The lights pressed hard on my skin, although there were barely any- the music that was pulsating through the room drowned out any other signs of life. I never wanted to be anywhere like this- but, hey, I'd seen worse. I hadn't packed much money from Stonehaven, and I mentally abused myself for it as my heels stabbed at the floor, taking me further into the strip club. Oh, sorry, "Gentlemen's Club".

The man who owned the place was a friend of the Pack- of course he was- so he agreed to give me an interview, no questions asked. Oxymoronic? No. He basically wanted to make sure I had the goods to perform, but since I was underage and didn't speak a word of Russian, I didn't have many options.

I felt my skin crawl as the owner gave me a once over, and then a twice over. . . Normally I wouldn't take that shit. I was raised to believe that my greatest strengths were never how I looked, but how strong my right hook was. It was a whole different kind of "hook" now, I guess. No matter how degrading this was, it was nothing as compared to what it would be like having to take Viktor's money.

When I first arrived, I got a lot of stares. I was skinny, underweight, underfed, over-drugged. My hair didn't have a style, it was just a tangle of curls; not one wolf noticed. I never really understood what it would mean to them, to meet a female of their species. Apparently, after I was tucked into bed, there were a few drunken fights and arguments over who would get to "tuck me in" the next night.

In the club, I stared at the bar that took up much of the left wall. How could alcohol and a girl cause Pack members to hit each other? They were such a large Pack, I guess that the hierarchy ran too deep to allow for a strong sense of brotherhood.

"You dance?" The owner spoke English- another reason for the job.

"Sure," I stumble- a lie. I guess he picked up on it, because now he wants a 'demonstration'. I know what you must be thinking. But it's not like that. Although my physical prowess was never idolized, I was also taught that there was nothing shameful with my body. Everything about it was natural, and beautiful. So, without so much as a blush, I tap my heels up onto the podium in the private viewing room.

I close my eyes, feeling the music. Slowly, I shrug off the coat, and let the music take me somewhere else.

- - - -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Fuck!" I exhale, trying desperately to read the cooking instructions. I was standing by myself, with a burnt mess in front of me, covered in the flour that coated the massive kitchen.

I'd been in Russia for a week and a half, and the language barrier was starting to get to me. I couldn't even cook my friends a "thanks for watching out for my shit" dinner.

Nik was one of my closest friends in the Pack- he didn't seem too interested in me sexually, and wanted to honestly help me out. Viktor's youngest nephew, Sergei, was Nik's best friend and hence was mine as well. Nik spoke English fluently, and Sergei a little broken. But I could at least communicate. And neither of them grabbed at my ass.

As I stared impotently at the Russian cooking instructions for Nik's favourite meal, I pondered on my current predicament.

I needed this Pack to respect me. They didn't.

The few times a week I was with the Alpha, no one even dared a glance. When I was with Nik, people rarely hooted, and the first time a guy went to grab at me Nik broke his wrist in three places. I wanted to do it myself, but I'm still not sure where I am, power structure wise. If I was Nik's mate, I would be a high ranking female.

If there were more members of the American Pack, I also was high ranking as the Alpha's grand-daughter and Clay's daughter. Being Clay's daughter helped me here, for sure. Some people are afraid I'm as "crazy" as my Daddy. Fine with me.

Back to the problem. . . I need two things:

a)Learn Russian

b)Discover my position among the Pack

Seems simple. It's not.

As I was getting more and more confused, I hear a soft sigh as the wood floor groans. I abruptly look up from my disaster of cooking to see a man I've never seen before.

"Hello,"he says in greeting. His large (must be atleast 6"4) form is leaning against the doorframe. He is going for unobtrusive, the way his frame is folded in towards itself. His face also has many scars on it- not ugly, necessarily, but maybe to a human woman it would be. I nod towards him, and brush a flour-covered curl from my cheek. Before I can say anything impressive, he backs out of site and I hear his heavy footfalls down the hall.

"Katherine!" Sergei's voice booms. "Cooking?"

"Trying to" I sputter," Who was that was ahead of you?" Sergei's face scrunches, and then it looks as if he's understood me.

"My brother. Damien. I just picked him up from Baseia- Pack business." Hmm. I knew Pack business usually meant mutt killing. So that was the illusive Damien- Viktor's favourite nephew. Before I can think more, Sergei begins talking.

