The nightclub was on the edge of the water in the seedier part of town, the dark edges of humanity, but to Bret, it just seemed to work. He never had a problem with the rowdy crowd. It could have been his size, which was a whopping six foot six. Or the fact that he was almost as wide as he was tall. It could have been his dark eyes that seemed to penetrate even the most twisted soul. Or the mere glare that froze most people in their tracks and threatened the function of their bladder.

In fact, most of his customers knew to tread the fine line of respectable manners once they entered his building. Bret had once thrown a man through the window for harassing one of his waitresses, and the man had been too terrified to press charges.

In all, Bret was pretty happy with his setup, which was a far cry from where he had come from.

Blanking that depressing thought from materializing, Bret sighed and leaned back in his chair, throwing his pen down in disgust. He had gotten into town hours ago, but everything was quiet, like normal. The bar was about to close, and he had Zach and a few of his other men downstairs maintaining order and cleaning up. As soon as he got some sleep, he would investigate his cousin’s concerns that had brought him to town, but until then, figuring the lateness of the hour, he had decided he would go over the books. He now remembered how much he hated paperwork and the claustrophobic feeling of any room for an extended period of time despite how much he loved his club.

He glanced down at his watch and grunted in annoyance as he rubbed the back of his thick neck. Two forty-five was too late, or early depending on how one looked at it, for any type of bookkeeping. His accountant had retired three months before, but with everything that had happened with his pack, he hadn't had a chance to hire another bookkeeper. Zach had taken over that chore as well, and Bret knew how much the other man hated it too.

Might have to make the damn time, he thought, grumbling beneath his breath as the numbers flooded through his mind. On the bright side, his club was doing well and staying in the black, so that was something.

Sighing, bones cracked as he stood up from the chair and stretched, and within seconds, he had his computer shut down and papers in his desk drawer, locking it with the key that hung around his neck.

Glancing around, he nodded and turned off the lights on his way out the door. All he could think about was his large bed above his office as his feet dragged with exhaustion.

His apartment was above the club, and again, that worked for him. When he stayed at the club, he had a place to call his own. He hated motels, and his cousin had a place on the other side of town, so once again, the arrangement worked for them both. When he was in town and not with the wolf pack, Bret lived and breathed the club. Members of the shifter community were usually astonished when they learned he, a black bear, was an enforcer to a wolf pack Alpha, not to mention the Crescent Ice pack, but he didn't care.

That was the thing with Bret Axel. He just didn't fucking care what anyone thought.

He ran into Zach in the hallway and prayed the other man didn’t have something else for him to deal with until he got some sleep. He wasn’t Superman, damn it.

“Hey, coz. I know you’re tired. Did you finish the books?”

Bret rolled his eyes at that and gave him a mock glare as he headed for the steps and his large bed upstairs. “Yeah, I did. You didn’t do half bad.”

Zach flinched and shoved his large hands in his jean pockets as he followed. “You know I hate paperwork and numbers,” he pointed out.

Bret chuckled and stopped at the base of the back stairs, slapping him on the back. Even for his size, he almost sent the other man tumbling forward. “That makes two of us, but—”

Before Bret could finish, a scream cut through the conversation, immediately silencing them both as they froze, and their eyes met. It was silenced as quickly as it had come.

As one, they both took off running toward where the scream had come from, Bret’s long legs surpassing his cousin’s as he flew down the dark alley behind the club, heading closer to the dock and the large metal building on the edge of the water.

Silence penetrated the red haze of rage that nearly blinded him and his beast, and he jerked to a halt, breathing in deeply as he paused and closed his eyes. His large fists clenched at his side as the fine hairs of his animal threatened to burst past his skin.

“Calm down,” Zach hissed, finally catching up to him, his own breathing ragged and rough from the fight not to lose Bret. They scanned the area, their eyes narrowed and waiting for movement and sound.

Bret grimaced and fought the animal, finally winning through the common sense of the beast as he slammed the mental cage door of the bear, at least for the moment. After growling, the bear calmed but paced, his growls deep and vibrating through Bret’s mind.

Ignoring the animal, he concentrated on locating the woman and heard movement coming from the end of the alley, muttered curses, and something being dragged on the cracked pavement. A door slammed, and without a sound, the two men moved toward the noises coming from the building. Bret’s eyes narrowed in the dark. Staying close to the walls of the building, they moved along the shadows. Neither had weapons, but they didn’t need any. Their background spoke for itself; the military had trained killers, not cowards.

