Chapter 36: The Deal
The warehouse had been abandoned for at least five years.
Cole arrived at 6 PM and spent three hours preparing the space. He positioned himself with clear sightlines to all entrances, established escape routes through side doors and loading dock, and tested the tremor-sense's range across the concrete floor.
Thirty-two feet. I can feel movement from thirty-two feet away in this structure.
The meeting point was a cleared area in the center of the main floor, illuminated by work lights Cole had brought. The setup suggested legitimacy—a businessman uncomfortable with the surroundings but willing to deal.
At 9:47 PM, the tremor-sense detected approaching vehicles.
Two cars. Engine weights suggest five to seven occupants total.
Cole positioned himself in the shadows near a support pillar, watching as headlights swept across the warehouse's front windows. Car doors opened. Footsteps approached.
Marcus Raines entered first.
The Schakal was shorter than Cole expected—five-six, maybe, with the lean build of a scavenger and the sharp features of his species visible even in human form. He wore an expensive suit that didn't quite fit his frame, and his eyes moved constantly, cataloguing threats.
Four guards followed: two humans in cheap suits with obvious gun bulges, two Wesen who pinged the Detection Matrix as Hundjäger. Professional security—competent, dangerous, exactly what Cole had anticipated.
"Mr. Warren?" Raines' voice echoed in the empty space. "I don't see you."
Cole stepped out of the shadows, hands visible, playing the nervous businessman.
"Mr. Raines. Thank you for meeting with me."
"You're early." Raines' eyes narrowed. "I don't like surprises."
"I wanted to make sure the location was secure. My needs require discretion."
"Everyone's needs require discretion." Raines gestured, and his guards spread out, covering the exits. "Let's talk terms. You want an introduction to Catherine Schade's product line. I can provide that—for triple my usual fee, as we discussed. That's fifteen thousand."
He's already inflating the price. Typical Schakal greed.
"Fifteen thousand seems reasonable." Cole moved closer, keeping his posture submissive, his movements slow. "Do you have samples of her work? I'd like to verify quality before committing."
"Samples require deposit. Five thousand, non-refundable."
"Of course." Cole reached toward his jacket pocket—slowly, obviously—and the guards tensed. "Easy. Just getting my wallet."
His hand came out holding the pistol instead.
"The payment is me letting you live," Cole said. "Consider it."
Raines' laugh was sharp and surprised.
"You're joking. You're outnumbered five to one, Mr. Warren—if that's even your name. Put the gun down before my people turn you into Swiss cheese."
"Your people." Cole's voice was calm, almost conversational. "Two humans, two Hundjäger. The humans have Glocks, probably 9mm, in shoulder holsters—takes them about one point two seconds to draw and aim. The Hundjäger don't need weapons, but they're standing twelve feet away, which means they can't reach me in under two seconds."
He moved.
The first human died before he could finish reaching for his weapon—Cole's shot took him in the throat, dropping him instantly. The second human's hand had just touched his holster when Cole pivoted and put two rounds in his chest.
One point four seconds. Both humans down.
The Hundjäger woged and charged.
Cole met them head-on, his own woge flickering across his features—not one species but all of them, the combined essences creating something that shouldn't exist. The first Hundjäger's attack was fast, trained, exactly what he'd expected. Cole caught the strike with Skalenzahne strength and redirected it, using the Hundjäger's momentum to throw him into a support pillar.
The second guard was smarter, circling to flank. Cole let him come, using the Spinnetod patience to wait for the perfect moment. When the Hundjäger lunged, Cole wasn't there—Skalengeck agility carried him to the side, and his counterattack crushed the guard's throat before he could recover.
The first Hundjäger was struggling to rise. Cole broke his neck with efficient precision.
Four down in under eight seconds.
Raines was running for the exit.
Cole caught him at the loading dock door, one hand closing around the Schakal's collar, dragging him backward. Raines woged in panic—jackal features erupting, teeth snapping at Cole's arm—but the bite couldn't penetrate the Skalenzahne dermal reinforcement.
"Who sent you?" Raines screamed. "What do you want?"
"Nothing from you anymore." Cole's grip shifted to the Schakal's throat. "You made a mistake, threatening Catherine Schade. Her daughter has friends."
Understanding flickered in Raines' eyes. "Adalind? This is about that witch? I can give you—"
Cole squeezed. The Schakal's windpipe collapsed.
[TARGET NEUTRALIZED]
[ABSORPTION INITIATED]
[SCHAKAL ESSENCE DETECTED]
[UNIQUE PROPERTIES: OPPORTUNISTIC INSTINCT, SCAVENGING ADAPTATION, CUNNING ENHANCEMENT]
[WARNING: SIXTH ABSORPTION WILL FURTHER MODIFY BASE PATTERNS]
[ESTIMATED INTEGRATION: 72-96 HOURS]
The essence entered him with the familiar cold pressure of absorption, joining the five already present. Cole felt his mind shift, new instincts emerging—the Schakal's cunning, its opportunistic awareness, its talent for finding advantage in chaos.
[ABSORPTION: 34%... 56%... 78%... 100%]
[SCHAKAL ESSENCE: RAW — INTEGRATION PENDING]
[HUMANITY: 82%]
Two more percentage points gone. He was becoming less human with every kill, more... something else.
Still worth it.
Cole released the body and checked himself for damage. One of the Hundjäger had connected—a bullet had gone through the meat of his left shoulder, missing bone but leaving a hole that was bleeding sluggishly. The minor regeneration would help, but he needed to clean and bandage the wound properly.
