The Black Dagger Brotherhood Page 5

  And ten seconds later it was, its flames lighting up the night.

  Fuuuuuck, if Z thought the trip through the tunnel had been bad on his leg, it was nothing compared to the bump-and-shatter act it took to get away from those slayers. By the time the Hummer burst out onto Route 9 after having clipped at least one of the lessers on its hood, Zsadist was on the verge of blacking out.

  “Shit, he’s going into shock.”

  Z realized with little interest that Rhage had turned around and was looking at him, not at the civilian.

  “Am not,” he mumbled as his eyes rolled back in his head. “Just taking a little break.”

  Rhage’s spectacular Bahama-blue stare narrowed. “Compound. Fracture. Motherfucker. You’re bleeding out as we speak.”

  Z lifted his eyes to Qhuinn’s in the rearview mirror. “Sorry ‘bout the carpet.”

  The male shook his head. “Not to worry. You, I will abso trash my ride for.”

  Rhage put his hand on Z’s neck. “Damn it, you’re white as snow and about as warm. You’re going to have to get treated at the clinic.”

  “Home.”

  In a low voice Rhage said, “I texted Mary not to let her go, okay? Bella’s still going to be there no matter how long it takes us to get back to the mansion. She’s not leaving you before you get home.”

  A whole lot of resounding quiet settled in the Hummer, like everyone was busy pretending they didn’t hear any of Rhage’s newsflash.

  Z opened his mouth to argue.

  But fainted dead away before he could marshal any more objections.

  SIX

  Bella paced around the PT room in the training center, orbiting the examination table on shaky legs. She stopped regularly to check the clock.

  Where were they? What else had gone wrong? It had been over an hour. . . .

  Oh, God, please let Zsadist be alive. Please let them bring him back alive.

  Pacing, more pacing. Eventually she paused at the head of the gurney and looked down its length. Putting her hand on its padded top, she found herself thinking of when she had been on the thing as a patient. Three months ago. For Nalla’s birth.

  God, what a nightmare that had been.

  And God, what a nightmare this was . . . waiting for her hellren to be rolled in injured, bleeding, in pain. And that was the best-case scenario. The worst case was a body with a sheet over it, something she couldn’t even contemplate.

  To keep herself from going crazy, she thought about the birth, about that moment when both her and Z’s lives had changed forever. Like a lot of dramatic things, the big event had been anticipated, but when it arrived had nonetheless been a shock. She’d been in her ninth month out of the usual eighteen and it had been a Monday night.

  Helluva way to start the workweek.

  She’d had a craving for chili, and Fritz had indulged her, whipping up a batch that was spicy as a blowtorch. When the beloved butler had brought the steaming bowl to her, though, she’d abruptly been unable to stomach the smell or the sight of it. Nauseous and sweaty, she’d gone to take a cool shower, and as she’d lumbered into the bathroom, she’d wondered how in the hell she could fit another seven months of the young getting larger in her belly.

  Nalla, evidently, had taken the random thought to heart. For the first time in weeks she moved strongly—and, with a sharp kick, broke her water.

  Bella had lifted her robe and looked down at the wetness, wondering for a moment whether she’d lost control of her bladder. Then light had dawned. Although she’d followed Doc Jane’s advice and avoided reading the vampire version of What to Expect When You’re Expecting, she had enough background to know that once your water breaks, the bus has left the station.

  Ten minutes later she’d been flat on this gurney, with Doc Jane moving quickly, but thoroughly, through an exam. The conclusion was that Bella’s body didn’t seem ready to get with the program, but Nalla had to be taken out. Pitocin, which was used frequently to induce labor in human women, was administered, and shortly thereafter Bella learned that there was a difference between pain and labor.

  Pain got your attention. Labor got all your attention.

  Zsadist had been out in the field, and when he’d arrived he was so frantic that what little hair was left from his skull trim was standing straight up. As soon as he got through the door, he’d ditched his weapons, the pile growing to the size of a love seat, and rushed to stand at her side.

  She’d never seen him so scared. Not even when he woke up from his dreams of that sadistic Mistress he’d had. His eyes had been black, not from anger but from fear, and his lips drawn so tightly they were a pair of white slashes.