As Bret got closer, he smelled the blood, which set his beast off even worse. The hairs on his face got longer, and his knuckles dripped with blood as his claws extended. He barely noticed the pain as he looked around the corner and through the cracked door that hadn’t closed all the way.

A man was dragging something, muttering about the heaviness of the load.

Suddenly, he dropped it in the middle of the room, his broad back to Bret, and stood still for a moment, staring down at the crumbled form at his feet. A small stream of light flooded the room, allowing Bret to see him clearly. What he saw filled him with disgust and rage. A man had dragged a woman by her hair across the broken concrete floor of the abandoned building as she struggled.

Without thinking, Bret took a growling step forward before he felt his cousin’s hard grip on his arm. Bret turned back and glared at him just as the other man shook his head and pointed to Bret’s half shifted body that was covered in brown, coarse hair, pointed ears, and claws that dug into his fisted palms.

“Shift back,” Zach growled, not backing down as he returned his glare. “We don’t need the cops called or a fucking bloody mess on our hands. We can take the bastard. Now think, man!”

Bret fought the insane impulse to tear the fucker apart. Common sense and reasoning sliced through the haze of his rage, and he took a deep breath, the coarse hair receding along with his claws and ears returning to normal.

Nodding to Zach, his cousin slowly removed his hand and nodded back as another scream met their ears, but this time, they split up, staying in the shadows against the wall as they circled the bastard.

“P-please d-don’t. L-let me g-go.”

The whimpered words floated toward Bret as he crept closer, Zach not far behind. The man laughed and reached for his blue uniform pants, and Bret saw red. Keeping his bear in check, just barely, he lunged for the bastard and jerked him away from the woman. His strength had the other man flying through the air and slamming against the wall to his right. Zach ran over to the woman and picked her up. Weak struggles arose, but the whispers of Zach’s gentleness seemed to quiet her down as Bret approached the man trying to stand.

A fucking cop, just great.

He reached down and lifted him up by his neck, his eyes dark and filled with rage.

“Bret…” Zach warned softly.

Bret’s lips tightened, and he drew the bastard closer to his own face as the other man’s cheeks turned blue, the lack of oxygen getting to him.

"If I see you again, I'll kill you," he growled, the deadly promise hanging in the air.

He dropped him to the floor, and the man gasped, clutching his throat with his hands as he drew in deep breaths.

The man stayed on the hard floor but looked over at the woman in Zach’s arms.

“He’s going to kill you. And anyone helping you,” the man said, wheezing, still struggling to breathe.

Bret ignored the bastard as disgust warred with concern for the woman, and he met his cousin at the door.

“My place,” he said grimly. Without waiting for an answer, he headed toward his apartment, his cousin with the woman right behind him.

Once inside, Bret had Zach lay her down on the king size bed while he gathered up the first aid supplies. Zach gave him a short nod and left, the front door closing softly behind him. He knew Zach could take care of himself. It was why he had put him in charge of the club.

The first wipe of the cold rag sent her reeling back, and she gasped, her whole body jerking. Her mouth opened, no doubt to scream, and Bret flinched waiting for that piercing sound of fright. He knew abuse when he saw it, even with what he had saved her from, and the worst thing he could do at that moment was touch her.

"It's okay," he said quietly. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Fear glistening in her blue eyes, Bret really wished he had killed the bastard. In fact, there was still a chance he would, and his bear liked that idea. A lot. But Zach had again saved his ass. Left up to him, he would have shifted completely and slaughtered the fucker, leaving a mess that would cause even the most seasoned detective to throw up.

In due time, he thought, trying to calm his bear down. Abuse of women was one of the few things that set them both off. They couldn't stand to see anyone hurt, but abuse to women was a very sore spot for man and beast. He wasn’t done with the bastard yet, not by far.

He saw her throat work until the words came out in a choked whisper.

"W-where am I?"

The words tore at him, laden with fear and pain, and his fists clenched against the bowl in his hands, almost making him spill the water.

"You're safe. No one can hurt you here."

Her eyes wide, she looked around the bedroom. There wasn't much except for the bed, nightstand, and dresser. Like everything else in his life, it was pretty empty. She tried to sit up and gasped in pain.

Helpless, he watched her struggle and almost touched her to calm her down, to reassure her, but caught himself in time and drew his hand back. Which was a good thing, as he hadn't cleaned off the blood yet from the partial shift even though the cuts on his knuckles had healed.

