Everyone has a particular style of hunting. Some are direct and pounce upon the prey even before the formalities have been put aside. That was not Maina’s style. She preferred the slow stealthy approach. The one in which she stalked out her prey first, moving about the room, twirling among girlfriends, flirting with the boys, but always keeping her eyes on the price.
Her price was now standing by the window looking at the moon with a glass of wine in his hand.
Slowly but steadily she moved towards the general area. It took effort doing it, and by the time she was near him, she was perspiring a little and giving off the most wonderful womanly scent, mixed with an altered perfume, he was in for a biochemical treat.
"Won't even know what hit him," she murmured under her breath as she approached the table that was directly across his line of sight and picked up a glass of wine, exactly like his. Mimicry being an essential part of the game.
His head turned towards her.
Her heart fluttered under his scrutiny that was like a laser beam in the darkness.
She sensed something else.
Danger.
That was also part of the game. Tonight was not just a festival of art and beauty but a dance between hunter and prey. Ecstasies would be reached. Hearts would be broken, maybe even literally. It was a deadly ballet.
She mustn’t worry about that now, she thought. She must do like those samurai cats. Focus on the bird that you have initially marked and never take your eyes off him.
Images generated by @litguru using Stable Diffusion software