Afternoon Hunt

Sheeva's fangs ached. It always felt this way when she had taken too long to find her next meal. The park was cool and quite, the loamy smell of rotting leaves perfumed the air heavily.

This was Sheeva's favorite time of year. The blood was still sweet from the long days of fun spent in the sun, but turning rich and creamy with the hint of fat deposits for the long winter ahead. The rustle of dried leaves below the branch she was perched on brought the smell of warm fur and a fast heart beat to her ears.

Not now but soon. It had been too quiet for too long if the small pray was feeling safe to come out. Soon. The church bells rang the quarter hour after four and Sheeva arched her back in anticipation of the rush hour traffic just forty five minutes away. The tips of her incisors were denting her bottom lip as saliva pooled into the back of her throat.

Far off the sound of milk bottles tinkling against each other made Sheeva tense and smile. Goodness how she loved these new-age-yuppies. It made for a great trip down memory lane when she could snag an enterprising milk man on his way to work in the early 20's. Another thirty minutes pasted in the stillness of intense listening before the young woman came into view.

From the looks of the expensive bags she was carrying and the cheap quality of her clothes Sheeva guessed her to be an underpaid assistant or an over worked nanny. Sheeva's lips turned down slightly. Stress never tasted good, whereas adrenaline was sweet and anxiety was even a little spicy, stress was always sour. Ah well beggars couldn't be choosers and she needed the meal before sundown if she didn't want to get caught by The Family.

The lady was getting closer to Sheeva's tree, the bottles clinking along with each hurried stride. The shadows here were deep enough and she had made sure the light post bulb was broken, so only the barest amount of the sun's last orange death throws dappled the deep shade. Sheeva dropped silent as the hunting cat she was, tearing the woman's throat before she could do anything more than draw a startled breath.

The bags dropped from now lifeless fingers, shattering the milk bottles within. Sheeva watched the white milk mix with the crimson blood dripping off the ends of her sharp fingers and thought it was the loveliest shade of pink she had ever seen.