  Having him there had helped her get through the pain. And she’d needed him. Doc Jane had advised against an epidural, as vampires could experience alarming decreases in blood pressure with them. So there had been no buffering at all.

  And no time to move her to Havers’s clinic. Once the Pitocin had fired up her body, the labor had progressed too fast for her to be taken anywhere—although it wouldn’t have mattered because dawn was near. Which meant there was no way to get the race’s physician to the training center, either.

  Bella came back to the present, smoothing her hand over the thin pillow that rested on the gurney. She could remember holding on to Z’s hand hard enough to break his bones as she’d strained until her teeth hurt and she felt as if she were getting ripped in half.

  And then her vitals had crashed.

  “Bella?”

  She wheeled around. Wrath was in the PT room’s doorway, the king’s huge body filling the jambs. With his hip-length black hair and his wraparound sunglasses and his black leathers, he seemed in his silent arrival like a modern-day version of the Grim Reaper.

  “Oh, please, no,” she said, gripping onto the gurney. “Please—”

  “No, it’s okay. He’s okay.” Wrath came forward and took her arm, holding her up. “He’s been stabilized.”

  “Stabilized?”

  “He has a compound fracture of his lower leg and it’s caused some bleeding.”

  Some being massive, no doubt. “Where is he?”

  “He’s coming home from Havers’s right now. I figured you’d be worried, so I wanted to let you know.”

  “Thank you. Thank you . . .” Even with the problems they’d been having lately, the idea of losing her hellren was catastrophic.

  “Whoa, easy, there.” The king wrapped her in his huge arms and held her gently. “Let the shakes go through you. You’ll breathe more that way, believe it or not.”

  She did as he suggested, loosening the rigid control she’d clamped onto her muscles. Her body shimmied from shoulder to calf and she relied on the king’s strength to keep standing. He was right, though. Even as she trembled, she was able to take a deep breath or two.

  When she’d become more stable, she pulled back. As she caught sight of the gurney she frowned and had to start walking around again.

  “Wrath, may I ask you something?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She had to pace a little more before she could frame the question properly. “If Beth had a baby, would you love the child as much as you love her?”

  The king looked surprised. “Ah . . .”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s none of my business—”

  “No, it’s not that. I’m trying to figure out the answer.” He reached up and lifted the sunglasses from his brilliant, pale green eyes. Though they were unfocused, his stare nonetheless was utterly arresting. “Here’s the thing . . . and I believe this is true for all bonded males. Your shellan is the beating heart in your chest. More than that, even. She’s your body and your skin and your mind . . . everything you ever were and ever will be. So a male can never feel more for anyone than he does his mate. It’s just not possible—and I think there’s some evolution at work. The deeper you love, the more you protect, and keeping your female alive at all costs means she can care for whatever young s
he has. That being said, of course you love your children. I think of Darius with Beth . . . I mean, he was desperate for her to be safe. And Tohr with John . . . and . . . yeah, I mean, you feel deeply for them, sure.”

  It was logical, but not much of a relief, considering Zsadist wouldn’t even pick Nalla up—

  The double doors of the PT room bounced open as Z was wheeled in. He was dressed in a hospital johnny, probably because his clothes had had to be cut off him at Havers’s clinic, and there was no color in his face at all. Both his hands were bandaged, and there was a cast on his lower leg.

  He was out cold.

  She rushed to his side and took his hand. “Zsadist? Zsadist?”

  Sometimes IVs and pills weren’t always the best course of treatment for the injured. Sometimes all you needed was the touch of the one you loved and the sound of their voice and the knowledge that you were home, and that was enough to drag you back from the brink.

  Z opened his eyes. The sapphire blue stare he met brought a tangle of tears to his lashes. Bella was leaning over him, her thick mahogany hair trailing off one shoulder, her classically boned face drawn in lines of worry.

  “Hi,” he said, because it was the best he could do.

  He’d refused any pain meds at the clinic, because the sluggish effect they had always reminded him of the way he’d been drugged at the hands of the Mistress—so he’d been fully conscious as his leg had been opened up and pinned back together by Doc Jane. Well, he’d been with it for part of the time, at any rate. He’d passed out for a while. Upshot was, he felt like death. No doubt looked like it, as well. And there was just too much to say.

