His combat medic training kicked in. Multiple contusions to the face. Potential orbital fracture. Defensive wounds on the forearms. Possible fractured ribs, explaining the shallow breathing and hunched posture. Dehydrated, based on the dry, cracked lips. Exhausted, going by the dark circles under her eyes.
Someone had worked her over good.
She took a couple of halting steps away from the car, then her knees buckled.
Shit.
He closed the distance in three strides and caught her before she hit the ground. She weighed nothing in his arms, and he was a little afraid he’d break her.
“I got you,” he said, pitching his voice low and soft, the way he would with a spooked horse. “You’re safe now.”
She flinched at his touch, tried to push away, but she had no strength left. Her good eye darted around wildly, unfocused with fear or pain or both.
“Haven House,” she whispered. “I need... Haven...”
“You’re here,” he assured her. “This is it.”
King whined and circled them.
“Ma’am, I’m going to lay you down to check your injuries.” Bear lowered her gently to the ground, supporting her head. “I’ve got medical training.”
Her pulse raced beneath his fingertips, thready and too fast. Shock, most likely. Her skin was cold and clammy. But her face…
He frowned, studying the pattern of bruising. Something didn’t track right. The injuries were severe, but almost evenly distributed. In his experience, when someone was beating the hell out of another person, the damage concentrated where the attacker’s dominant hand landed—usually one side of the face taking the worst of it. Hers looked bilateral, like she’d been worked over from both sides equally.
Like she’d faced two attackers.
Jesus.
She needed a hospital, but he’d worked with enough abuse victims to know she might bolt at the suggestion. Haven House first, then they could talk options.
The front door of the shelter banged open. Hollis Hartley flew down the steps, her usual calm composure fractured by the scene before her.
“What happened?” She dropped to her knees in the snow beside them.
“She just arrived. Car’s hers, I think.” Bear kept his assessment clinical and focused. “Multiple contusions, possible fractures. She’s in shock. Asked for Haven House specifically.”
Hollis nodded, her mouth set in a grim line. “Sarah?” she asked the woman softly. “Is that your name? You called earlier today, right?”
The woman—Sarah—gave a tiny nod, then winced at the movement. “He—he found out I was leaving.”
More footsteps crunched in the snow behind them. Maggie appeared at Hollis’s shoulder, her face pale with shock. Behind her, other women gathered on the porch, their expressions a mixture of horror and grim recognition.
“I’m going to lift her,” Bear said, already shifting to get his arms under Sarah’s knees and shoulders. “She needs to be inside, warmed up. Then we can better assess?—”
“Bear.” Hollis’s voice was gentle. “I’m sorry, but you can’t come inside.”
He blinked at her, not processing. “She needs medical attention.”
“I know.” Hollis placed a hand on his forearm. “And we’ll get her that. But Haven House has rules. No men in the living spaces, except for Knox.”
His hands curled into fists before he caught himself and forced them open. “I can help her.”
“I know you can, but this isn’t about your skills. It’s about the women inside. Some of them... they’re not ready to have any man around, even one trying to help.”
The flicker of frustration died as quickly as it had ignited. Of course. These women had suffered at the hands of men who claimed to love them. The last thing they needed was a wall of muscle invading their safe space, no matter his intentions.
He nodded and held up his hands in surrender.