" Nik and I have to see someone. Tonight. You come?" I look at the mess I've made.

"Love to, but I can't read Russian to save my life, so I think going out wouldn't be too bright right now. But," I pull out two books," I'm learning!" Sergei's eyes go towards my "Russian for Dummies!" and "Putin not Poutine" books.

"I teach you." He says. "I teach you from now on, you learn from me. We start this afternoon, and then you come with us. Tonight. Yes?" How could I refuse that offer?

The music was pulsing throughout the club; some sexy pop beat. The lyrics were Russian, and flowing too fast for me to understand. Didn't matter. I could understand the beat.

The club, __, is packed tight. The place is done in deep burgundies, purples, and dark blues. Oh, and of course black. It seems to be going for an upscale, brothel look. The dance floor is massive, and taking up the mid-right side of the lower level. A few couples look like they are fornicating on the floor already, so it's not much different from American clubs in that sense. I could smell the hormones raging from the second I stepped out of the car, but now that scent is mixed with a myriad of others. Sweat, expensive perfume, even more expensive cologne, vodka, and a smattering of drugs wafting from the balconies above. Nik and Sergei (Viktor's nephew) lead us off to the left, where the bar takes up practically the entire wall. The countertop is sleek and black, reflecting the dim lights from the dance floor.

One of the bartenders leans in towards Nik, taking his order. He looks at me, gesturing, asking if I want something. A brief shake of the head, and he's turned back to the bartender. Only, the bartender is looking at me. I can feel his gaze drag up my body, starting from my ass, and ending with my lips. I resist the urge to tug on my silk dress, and instead make sure to stare him down. A low growl trickles from Nik's lips, too low for the humans. I walk up behind Nik, pressing my breasts against his back, wrapping my arms around his waist from behind.

"Behave," I whisper. He nods, a suggestive smile tugging at his lips. Uh oh. Didn't mean to send off this signal to him. I pull back, and reclaim those two steps that put my shoulder to shoulder with Sergei again. Instead of waiting, Sergei grasps my hand in his and leads us to the back of the club, and we are already heading up the circular stairs when Nik catches up, some heavy-smelling mixture in the glass he holds. We pass over the second flood, filled with the wannabes and desperate. I look into the eyes of some of the men, and I can just tell they are looking for someone younger than me. A lot younger. Fuck that, not my problem. I tighten my hand on Sergei, and Nik claims my left hand in his own. The song switches over, barely noticeable. Finally we reach the third floor, with yet another bouncer at the entrance to the level. He's a big looking brute, all dark and brooding. He's got a tan, tight body, covered with a designer suit and the promise of violence. Must get paid well. Wonder what he has to do, to earn a check that big. Wonder if I want to know. Probably not.

The bouncer/guard looks over Nik and peels back the heavy black and wine colored curtain separating us from the floor. So this is where the deals take place.

The third level is thin, only taking up the left side of the club, right above the bar. It's got a fantastic view of the dance floor, but it's too far up, too shrouded by darkness for anyone to see the tables that line either side of the floor. Exclusivity, privacy.

We keep walking, me following the guys, until we reach the large wooden table the spans the end of the level. There are people sitting there already.

Two women, I'd gauge them at twenty five years a piece. The one to the right of me is squished on the edge of the black booth seat up against the wall, the farthest from the balcony. She's got a low, sheer red top on. Some cute lace thing that costs more per square inch than any cloth you'll find at Bendel's back home. Her long black hair is straight, resting just above her breasts. Which, let me tell you, aren't god given. Her red mouth is turned up in a sneer when she sees me.

The second woman is two people away from the other and slightly apart from the group. She peers over the balcony, with this odd look in her eyes. Empty. I know that look. Her hair is shorter than the other woman's, a soft brown that smells of dye still. Her chin length bob covers a fresh wound, I can smell it. Did something tear at her face?

"Nikolai!" A voice booms from the man closest to Empty Eyes. He has a dark complexion, not a tan, just genetics. With equally dark eyes, hair, and a slight shadow of beard over his face, he looks intimidating. Not just the sheer size of him, 'cause you can tell he's spent a lot of time in the weight room, but also the look in his eyes. Hungry. Did he do that to the girl's face? If I didn't know better, I might have been a bit scared by him. But I did know better. So instead of focusing on the man that was grinning at Nik, I-like Sergei- was focusing on the man to the right of him. Oh, excuse me, the werewolf.

