Predator and Prey Read online

  Predator and Prey

  by

  L. J. Maisen

  ****

  Kindle Edition, 3rd

  ****

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Predator and Prey

  COPYRIGHT  2011 by L. J. Maisen

  Published by Twenty or Less Press. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Twenty or Less Press.

  Visit us at twentyorlesspress.com

  Book Design by Michele Jensen

  Title Page Photo

  Swamp area  Mario Tomic / Dreamstime.com

  Butterfly  Caroline Hedges / Dreamstime.com

  ****

  Dedication

  To Chris, Iain, Sarah and Robert

  For your boundless love and support.

  ****

  A butterfly floated by on the warm, pine-scented breeze. In the clearing below, gnats danced, bathing in the golden rays of sunlight invading the twenty-foot opening in the dense forest canopy. Bees buzzed among the bushes dotting the undergrowth.

  Despite the abundance of tasty morsels decorating the air, no birds twittered in the branches above, swooped through the air or foraged along the forest floor. No small animals scurried across the discarded leaves and twigs of the ancient oaks and pines towering overhead. They knew when a predator was near.

  The dangerous creature slept through the day, oblivious to the mutilated body in the center of the clearing. Perhaps the blood of the large beast—which still lived though for how long was uncertain—was too fresh and needed to ripen. Or maybe the hunter had feasted recently and was too sated to explore the offering. No matter, the watcher would wait.

  He waited, marking every hour of waning light though he wore no watch. An hour before dusk, he retreated from his perch, a low branch hanging over the clearing. His movements were measured, his gaze fastened on the slumbering danger. He paused for long moments whenever the shadows shifted and watched for any signs of a full awakening. Only when none presented did he continue his slow descent from the ancient oak.

  Feet crushed leaves and acorns into the soft top-soil, but the song of crickets and cicadas covered the tell-tale crinkle. The watcher backed away from the clearing with slow, methodical steps, the toe of a boot testing the ground behind for obstacles before each foot fell. At all times, he eyed the bushes marking the creature’s haven.

  Five yards. Ten. Twenty. At fifty yards, he stopped. His prey still slept. He turned and hurried another hundred yards before stopping to relieve himself. Then he returned to an oak fifty yards from the clearing. Though its trunk was two feet in diameter, it was a babe compared to the one he had hidden in all day.

  He retrieved a pack from the hollow. Leaving the bag at the base of the tree, he stretched, though he kept his gaze locked on the beast’s lair. Cramped muscles protested. Joints popped. But finally, the tension from a day’s inactivity eased and only the tension of the wait remained.

  He squatted and opened the plastic buckles holding the pack’s flap closed. A quick tug and the drawstring hiding the satchel’s contents spread to reveal its bounty—a handful of food packets and six bottled waters. He withdrew a packet heedless of its ingredients. They all tasted like sawdust. He unwrapped the food and consumed the sandwich-like contents. A grimace of disgust marred his face as he grabbed a bottle of water and twisted its cap off. A few gulps washed away the dryness left in the food’s wake.

  He replaced the empty wrapper and bottle in the pack, tugged the drawstrings and snapped the buckles in place. Then he secreted the bundle back in the tree. Crossing his arms, he propped himself against the sturdy tree trunk, ignoring the faint bite of rough bark through the heavy corduroy of his jacket and waited.

  Despite the relaxed pose, tension held his muscles taut, ready for action. The light between dusk and the rise of the full moon was too uncertain at this distance to make out whether or not the creature moved. He’d rather lose the opportunity to kill the beast than die from carelessness.

  Finally, moonlight illuminated the clearing, where the bloody carcass lay untouched by even the usual night scavengers. They, too, knew when a predator was nearby.

  He shoved off the tree and with cautious steps made his way back to the ancient oak. At the base of the tree, he halted. Darkness shifted among the shadows.

  No time to return to his perch. He crouched and waited in the cover of the bushes shielding the base of the tree trunk from the clearing.

  Seconds, measured by slow, steady breaths designed to calm, passed. Cold, black malevolence crept from the undergrowth across the clearing by infinitesimal degrees. The rise and fall of his chest timed the minutes and then hours as they elapsed.

  The dim rays of dawn replaced the inkiness of night. The brightness of the noon sun eclipsed the dawn, but still no light penetrated the malignant onyx shadows stretching from the creature’s lair. The shadows should not have been; they should have retreated from the shining orb above. But the monster did not shy from the daylight.

  The watcher waited, waited and watched as the vicious entity eked its slow way along. His body, held tense for so long, protested. A cramp settled deep into the muscles of his left thigh. He dug his elbow into the ache and with a slight shift, added the weight of his upper body to the pressure. Pain radiated from the spot, but he refused to relent until the sharp cramp receded, leaving only a dull throb in its place.

  The afternoon sun waned into the orange glow of sunset and then the grey blues of twilight until, once again, night ruled. His stomach rumbled, but he dared not reach into his pocket for the protein bar. Even if the creature didn’t hear the movement, it would hear the opening of the package.

  The moon held no sway on this night; its light reflected heavenward by dense clouds blown in by the westerly winds of the evening. An itch tickled the back of the watcher’s neck, but despite the universal truth that ignoring an itch will only amplify the feeling until it becomes unbearable, he didn’t move.

  Maybe the universe took pity upon the silent watcher, or perhaps it chose to reward his patience. A moth alighted on the annoyingly prickly spot and proceeded to flutter its wings until the flapping wings changed from a soothing scratch to a gentle tickle. Annoyance replaced the watcher’s relief, but still he did not move. It was not yet time.

