Trap

At Tensel’s Region.

Damonq fed well, knowing he was heading for a fight. The lair that had been found was a good distance from the compound, in the State Park. There were more than one hundred miles of hiking trails. Camping sites and picnic areas made it a smorgasbord for demons.

Up in the highest peak, a crack appeared in a large jutting boulder. It was barely a half of an inch wide, but ran about five feet long in a jagged pattern almost to the very foot of the boulder.

He stood facing it, the other ancients spreading out, feeling the air, the ground, listening and scanning. There was a compulsion embedded in the rock face that warned people away from the area. Anyone feeling it would just turn and leave. That had alerted Andor to the fact that the lair had to be close.

Anywhere one went in a forested area, there was the continual drone of insects. Here, it was eerily silent. There was a feeling of impending violence, of an unseen watcher.

The ground shifted subtly under his feet,