Chapter 4
The orders came in quiet, but heavy. This wasn't another wilderness clean-up or terror squad to dismantle. This was Department H's bread and butter — infiltration. A city job. A high-rise, black glass gleaming like a shard of night stabbing up through the skyline.
Logan stood at the briefing room table, cigar smoke curling out the side of his mouth while the suits droned about sensitive documents, experimental projects, national security. None of that mattered. He didn't ask questions. He never did. The job was the job.
He flicked ash into an empty coffee cup. "So I sneak in, steal your papers, and get out clean. That it?"
The handler adjusted his glasses, bristling at Logan's tone. "Those documents are guarded by more than just locked doors. You'll encounter enhanced security personnel. Eliminate them if necessary, but the priority is the documents."
Logan snorted. "Priority's me walkin' out in one piece, bub."
Hours later, he was crawling through the guts of the building, claws cutting neat, silent holes in ductwork and steel mesh. His senses painted the place for him better than any blueprint. Heartbeats thrummed below. Perfume laced the air from a secretary working late. The hum of high-voltage lines buzzed like hornets.
And beneath it all, two steady, primal rhythms. Strong. Animal. Like his own.
He dropped down into a lower level, boots quiet against tile. The vault where the documents were stored wasn't guarded by cameras or alarms — it was guarded by them.
The twins.
They stood in the shadows like statues. Barefoot, shirtless, their skin pale under the fluorescent lights. Their eyes caught him first — yellow, feral, hungry. The older one had scars tracing his chest, thick as ropes. The younger's back twitched, the skin stretched tight over something moving underneath.
"Another hound of the government," the elder rasped, his voice a low growl. "They send you to steal what's ours?"
Logan popped his claws with a snikt that echoed off the steel walls. "Ain't yours. Just stand aside, and maybe I don't leave you both in pieces."
The younger laughed, sharp and cruel. "You smell like us. Half-beast, half-man. But you wear their leash."
Logan gritted his teeth. "Leashes don't sit right on me, bub. Now get outta my way."
The elder stepped forward — and then it happened. His chest split. With a wet crack, two jagged bone spears jutted out, gleaming slick with blood. He lowered his shoulders like a bull, ready to charge.
Logan's muscles tightened. And then that shiver ran through him. The same damn shiver he felt fighting Wendigo. Like lightning shooting down his spine. Pleasure too sharp to ignore. A rush, almost obscene. His grin was feral when it passed.
"Hell…" he muttered under his breath. "That's new."
The younger turned, his spine bulging, then bursting open into a forest of long, needle-like bones. They sprouted out like porcupine quills, quivering, lengthening past three… four… five meters until the tips scraped against the ceiling.
Logan's claws twitched, and another wave hit him. That bone-deep rush. New instincts slotting into place. He steadied his breathing, eyes narrowing. "Guess tonight's gonna be interestin'."
The twins circled, growling in unison, and Logan's stance lowered. He didn't understand it yet, but he knew one thing: he wasn't just walking out with papers tonight. He was walking out different. Again.
And he had to find out just how far that difference went.