The Killer
The night draped over the city like a heavy shroud, the shadows thick and suffocating. Perfect. The killer stood cloaked in darkness, a mere specter hidden in the veil of magic that masked his scent and presence. He had been waiting for this moment, had anticipated it the second he began watching her. Cassandra Kane was special—he had known it the first time he laid eyes on her. And now, he was about to confirm what he had suspected all along.
A few yards away, beneath the pale glow of the moon, Desmond Loupé stood with Cassandra. The werewolf was tense, hesitating as if he were about to bare his soul. The killer remained still, his breath shallow, his patience infinite. He had stalked prey before, but this? This was different. This wasn’t just about the kill. It was about he
