As Zsadist breached the doorway of the nursery, he actually double-checked to make sure his shirt was properly tucked into his leathers.
Man, he loved the smell of the room. Lemon-scented innocence was what he called it in his mind. Sweet like a flower, but not cloying. Clean.
Bella squeezed his hand and led him over to the crib. Surrounded by satin bows that were bigger than she was, Nalla was curled up on her side, her arms and legs tucked in tight, her eyes shut hard as if she were working really, really, really diligently at being asleep.
The instant Z looked over the lip of the crib, she stirred. Made a little noise. In her sleep her hand reached out, not toward her mother, but to him.
"What does she want?" he asked like an idiot.
"She wants you to touch her." When he didn't move, Bella murmured, "She does this in her sleep . . . she seems to know who's around and she likes a little pat."
To his shellan's absolute credit, she didn't force him to do anything.
But Nalla wasn't happy. Her little hand and arm strained for him.
Z wiped his palm on the front of his shirt, then rubbed it up and down a couple of times on his hip. As he reached forward, his fingers trembled.
Nalla made the connection. His daughter took his thumb and held it with such strength he felt a spear of pure, undiluted pride shoot through his chest.
"She's strong," he pronounced, his approval positively dripping off the words.
Bella made a little noise beside him.
"Nalla?" he whispered as he bent down. His daughter pursed her little lips and held on even stronger.
"I can't believe that grip of hers." He let his forefinger brush lightly on his daughter's wrist. "Soft . . . oh, my God, she's so soft-- "
Nalla's eyes flipped open. And as he looked into a stare the exact golden color of his own, his heart stopped. "Hi . . ."
Nalla blinked and waved his finger and transformed him: Everything stopped as she moved not just his hand, but his heart.
"You're like your mahmen," he whispered. "You make the world go away for me. . . ."
Nalla kept wagging his hand and let out a coo.
"I can't believe her grip. . . ." He glanced up at Bella. "She's so--"
Tears were streaming down Bella's face, and her arms were locked around her chest as if she were trying not to shatter apart.
His heart moved again, but for a different reason.
"Come here, nalla," he said, reaching out to his shellan, tucking her in against him with his free hand. "Come here to your male."
Bella buried her face into his chest and her palm found his.
As Z stood there, with a hold on both his daughter and his mate, he felt eight thousand feet tall, and faster than his Carrera and stronger than an army.
His chest swelled with renewed purpose. They were both his, these two. His and his alone, and he had to take care of them. One was his heart and the other a piece of himself, and they completed him by filling voids he didn't know he had.
Nalla looked up at her parents and the most adorable sound came out of her button mouth, a kind of, Well, isn't this lovely, the way things have sorted out.
But then his daughter reached up with her other hand . . . and touched the slave band on his wrist.
Z stiffened. He couldn't help it.
"She doesn't know what they are," Bella said softly. He took a hard breath. "She will. Someday she will know exactly what they are."
Before Z went down to see Doc Jane, he spent more time with his ladies. He ordered some food for Bella, and while it was being prepared he watched for the first time as his daughter was fed. Nalla zonked right out afterward, which was perfect timing, as Fritz arrived with the food. Z fed his shellan from his own hand, taking special satisfaction in choosing the very best parts of the chicken breast and the homemade rolls and the broccoli spears for her.
When the plate was clean and the wineglass empty, he wiped Bella's mouth with a damask napkin as her lids fluttered down. Tucking her in, he kissed her, picked up the tray and his right shitkicker, and stepped out.
As he closed the door quietly and heard the knob click, a glow of contentment bathed him. His females were fed and sleeping and safe. He'd done his job well.
Job? Try mission in life.
He glanced toward the nursery door and wondered whether, as a male, you bonded with your children or not. He'd always heard it was only with your shellan . . . but he was starting to have some serious protective instincts over Nalla. And he hadn't even picked her up yet. Give him two weeks of getting familiar with her? He was liable to become an H-bomb if anything threatened her.
Was that what being a father was like? He didn't know. None of his brothers had young and there was no one else he could think of to ask.
Heading for the stairs, he limped down the hall of statues, boot, cast, boot, cast, boot, cast. . . . and he looked at his wrists as he went along.
Downstairs he took the dishes into the kitchen and thanked Fritz, then went into the tunnel that led to the training center. If Doc Jane had given up waiting on him, he was going to cut the cast off himself.
Stepping out through the closet in the office, he heard the high whining sound of a table saw and followed the scream to the gym. On the way he was looking forward to seeing how Jane's new clinic was coming along. The three treatment bays, which were being constructed out of one of the facility's audience halls, were designed to function as either surgical suites or patient bays, and the equipment was going to be state of the art. Doc Jane was investing in a CAT scan, digital X-ray imaging, and ultrasound technology, along with an electronic medical records system and a host of hi-tech surgical tools. With a supply room worthy of a fully functioning emergency department, the goal was to circumvent the Brotherhood's use of Havers's clinic.
Which was safer for everybody. The Brotherhood's compound was surrounded by mhis, thanks to V, but the same couldn't be said for where Havers practiced--as had been proven when the clinic was sacked over the summer. Considering that the Brothers could be tailed at any time, it was smart to keep as many things having to do with them in-house.
Z cracked one of the gym's metal doors open and paused. Yeah, whoa. Doc Jane evidently had some serious Extreme Home Makeover in her.
Last night, when Z had been rolled in, everything had been as it always was. Now, less than twenty-four hours later, a six-foot- by-twelve-foot hole had been busted out of the cinder-block wall across the way. The opening exposed the audience hall that was going to be converted, and right in front of the chasm, V's mate was taking a two-by-four and feeding it into a table saw, her hands solid, the rest of her ghostly transparent.
When she caught sight of Z, she finished with the board and turned the machine off. "Hey!" she called out as the din faded. "You ready to have that cast removed?"
"Yeah. And clearly you're good with a saw."
"You better believe it." She grinned and gestured toward the hole. "So, you like my interior decorating?"
"You don't fool around."
"Masonry hammers rock, what can I say?"
"I'm ready for the next board," V hollered from the lecture hall.
"It's ready."
V came out wearing a tool belt hung with a hammer and several chisels. As he went over to his female, he said, "Hey, Z, how's your leg?"
"Gonna be better once Doc Jane takes this deadweight off." Z nodded across the way. "Man, you guys are going to town."
"Yeah, we should be able to take care of the framing tonight." Doc Jane handed her male the board and gave him a quick kiss, her face becoming solid as contact was made. "I'll be right back. Just going to take off his cast."
"Don't rush." V nodded at Zsadist. "You look tight. I'm glad."
"Your female's a miracle worker."
"That she is."
"Okay, enough with the ego stroking, boys." She smiled and kissed her mate again. "Come on, Z. Let's do it."
As she turned away, V's eyes followed her body . . . which no doubt meant that as soon as Zsadist was out of their hair, the new clinic wasn't the only thing that was going to get worked on.
Bella's eyes went back to him, and when she realized he was staring at his wrists, she said, "You're going to try to get them removed, aren't you."
His mouth twitched into a half smile, the side distorted by the tail of his facial scar lifting. "You know me so well."
"How will you get it done?" When he finished telling her, she nodded. "Excellent plan. And I'll go with you."
He looked up at her. "Good. Thank you. I don't think I could do it without you."
She stood up and went over to him. "You're not going to have to worry about that."