#WritcoStoryChallenge
The setting was perfect. Candlelight, polished cutlery and a single rose set in a delicate vase at each table.

Malcolm was nervous. It had been many years since he had entertained such a beautiful woman. And a virgin at that. His mouth was watering with excitement.

Suddenly, a knock at the door. It sent a lurch through his stomach, and down into his abdomen and beyond. He was hungry alright. She would satisfy him perfectly.

He went to the door and swung it open, and there she stood. Red hair. Long legs. White skin. All completed perfectly by the grace of a long, flowing, floral dress with golden seams. She was a proper lady, with not a hint of cleavage showing.

'M'lady' Malcolm greeted, with a warm, close-mouthed smile. She looked at him, dark eyes moving behind long, black lashes, in a mixture of amusement and excitement. She extended her hand.

Malcolm took it. Bringing it to his lips like a knight of the old ways, and lingering there for just a second longer than necessary. Each move now was a strategy, and they were the opponents, dancing this game. This war of lusts and passion.

He removed his mouth, standing straight and extending his arm in toward the candle lit room.

'Welcome to my humble homestead' he beckoned her to enter. And she did, almost floating along the floor as she made her way into the dimly lit room. Malcolm couldn't help but stare at her wavy hips, and enchanting feminine movements.

'Would my lady like to sit?' he asked her, glancing at a chair already pulled out for her to sit. She sat, elegantly. Perfectly. Her dress moved around her legs like it was part of her skin.

He moved behind her and pushed the chair toward the table, slowly. Effortlessly. She gasped in wonder at his strength.

'Would my lady like a drink?'. She inclined her head, a soft nod, as she gave her approval, lips parted slightly in the hint of a smile.

Malcolm uncorked the red liquid he had left aside especially for this occasion, and poured her a small shot just to taste. He handed her the glass, and she took it, rolling the liquid around slowly, as though to hear it's vintage. Then she raised the glass to her pink lips, and swallowed the liquid.

As soon as she did, a surprised look masked her face. Then fear. Then her eyes closed, and she fell from the chair onto the floor, unconscious.

Malcolm stood in place, looking at this woman for a long time. He studied each part of her body from her head, to her breasts, to her feet. She was the perfect specimen.

He lowered himself to his knees, and moved his face closer to hers. Her breath was warm, and sweet. He was very tempted to do more lustful things to this unconscious female. It was a shame really. Such a fine woman, from a fine breed of humans. But Malcolm was hungry.

He looked to her neck, opened his mouth, and in one movement, drove his fangs into her exposed jugular. She would never even know how she died.

It was a shame, to be honest. After Malcolm finished, he regretted it. Not the blood. Or the death. No, he relished those things.

No. Malcolm regretted not asking her name before he drank. But, too late now.

He clapped his hands, and a deformed humanoid creature entered from the shadows. It scooped up the dead body in one movement and moved backward to where it had come from.

Malcolm lay on his bed, falling asleep to the loud noise of ripping meat, and satisfied chewing.