Kronos Rising: KRAKEN (Volume 3) by Hawthorne Max

Author:Hawthorne, Max
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Far From The Tree Press, LLC
Published: 2020-07-04T00:00:00+00:00

The thing that was Jake Braddock bided his time, watching with interest as the human drew steadily closer. His scaly body remained relaxed and he breathed softly through his slit-like vertical nares, confident that that which he desired would soon be his.

Stalking his bipedal prey had been simple. Despite his size, the former Olympic fencing champion moved with the grace of a Siberian tiger. Content with his place of concealment, he watched from the shadows like a phantom, his terrifying form cloaked by the surrounding darkness.

Jake looked around, his oval-shaped eyes gleaming. He realized the absence of light would forever be his ally and uttered a sigh of resignation. There was naught to be done of it; it was a predator thing.

After anticipating his victim’s chosen path, he’d disabled the overhead lights above the pending kill zone, as well as behind his position for a good fifty yards. When the moment came, he would strike from a blackened tunnel – a virtually lightless concrete corridor that human eyes could not penetrate.

His could, of course. To his mutated orbs, pitch-blackness was the equivalent of twilight. He’d learned that all too well during the ten years he’d spent pacing back and forth in the moldering hellhole Eric Grayson had exiled him to.

Grayson.

Oh, yes. That megalomaniacal murderer would pay dearly for his crimes. They all would. It was as inevitable as the tide that had, twice a day, brought him the sea’s life-preserving bounty, lo, those many months. His course was set and only Death would derail his destiny.

Death.

Jake grinned as he thought about encountering his long-time companion. Was he afraid? No. In fact, he wasn’t worried about her at all. Why would he be? After a lifetime of flirting, they were finally playing on the same team. When his end came, he would welcome her with open arms.

Or maybe with teeth and talons, he thought with a grin.

Jake’s gaze intensified. Twenty-five yards ahead, the black-clad security guard continued to approach, oblivious to what waited. His old law enforcement habits kicked in and he reflexively sized him up.

His target was a lone white male, late-thirties from the look of things. He was big by human standards, probably six-foot-three or so, and weighed two-thirty-five. His skin was pale and coated with large, rust-colored freckles, like someone had locked him in a closet with a run-amuck airbrush set to “splatter”. He decided he would mentally refer to him as “Rusty”.

Rusty moved haphazardly, stopping often and changing angles repeatedly. He also had a habit of looking over his shoulder.

Jake knew well the look of someone who was up to something.

Of course, he knew perfectly well what that “something” was. He’d known it from the first moment he’d laid eyes on him. Actually, make that smelled him. In fact, initially, he’d tracked his target entirely by scent, following him through three levels and a dozen different corridors, before he’d acquired visual confirmation.

As it turned out, it wasn’t the man he was after. Not at all.

He wanted what he carried.

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