  Perhaps sensing the watcher’s desire to smash it into oblivion, the moth took flight once again—its path unknown, hidden by the night.

  Unaware of the watcher’s plight, the darkness crept on, intent upon reaching its prey. Still, the watcher waited, waited and watched.

  The night waxed onward until the landscape was so black only the gaze of an owl or the sonar of a bat could discern shapes and movements. As the darkness waned, the watcher discerned a change. New shadows stretched their tendrils to join those of the malevolent entity. But still the watcher did not move.

  As the sun once again breached the horizon and spilled its rays onto the landscape, the nubilous creature reached its goal. Its victim opened its mouth in a scream, but no sound emerged. Not surprising since the watcher had taken care to remove its vocal chords. A surge of satisfaction infused the watcher’s body. The victim had been so easy to capture and subdue. He observed without pity as the shadows attacked from all sides, consuming the prey a small fraction at a time.

  Overhead, the sun reached its apex and started its descent until it once again fell below the horizon. When night was in full bloom, only the naked torso of the victim rema
ined to glisten under the light of the bright moon, unshrouded this night by any clouds. Tonight, in addition to the fragrance of pine, the westerly wind brought the sweet smell of jasmine mixed with the odor of rotting vegetation from the nearby swamps.

  As dawn broke once more, shadows covered the area where the victim had lain. Finally, the watcher stood. His first steps were tentative, marked by protesting muscles. As the aches eased, he strode with confidence and an unhurried pace toward the entity, which sated on its meal, lay dormant. He stopped when the toes of his well-worn boots kicked dirt onto the dark spot, which responded by reaching out a sluggish tendril. He shuffled a few steps back. The shadow’s exploratory pokes were shallow and lazy, testing a mere two directions until melting back into the impossible dark mass.

  With more care, he inched forward and squatted to examine the black tumble of shadows. His hand twitched as he fought the desire to reach out and touch the form. His fascination with the heartless entity warred with the instinct for self-preservation. He longed to absorb the malevolence, certain it would make him a stronger predator.

  Maybe the universe sought to appease his curiosity, or perhaps it chose to punish his indifference toward the fate of his victim, but a buzzing sound was all the warning the watcher received before he was enveloped in a black cloud. The sting of hundreds of tiny needles pricked the exposed skin of his face, neck and hands.

  Following the universal truth that predators do not want to be the prey, the watcher flailed as he fought off the blood-sucking insects. He stumbled to his feet, brushing at the greedy buggers drinking his blood. Dozens died. Blood and other fluids oozed along his skin. The whir of frenzy filled his ears as the remaining bugs fought for seats at the feast.

  Anger heated his blood and increased his heart rate, the beat adding a steady bass to the high-pitched whine in his ears. He hated to retreat, but the bugs carried toxins. A single bite or even a few wouldn’t do much harm, but dozens would paralyze. He needed to submerse himself in water. The nearby swamp beckoned.

  He lifted his foot, but found it firmly stuck. He yanked and tugged against the force restraining him. The insects withdrew, leaving him with an unobstructed view of the substance holding his extremity mired. Shadows made their slow way along the ridge of his boots.

  For the first time, the watcher experienced fear. The more he struggled, the faster the darkness swallowed his shoe. He reached down to unlace the combat boot and free his foot—though he would gladly sacrifice the appendage to escape the advancing malignance if need be.

  A third universal truth made itself known. No matter how smart a predator is, there is always a smarter predator searching for the ultimate prey. Shadows erupted from every direction and sucked the watcher down into the pool of blackness.

  The watcher opened his mouth to scream his frustration, his anger at the deceit. This was no plodding creature! But no sound emerged as blackness rushed to fill the void.

  In moments, part of the watcher’s dream was realized as he and the dark entity became one. For a brief second, the shadows grew as the watcher’s poisoned spirit integrated itself with the creature, but then they retreated and the area left behind brightened.

  A butterfly floated by on the breeze.

  ****

  Blood Sword by L. J. Maisen

  Coming March 30th

  His Oath...

  My loyalty and sword to Rhaetia are true.

  I lend my wit and might in fealty to you.

  Neither through words, nor actions and deeds,

  will I dishonor thee.

  His Quest...

  One by one, the heirs to the Rhaetian throne have fallen, and now the future of the kingdom rests on the champion of the realm—the Blood Sword—finding the missing daughter of the king—the Lost Princess.

  Blood Sword

  On the island nation of Xa’aia, the Blood Sword is enslaved as a gladiator and forced to fight to entertain the masses. However, to continue the search for the Lost Princess, he will do anything to gain his freedom.

  Seeing a chance for escape, Zelayra, whore to Prince Calyl of Xa’aia, purchases the barbarian gladiator—so unlike the usual J’Haran prisoners and her Xa’aian captors in looks. But there is no time to ponder her similarity to the stranger and no time to explore the distant memories and unusual feelings his presence inspires, for she’s not the only one who’s been scheming in the island kingdom.

  ****

  About the Author

  L. J. Maisen holds degrees in engineering and international relations and enjoys writing short stories whenever inspiration strikes.

  She calls Houston home, but enjoys traveling to the furthest reaches of the planet, and the universe—even if only in her imagination.

  Other Available Titles from Twenty or Less Press

  A Spin of the Wheel

  ****

  Thank you for purchasing this Twenty or Less Press publication. For other available titles, please visit our website at twentyorlesspress.com.

  For questions or more information, contact us at [email protected].

 

 

  L. J. Maisen, Predator and Prey

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