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Coups de cœur Cultura
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She was made to kill. He was made to be her target.
I'm the perfect weapon—silent, fast, and deadly. My handler points, I hunt. I don't use bullets. I use my teeth. My claws. The way nature intended. A gun is a coward's weapon—my prey deserves to face their predator.
It's simple. Clean. I don't question the names on my list because I'm told they're monsters who deserve what's coming.
Until him.
He's supposed to be my next target. Another evil man who needs to disappear. But when I get close, nothing adds up. He's not the monster they claimed. And the longer I watch him, the harder it becomes to make the kill.
My spots are breaking through my skin, my teeth extending, my eyes burning amber with predator fire—a warning I'm losing control. My claws ache to extend. Not to kill him. To protect him.
But my handler is watching. Waiting. And if I don't complete this mission, we'll both pay the price.
Some prey should never be hunted. Some predators were never meant to be caged.