He searched the bodies for anything useful, finding phones and wallets he'd dispose of later. The warehouse would need to burn—too much evidence, too many bodies. He'd brought accelerant for exactly this purpose.
By midnight, the warehouse was an inferno and Cole was three miles away, pressing a wadded jacket against his shoulder.
The gas station restroom was deserted at 12:30 AM.
Cole cleaned the wound with bottled water and cheap vodka, biting down on a leather belt to avoid screaming. The bullet had passed through cleanly—entrance and exit, no fragments—but the damage was real. His enhanced healing would close it within a week, but the next few days would be painful.
He called Adalind from the parking lot.
"It's done."
The silence on the other end stretched for three heartbeats. Then: "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. The problem with your mother is resolved."
"Cole..." Her voice was thick with something—relief, gratitude, maybe something more. "Thank you. I don't know how to—"
"Don't. This was a favor, remember? We'll figure out what that means later."
"Okay." A pause. "Can I see you? Tomorrow?"
"Maybe the day after. I need to handle some things."
"Okay." Another pause. "Cole? Be careful. Please."
He ended the call and leaned against his car, letting the cold December air wash over him. The shoulder throbbed with every heartbeat. The new essence was already beginning to integrate, bringing fever and the particular disorientation of competing instincts.
Six kills. Six absorptions. Eighty-two percent humanity.
The numbers told a story he wasn't sure he wanted to read. But he'd made his choices, and he'd keep making them.
Adalind is safe. Her mother is safe. That has to be worth something.
He drove home through empty streets, the city quiet around him, the predator inside satisfied with another successful hunt.
The integration hit hard on December 12th.
Schakal essence was different from the others—less physically transformative, more mentally invasive. Cole found himself noticing opportunities he would have missed before, seeing angles and advantages in situations that had seemed straightforward.
The scavenger's gift. Finding value in what others discard.
The fever peaked at 102 and broke within forty-eight hours. By December 14th, the essence had settled into its place among the others, adding its voice to the chorus of instincts that guided Cole's actions.
[SCHAKAL ESSENCE: ACCLIMATED]
[ABILITIES CONFIRMED:]
[— OPPORTUNISTIC INSTINCT: ENHANCED AWARENESS OF EXPLOITABLE SITUATIONS]
[— SCAVENGING ADAPTATION: IMPROVED RESOURCE IDENTIFICATION AND ACQUISITION]
[— CUNNING ENHANCEMENT: TACTICAL THINKING OPTIMIZATION]
[TOTAL ABSORPTIONS: 6]
[HUMANITY: 82%]
The news reported the warehouse fire as "suspected arson, under investigation." Five bodies had been recovered, identities pending notification of families. No suspects named. No connection made to Cole Ashford or Adalind Schade.
Clean. Professional. Exactly what I promised.
He called Adalind on the afternoon of the 14th.
"The news said there was a fire in Southeast Portland." Her voice was careful, controlled.
"I heard."
"Five bodies."
"So they said."
Silence. Then: "Cole, I need to see you. Tonight."
"My place or yours?"
"Yours. I want to see where you live."
She wants to understand me better. Wants to see past the performance.
"Eight o'clock. I'll text you the address."
"I'll be there."
Adalind arrived at 8:07 PM, carrying a bottle of wine and wearing an expression Cole couldn't quite read.
His apartment was modest by her standards—a one-bedroom in a building that prioritized function over aesthetics. But it was clean, organized, and entirely unremarkable. Exactly what he'd wanted.
"This is where you live." She looked around, taking in the sparse furniture, the lack of personal decorations. "It's very... efficient."
"I don't need much."
"Apparently not." She set the wine on the counter and turned to face him. "You're hurt."
She noticed the way I'm holding my shoulder. Of course she did.
"Occupational hazard."
"The occupation you won't talk about."
"The occupation you asked me to pursue on your behalf."
The words landed between them, sharp and honest. Adalind's expression shifted—not defensive, but thoughtful.
"You killed them," she said. "Raines and whoever else was there."
"Yes."
"Five people."
"They weren't good people, Adalind. Raines was a criminal. His guards were complicit in his crimes. I didn't kill anyone innocent."
"But you killed them." Her eyes searched his face. "And you don't seem particularly bothered by it."
She's testing me. Deciding what this means for us.
"I'm not," Cole admitted. "Should I be?"
"I don't know." She moved closer, studying him like he was a puzzle she couldn't quite solve. "I asked you to make a problem disappear. You made it disappear. I knew what that probably meant. But seeing you now, so calm..."
"Does it change things?"
The question hung in the air. Adalind was quiet for a long moment, her expression unreadable.
"No," she said finally. "It doesn't change things. It just... confirms them."
"Confirms what?"
"That you're exactly what I thought you were." She reached up and touched his face, her fingers cool against his skin. "Dangerous. Capable. Willing to do what needs to be done."
"And you still want to be here?"
"More than ever." She smiled, and it was nothing like the professional mask she usually wore. "We're more alike than I realized, Cole. Both of us hiding what we really are. Both of us pretending to be normal."
She kissed him, and Cole let himself be lost in it—the warmth, the connection, the dangerous intimacy of two predators choosing each other.
This is a mistake. She'll destroy you, or you'll destroy her, or both.
But he'd stopped caring about that somewhere along the way.
When they finally came up for air, Adalind was smiling.
"Open the wine," she said. "We have things to celebrate."
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