Her gaze returned to him, and he could see the wheels turning as she tried to make sense of everything. Finally managing to sit up semi-straight, she leaned back against his headboard and hugged her waist. She had managed to scoot so far away from him that he feared she was going to fall off the edge on the other side.

"Who are you?"

He placed the bowl of cold water on his nightstand and sat back on his heels, slightly away from her.

Trying to appear less intimidating was a joke to someone of his size, but that didn't stop him from trying.

Watching him like a hawk, she waited.

"My name is Bret Axel. I'm the owner of the nightclub downstairs. I was working late and heard you scream. You're safe here," he repeated softly, not sure what else to say or how to convince her. He didn't understand it, but the urge to protect her was almost overpowering.

Their eyes met, and her blood-crusted lips trembled.

"No, I'm not." The whispered words filled with conviction, she shook her dark head and closed her eyes.

He was ensnared by the blue depths. He hadn't really believed in soul mates, mates period, but looking into her eyes...

Mentally shaking his head, he let her comment go for the moment and motioned to the bowl of water beside her.

"Would you like to clean up?" He pointed to a door on her side. "The bathroom is right there."

Without waiting for an answer, he stood up, his knees cracking with the motion.

Damn, I'm getting old, he thought.

He looked over at her and noticed her shrinking back against the headboard, half of her body in shadows from his large frame.

He took a few steps back to try to ease her fear, but he didn't think it helped, not that he could blame her.

"I'll be in the kitchen if you need me."

With that, he turned and left the bedroom, hoping she wouldn't disappear. He had a feeling her life was a lot more dangerous than he realized.

Altering his course from the kitchen, he went to the living room and sat down on his large couch. The apartment was sparsely furnished considering his size. The only thing in the living room was the couch that took up one wall, the end table, and the sixty inch flat-screen TV hanging on the opposite wall. To him, it was perfect.

He fired up his laptop before realizing that he didn't even know her name, let alone how to find out what shadows were following her. He did a search for missing women in the area, but with his area, that number came to hundreds, too high for him to weed though without more knowledge.

With a disgusted sigh, he shut it down and sat back, thinking.

Lost in thought, a noise from the doorway had him raising his head.

She stood in the doorway, her blouse torn at the shoulder and her jeans ripped at the knees. Dry blood splatter highlighted her recent struggle, and whatever demons chased her was evident in her cautious eyes. The blood from her beautiful face was gone, but the cuts and bruises were still there.

"How do you feel?" he asked. He felt silly for asking such a stupid question, but for the first time in his thirty-two years, he was stumped on how to talk to a woman. He had never had the problem before, but there was something about her blue eyes, the deep depth of despair he could see.

"Better." She hesitated and took a step into the living room. "Thank you."

The words, so innocent, tore at him. He was afraid to stand up and scare her, so going against what his mother had taught him, he remained sitting, his large hands, clear of any traces of his own blood, cupping his knees.

Nodding, he watched her. "You're welcome. Would you like something to eat? Drink? Coffee? Tea?"

The words flew out of his mouth in a rush, anything to put her more at ease, but he didn't think it helped, as her gaze kept going to the door.

She shook her head. "Thank you, but no. I better leave."

She took a step toward the door, and he stayed still, watching her. She took another step, and his next words froze her.

"If you leave, they'll find you, won't they?"

He hadn’t known what he was going to say until he said it and had in fact taken a wild guess that it just wasn’t one asshole.

He was right.

Their eyes met, and it wasn't fear in her eyes this time but pure terror.

"If you stay, I can help you."

With a slowness that would have made his species proud, he stood up, his dark head almost touching the ceiling. His eyes on her, he walked closer and watched as she trembled, her gaze glued to him, glued to his every move.

"I can protect you."

Just then, a noise, footsteps outside, startled her, and she jumped, her eyes flying to the door. Terror was written on her face, and he hated to see it, but he couldn't force her to stay, force her to let him help and protect her.

A second later, a knock sounded, and she shot him a fearful look.

"It's probably my cousin who was with me when we found you." He figured if it was someone after her, the bastards probably wouldn’t knock. Bret took a few steps over to the door and motioned toward the bedroom with a tilt of his head. "Go to the bedroom."

She looked like she wanted to argue, but another knock stopped her cold.

Instead, she ran to the room and slammed the door.

Sighing, he unlocked the door to reveal his Alpha's sister on the other side.

"Samantha? Is everything okay?" he asked in shock, immediately concerned. It wasn't that it was a shock for members of his pack to visit him. It was just extremely late, slightly rare, and cause for concern. With everything that had happened to Vanessa, his Alpha's wife six months before, he was more than a little concerned.