"Nikolai! I'm glad you could make it!" Of course, beard-man said this in Russian. But let me save time, and just translate. "Good time tonight," then he reached out to touch Empty Eye's breast. Whether this bothered her, I can't tell. She didn't move. He then started speaking in faster Russian, before he was inturupted mid-sentence.

"Who's your friend?" This was from the werewolf. Sergei stood up a bit taller, showing off all of that 6'4".

"She's a friend." Nik answered, voice smooth as butter. He glanced at the women, which I guess meant he wanted to be able to talk openly. The werewolf then said something, probably rude, because I had never heard it before, but it got the girl's to slink away from the secluded table. The girl of the red lips tried to shove my shoulder as she left, but I moved to my left and she missed. Instead, it just looked like she moved jerkily. Good for her.

"Now, we may speak openly." Wolf said.

"And the sorcerer?" Nik nodded at beard-man.

"We may speak openly. Pavel and I have an understanding," he laughed and it sent a shiver down my spine, " and the understanding is if he tells his stories I break his legs. And then I break his mother's legs. We have understanding."

"Alright. This is the newest member of the Pack." Wolf raised his eyebrows, then I saw his nostrils flare. A look of surprise fell across his face like a dark shadow.

"I thought I was confused by your scent, and the drugs. So the rumors are true."

"What rumors?" Nik asked.

"That an American bitch has joined you." Bitch? Me? Should I be offended? I let it slide. This time. "I though truly it must be rumor, we have no women here. Maybe American malfunction?" He laughed again, this time giving me a long once-over. Unlike the bartender, though, he wasn't looking at my breasts. Or, mostly he wasn't. Instead, he appeared to be sizing me up, figuring me out. The look was very wolf, and had very little to do with being a man. "So, little girl, you American?" The last was in English. He looked at me, and Nik followed the gaze. Sergei didn't, he was doing his job, watching the club.

"I was." I answer in Russian, this surprises him. I don't think he understood before, when he was speaking, that I could understand him.

"Was? American no more?"

"My mother's family was Russian."

"Is that why you understand me? Hmm." I didn't correct him, Elena didn't speak Russian, "Who bit you? He bring you here?" I think he meant the Russian Pack, not the club.

"I wasn't bitten." If he wasn't surprised before, he sure as hell was now.

"Really?" He tried to be calm, but I could smell his excitement. He gazed at me again, probably trying to figure out what bloodline I was. "Have I heard of your father?"

"You've heard of both her parents, Mikky." This was from Nik; I would never have volunteered it. Understanding passed through his eyes, I could see him working through it.

"You're a Danvers."

"She's a part of my family now." Finally, Sergei spoke up. I think his deep bass tone of authority startled everyone.

"But, why not flaunt your lineage, girl? I have never heard of such a pairing, it was a thing of legend. I never would have guessed children came of it. And to be the daughter of Clayton Danvers- we heard of him here, you know. His brutality would have earned him a place here, if he had tried for it. Your mother, I never heard much of her. Just rumors that there was a woman ulfhednar." My discomfort must have been radiating from me in waves, because Sergei spoke again.

"We answered your question. The girl is blood of our blood now. If you have problem, you speak to Viktor himself." He was getting agitated at the smaller man. We had all forgotten the Sorceror, and he spoke up now.

"Mikky, we do not wish to agitate the man. I will answer what you came here to know. Yes, the shipment came in. No, I don't know why it took so long. When we have more information, we will make call." Shipment? I'm guessing he would have said more if I wasn't here. Maybe I was wrong, but I don't think the sorceror liked me.

"Alright, I will tell Viktor. Thank you for your time." Nik was the one to smile, and start to steer us towards the curtain again.

"The girl doesn't want to dance?" Mikky called to us. I think Nik would hve said something diplomatic, but I put my foot in my mouth first.

Without turning, I called, "The girl wants to dance. Just not with you." We kept walking,at a faster pace this time. I could smell the rage from that back table, even as I heard the girls' return, and the smell of lust.