Shelly licked at the speck of blood on her third knuckle with delicate, flicking pink tongue. She worried, not for the first time that day, if she might be losing her edge. She stretched and the tendons in her calves screamed in defiance. The chase had been an exhilarating surprise at first but after she'd taken him down, her body registered the sure signs of her advancing age in painful stages.
At one time her body had been a machine, fierce and fluid. Her ability to overpower her prey quickly and silently had more than made up for her lack of finesse in the mental demands of the pursuit. She had honed her skills and soon learned that the real thrill of the chase was the seduction. The more she mastered the mental, the softer her ground game had become. Over the years, it had gotten so easy for her.
She looked down at the crumbled body. She had seen it in his eyes, the moment when her hold had been broken and the will to live had rushed back into his limbs. It had startled her, losing the connection. He had gotten at least a hundred yards on her before she could get herself together and take off after him. It had been a messy kill.
The hunger had come upon her as it always did, slowly building. The anticipation was like a drug, firing the senses and touching off all her nerve endings at once. Shelly could to feel it, poised just under the soft surface of her skin, waiting to rip open the seams and crawl out into the light. She had fought it as long as she could. She had struggled through an agonizing week, trying to be something else than what she was, trying to feel anything else but that terrible need.
