black jacket. Which will your black turtleneck go with?”
“It’s not just another black jacket, peasant. It’s the difference between pure black and charcoal black.”
“We have a train to catch,” Berg reminded Coop. “So could you speed this—”
Both shifters jumped, their gazes locked on the balcony outside the room, visible through doors open to let the fresh morning air in.
Another crazed female fan trying to make her way into Coop’s room? Some of these women, all of them full-humans, were willing to try any type of craziness for just a chance at ending up in the “maestro’s” bed.
With a sigh, Berg pushed himself out of the chair and headed across the large room toward the sliding glass doors. It looked like he’d have to break another poor woman’s heart.
But he stopped when he saw her. A brown-skinned woman, completely naked. Which, in and of itself, was not unusual. The women who tried to sneak into Coop’s room—no matter the country they might be in—were often naked.
What stopped Berg in his tracks was that this woman had blood coming from her shoulder. The blood from a gun wound.
Berg motioned Coop back. “Get in the bathroom,” he ordered.
“Oh, come on. I want to see what’s—”
“I don’t care what you want. Get in the—”
The men stopped arguing when they saw him. A man in black military tactical wear, armed with a rifle, handgun, and several blades. He zipped down a line and landed on the railing of their balcony.
Berg placed his hand on the gun holstered at his side and stepped in front of Coop.
“Get in the bathroom, Coop,” he ordered, his voice low.
“We have to help her.”
“Do what I tell you and I will.”
The man in black dropped onto the balcony and grabbed the unconscious woman by her arm, rolling her limp body over.
“Now, Coop. Go.”
Berg moved forward with his weapon drawn from its holster. The man pulled his sidearm and pressed the barrel against the woman’s head.
Berg aimed his .45 and barked, “Hey!”
The man looked up, bringing his gun with him. Gazes locked, fingers resting on triggers. Each man sizing the other up. And that was when the woman moved. Fast. So fast, Berg knew she wasn’t completely human, which immediately changed everything.
The woman grabbed her attacker’s gun hand by the wrist and held it to the side so he couldn’t finish the job on her. She used her free hand to pummel the man’s face repeatedly.
Blood poured down his lips from his shattered nose; his eyes now dazed.
Still holding the man’s wrist, she got to her feet.
She was tall. Maybe five-ten or five-eleven. With broad, powerful shoulders and arms and especially legs. Like a much-too-tall gymnast.
She gripped her attacker by the throat with one hand and, without much effort, lifted him up and over the balcony railing. She released him then and unleashed the biggest claws Berg had ever seen from her right hand.
Turning away from the attacker, she swiped at the zip line that held him aloft, and Berg cringed a little at the man’s desperate screams as he fell to the ground below.
That’s when she saw Berg. Her claws—coming from surprisingly small hands—were still unleashed. Her gaze narrowed on him and her shoulders hunched just a bit. She was readying herself for an attack. To kill the man who could out her as a shifter, he guessed. Not having had time to process that he was one, too. Plus, he had a gun, which wouldn’t help his cause any.
“It’s okay,” Berg said quickly, re-holstering his weapon. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Yeah,” Coop said from behind him. “We just want to help.”
Berg let out a frustrated breath. “I thought I told you to get into the bathroom.”
“I wanted to see what’s going on.”
Coop moved to Berg’s side. “We’re shifters, too,” he said, using that goddamn charming smile. Like this was the time for any of that!
But this woman rolled her eyes in silent exasperation and came fully into the room. She walked right by Berg and Coop and to the bedroom door.
“Wait,” Berg called out. When she turned to face him, one brow raised in question, he reminded her, “You’re naked.”
He went to his already packed travel bag and pulled out a black T-shirt.
“Here,” he said, handing it to her.
She pulled the shirt on and he saw that he’d given her one of his favorite band shirts from a Fishbone concert he’d seen years ago with his parents and siblings.
“Your shoulder,” Berg prompted, deciding not to obsess over the shirt. Especially when she looked so cute in it.
She shook her head at his prompt and again started toward the door. But a crash from the suite living room had Berg grabbing the woman’s arm with one hand and shoving Coop across the bedroom and into the bathroom with the other.
Berg faced the intruder, pulling the woman in behind his body.
Two gunshots hit Berg in the lower chest—the man had pulled the trigger without actually seeing all of Berg, but expecting a more normal-sized human.
Which meant a few things to Berg. That he was dealing with a full-human. An expertly trained full-human. An ex-soldier probably.
An ex-soldier with a kill order.
Because if he’d been trying to kidnap the woman, he would have made damn sure he knew who or what was on the other end before he pulled that trigger. But he didn’t know. He didn’t check because he didn’t care. Everyone in the room had to die.
And knowing that—understanding that—did nothing but piss Berg off.
Who just ran around trying to kill a naked, unarmed woman? his analytical side wanted to know.
The grizzly part of him, though, didn’t care about any of that. All it knew was that it had been shot. And shooting a grizzly but not killing it immediately . . . always an exceptionally bad move.
The snarl snaked out of Berg’s throat and the muscles between his shoulders grew into a healthy grizzly hump. He barely managed to keep from shifting completely, but his grizzly bear rage exploded and his roar rattled the windows. The bathroom door behind him slammed shut, the jackal having the sense to now go into hiding.
The intruder quickly backed up, knowing something wasn’t right, but not fully understanding, which was why he didn’t run.
He