"Is everything okay," he repeated.

Samantha, Sam to her family and friends, rolled her eyes, but those eyes contained an emotion that he hadn't seen in her in over a year.

Fear.

"Of course everything is okay. Why wouldn't it be?"

Her defensive tone let him know the lie for what it was even if he couldn't smell it on her. She reeked of it, not to mention that spark of fear.

He raised his eyebrow, and his one look had her flushing. She knew better than to lie.

She slid around him and walked into his living room.

"Wrong choice of words. Look, I need a favor."

Closing the door, he turned, his eyebrow raised as he waited.

She fidgeted, pacing around the living room, avoiding eye contact.

"It's nothing to do with the pack," she finally said.

She was stalling. He narrowed his eyes, but then a sound from the bedroom caught his attention, and for a moment, he forgot about everything but the woman hiding in his room. Torn between his duty to Samantha and his promise to the woman, he finally sighed, just wanting her to get to the point and leave so he could find out what kind of danger the woman was in and how to help.

Or convince her to let me help, he thought.

"Sam, what is it? Quit stalling and tell me. You obviously came to me for a reason."

Sam relaxed and finally met his gaze. "There's this woman, a friend of mine. She called me about an hour ago. I had a friend of mine trace the number, and the actual call came from here! I know she doesn't live far from here, but she’s in trouble, and I don't know who else to turn to. I don't want to bother my brother with it, considering he's finally out of town for a relaxing weekend and still really tense about everything."

The anxiety over taking down the shifter fighting ring flushed through him, the core of the operation feeling just out of reach. Cracking the link of the chain wasn’t enough; they must destroy it.

"What woman?" He had a bad feeling about this.

And he was right.

"Her name is Nikki Calhoun. Her husband is—"

Another sound from the bedroom caught his attention just as the woman spoke from the doorway.

"Sam?"

Startled, Sam whirled and gasped. "Nikki?"

Bret gaped at the two who were staring at each other. "You two know each other?"

Sam knew the woman? How?

A question he wanted an immediate answer to.

Sam nodded, her eyes still on the woman.

Nikki.

Sam rushed over to her side. "Oh my God, Nikki." Sam’s eyes scanned her, and Bret could see the tears glisten on her dark lashes. He couldn't ever remember Sam crying, not since…

Nikki trembled and shook her head, her arms wrapped around her waist.

"I tried to kill him." The words were soft, the beautiful cracked lips trembling, and those words...

He tensed. He didn’t think she was talking about the man from across the street.

"Oh, Nikki."

He saw more tears spring to Sam's eyes and couldn't take it anymore. He hated a woman's tears. He never knew how to handle the emotions.

"Would you two mind telling me what is going on?" he finally demanded, tired of waiting for an explanation.

Nikki jumped, and her startled eyes flew in his direction, fear still in their blue depths. Sam caught the look and took a step closer, gently touching her arm, one of the few spots that didn't contain a mark or bruise. "He's a good man, Nikki. He won't hurt you. He's part of my pack—an enforcer."

Shock held him still for a second before he managed to find his voice. It was rare when he was rendered speechless, but Sam had done it. "She knows?"

A human? Since when did Sam know humans outside of her organization? That organization helped to save abused women and...

Just then, a mental light bulb flashed on, and Sam saw his look, nodding toward him.

"Nikki and I went to school together years ago. We lost touch when she got married almost ten years ago."

Years ago... That explained how Nikki knew of shifters. Sam had been allowed to go to a human school for a few years. Most of the pack pups did to broaden their horizons, so to speak.

Bret himself had joined the military right after high school, and before then, he had traveled around with his own family. He was third generation military, so until the past few years, he had never stayed in one place for long.

He shot Nikki a look, and she actually met his eyes.

Nikki opened her mouth to interrupt, but Sam glared at her, stopping whatever lies were about to fly from that bruised flesh, and she closed it, not arguing.

"Anyways, she called me tonight, but…"

Sam paused and took a deep breath before continuing, directing her next words to Nikki. “You scared the shit out of me!”

She took that last step until the two women stood toe to toe. Nikki was silent, but Sam opened her arms, and Nikki leaned in as Sam hugged her.

Seconds passed, and Bret stood off to the side, feeling helpless and not really satisfied with the explanation. He wanted to know more—mainly the bastard's name so he wouldn’t cause Nikki any more pain.

His fists clenched at his side at the thought. He didn't understand the protective instincts he felt, but he hated to see any woman abused and afraid for her life, and Nikki was terrified. If what he had witnessed and saved her from was any indication, terror didn't even cover it.

