"Dean Ing - Fleas" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ing Dean)

Fleas
DEAN ING

The quarry swam more for show than for efficiency because he knew that Maels
was quietly watching. Down the "Y" pool, then back, seeming to ignore the bearded
older man as Maels, in turn, seemed to ignore the young swimmer.
Maels reviewed each datum: brachycephalic; under thirty years old; body mass
well over the forty kilo minimum; skin tone excellent; plenty of hair. And unless
Maels was deceivedтАФhe rarely wasтАФthe quarry offered subtle homosexual nuances
which might simplify his isolation.
Maels smiled to himself and delivered an enormous body-stretching yawn that
advertised his formidable biceps, triceps, laterals. The quarry approached
swimming; symbolically, thought Maels, a breast stroke. Great.
Maels made a pedal gesture. A joke, really, since the gay world had developed the
language of the foot for venues more crowded than this. The quarry bared small
even teeth in his innocent approval. Better.
"I could watch you all evening," Maels rumbled, and added the necessary lie:
"You swim exquisitely."
"But I can't go on forever," the youth replied in tones that were, as Maels had
expected, distinctly unbutchy. "I feel like relaxing." Treading water, he smiled a plea
for precise communication. Perfect.
"You can with me," Maels said, and swept himself up with an ageless grace. He
towered, masculine and commanding, above the suppliant swimmer. A strong grin
split his beard as Maels turned toward the dressing room. He left the building
quickly, then waited.
Invisible in a shop alcove, Maels enjoyed the quarry's anxious glances from the
elevated platform of the "Y" steps. Maels strolled out then into the pale light of the
streetlamp and the quarry, seeing him, danced down the steps toward his small
destiny.
Later, kneeling beneath tree shadows as his fingers probed the dying throat-pulse,
Maels thought: All according to formula, to the old books. Really no problem when
you have the physical strength of a mature anaconda. Hell, it wasn't even much fun
for an adult predator. At this introspection Maels chuckled. Adult for several normal
lifespans, once he had discovered he was a feeder. With such long practice,
self-assurance in the hunt took spice from the Kill. Still probing the carotid artery,
Maels thought: Uncertainty is the oregano of pursuit. He might work that into a
scholarly paper one day.
Then Maels fed.
It was a simple matter for Maels to feed in a context that police could classify as
psychosexual. Inaccurate, butтАФperhaps not wholly. Survival and sexuality: his
gloved hands guiding scalpel and bone saw almost by rote, Maels composed the
sort of trivia his sophomores would love.
Research confirms the grimoires'
Ancient sanity;
Predation brings unending lustтАФ
An old causality.
The hypothalamus, behind armoring bone, was crucial. Maels took it all. Adrenal
medulla, a strip of mucous membrane, smear of marrow. Chewing reflectively,
Maels thought: Eye of newt, toe of frog. A long way from the real guts of
immortality.