in his ribcage, sending him crashing to the ground with a heavy loud thud.

There, the pin was firmly attached to her waist line. “Scarlet really needs to work on this. This could have given me an injury!” She said to herself, Scarlett was her Kenyan designer. As she removed the pin, the door opened all of a sudden and she immediately covered herself with the cloth. “Ichabod! What do you think you are doing?” ** “Oh dear Lord!” Ichabod shouted and slammed the door immediately. What the hell was that? Thank goodness he hadn’t seen her nakedness. That would have cost him his job for sure.

————————— Scarlet stood before the mirror, gazing at her own reflection. All she could see is a misearable girl with a quest for blood In her hands; revenge. Her head was stitch. She was wearing the same flat gown she was wearing when she left Dennis mansion. She's already set to go back to the Dennis Massion. Just as she turned to leave, her door opened and Queen walked in. "Scarlet" she ran to hug scarlet but scarlet was too numb to hug her back.

The morning after the "marking" felt different. The air in the Sanctuary’s narrow suite was no longer just heavy with incense; it was charged with a restless, crackling energy that made the hair on Scarlett’s arms stand up. The fake mark on Caleb’s neck—a faint, silver-crimson tracing of her blood—seemed to pulse in time with her own heartbeat.

The fir scent in the air grew stronger, accompanied by a heavy, dangerous presence. I felt a hot, cold gaze locked on me. Then, a cold, rough finger slowly traced my neck. The finger moved down my collarbone, a sign of deadly danger. I snapped my eyes open. In the moonlight, a handsome face was hovering above me. Caspian was wearing a half-open black shirt, the muscles of his chest faintly visible. He was looking down at me. "Ah—!" I gasped, instinctively trying to back away, but I was already at the edge of the bed.