Nikki drew back and sighed, looking over at Bret. "Thank you. My name is Nikki Calhoun, and I-I'm in trouble," she said quietly, the first full sentence he'd heard from her. She'd finally confirmed it.

"Who was the bastard in the shipyard warehouse?" With everything coming to light, he didn’t think she had just been kidnapped or that it was random.

Nikki looked over at him, her eyes wide. The fear hadn't left her, and she hunched over even more.

"Who?" Sam demanded, her gaze going back and forth between them. “What bastard? The fucker who hurt you?”

Nikki shook her head. "I don't know. Someone my husband had hired to find me, kill me. I don't know.”

She shrugged as if it was no big deal, but Sam's eyes widened and then narrowed as her wolf threatened to surface. Fine hairs developed on her face and bare arms, and Nikki watched her, seeming fascinated by the change but not surprised.

Interesting.

"Calm down, Sam," Bret ordered, his deep voice commanding. If he hadn’t been allowed to let his beast free, neither was Sam. Childish, he knew, but he didn’t care.

Within seconds, her skin evened out, and the wolf retreated, but her lips tightened as she turned and glared at him.

"Now is not the time to be stupid,” he reminded her before she really lost her cool. It was bad enough that he wanted to kill someone.

He didn't want Sam to go off half-cocked either. If it hadn’t been for Zach, he himself would have, and that knowledge was sort of embarrassing to think about. He owed his cousin a thank you, and those words would stick in his throat come time.

With that, she growled and looked as if she wanted to stomp her feet, but after a moment, she lost the angry look and turned back to Nikki, who watched her without fear, apparently used to her temper.

"He won't give up," Sam said grimly. It wasn't a question, and Nikki shook her head as Bret watched the fear turn to terror.

Sam stiffened and then looked between the two of them again, confused.

"Wait. Why is she here…with you? What man? What warehouse?" she demanded again, having never gotten answers yet.

Bret ran his fingers through his rumpled hair as he explained what little he knew. "I was working late tonight. Well, this morning," he amended. “Zach and I were closing up, and I was heading to bed when we both heard her scream. We ran out the back of the club. The bastard was standing over her about to rape her."

Now it was his turn to control his beast as the shift threatened, the bear in a rage remembering.

Taking a deep breath and ordering his animal to calm the fuck down, he looked over at Nikki. He repeated his promise.

"No one can hurt you here. Let me help you. I can protect you, Nikki." Ignoring Sam’s shocked look, his eyes remained on Nikki, snagging her gaze before she could avoid him.

Her name suited her. It flowed like honey off his tongue, and that analogy was perfect, as his bear loved honey. In fact, they both did.

A burst of spirit flashed in her eyes, surprising and thrilling him at the same time. It was a nice change from the fear that had never left her eyes. He hated the thought of her afraid, of him or anyone.

"It's not your problem. Either of you," she said, including Sam in that statement.

Sam jerked back and turned to glare at her. "Fuck that, Nikki! We've been friends too long for you to pull that bullshit! You called me, remember?”

It was rare when Sam displayed an intense burst of emotion, but when she did, it was best to duck and ask questions later. Nikki had apparently forgotten that part of her friend.

Bret was still confused on the sudden events, but it probably didn’t help that it was going on five in the morning and he still hadn’t been to sleep. In fact, now he was starving.

“I need food,” he muttered.

Ignoring the two women, he walked into the kitchen and started the clatter of pots and pans, finally settling on some scrambled eggs and toast. It wasn’t steak, but it would have to do.

He heard the two women arguing in the front room and shook his head, resigned to not getting any sleep for the foreseeable future.

Without food or sleep, he was a bear and wasn’t afraid to admit it, but at least one major necessity would be done.

The smell of grease filled the small apartment, and ten minutes later, he slid the last egg on the third plate.

He made his way into the living room with the three plates, and Sam chuckled at the amount of food on each plate, one piled higher than the rest.

“Food. No more arguing,” he said firmly.

He handed her a plate and then turned to Nikki, holding out another plate for her.

Hesitating, she took it. “Thank you.”

Her voice quiet, she gave him a tiny smile, her lush lips tilted in a twisted version of a smile as if she had forgotten how, and his heart stuttered and hit his ribs.

Even with cracked lips, he was taken aback by her beauty.

The three sat around his small table in the dining room, and metal clattered against porcelain as they were all silent, each lost in their own thoughts.