  “Hi.” Bella smoothed her hand over his skull trim. “Hi . . .”

  “Hi . . .” Before he broke down and made an ass of himself, he glanced around her to see who else was in the PT suite. Wrath was talking to Rhage in the corner next to the whirlpool bath, and Qhuinn, John, and Blay were standing in front of the banks of steel-and-glass cabinetry.

  Witnesses. Shit. He needed to pull it together.

  As he blinked hard, the details of the room came into clear focus, and he thought of the last time he’d been in it.

  The birth.

  “Shhh . . .” Bella murmured, clearly mistaking the reason for his wince. “Just close your eyes and relax.”

  He did as he was told, because he was back on the brink, and not because of how badly his leg and his hands were hurting.

  God, that night when Nalla had been born . . . when he’d nearly lost his shellan . . .

  Z squeezed his lids shut, not wanting to relive the past . . . or look too closely at the present. He was in danger of losing Bella. Again.

  “I love you . . .” he whispered. “Please don’t leave me.”

  “I’m right here.”

  Yeah, but for how long.

  The panic he felt now took him back to the night of the birth . . . he’d been out in the field with Vishous, investigating a civilian abduction downtown. When the call had come from Doc Jane, he’d dumped V like a bad habit and dematerialized to the mansion’s courtyard, plowing through the foyer and into the tunnel. Everyone, shellans and doggens and Wrath alike, had gotten the hell out of his way to avoid becoming bowling pins.

  Down in the training center, in this very room, he’d found Bella stretched out on the gurney he now lay upon. He’d come in right in the middle of a contraction and had had to watch as Bella’s body became locked into place as if a giant hand were crushing her around the middle. When the pain eased off she’d taken a deep inhale, then looked at him and offered him a weak smile. As she reached out for him, he’d peeled his weapons off, dropping them on the linoleum.

  “Hands,” Doc Jane barked. “You wash your hands before you come over here.”

  He’d nodded and gone directly to the deep bucket sinks with the foot pedals. He’d worked a lather all the way up his arms until his skin glowed Barbie pink then he’d dried with a blue surgical cloth and rushed to Bella’s side.

  Their palms had just made contact when the next contraction came roaring through. Bella had squeezed his hand until it was crushed in her grip, but he didn’t care. Holding her stare as she’d strained, he would have done anything to take the pain from her . . . and at that moment he would have cheerfully cut his own balls off. He couldn’t believe he’d put her through that kind of suffering.

  It got worse. The labor was like a locomotive gathering speed, and its tracks were all over Bella’s body. Harder, longer, faster. Harder, longer, faster. He didn’t know how she could stand it. And then she couldn’t.

  She’d crashed, all her vital signs dropping—heart rate, blood pressure, everything going into the shitter. He’d known how serious it was by how fast Doc Jane had moved. He remembered the drugs going into the IV, and Vishous coming forward with . . . shit, surgical tools and a fetal incubator.

  Doc Jane snapped on a fresh pair of latex gloves, looking first at Bella, then at him. “We’re going to have to go in and get the baby, okay? She’s in distress as well.”

  Nodding. He’d done some nodding at that point on both his and Bella’s parts. The Betadine had been a rusty orange as V had rubbed it all over Bella’s swollen abdomen.

  “Is she going to be okay?” Bella mumbled desperately. “Is our young going to be—”

  Doc Jane had leaned down. “Look at me.”

  The two females had locked eyes. “I’m going to do everything I can to get both of you through this. I want you to calm yourself, that’s your job. Calm yourself and let me do what I’m best at it. Deep breath now.”

  Zsadist had taken one along with his shellan . . . and then he’d watched as Bella’s eyelids suddenly flared and her stare focused on the ceiling with an odd fixation. Before he could ask her what she was looking at, she’d closed her eyes.

  He’d had a moment of terror that he would never see them open again.

  Then she’d said, “Just make sure the young is okay.”

  He’d gone cold at that point, utterly cold, because it was clear Bella didn’t think she was coming out of it alive. And the only thing she cared about was the young.

  “Please stay with me,” he’d groaned as the incision was made.

  Bella hadn’t heard him. She’d drifted away from consciousness, sure as if she were on a boat that had left its mooring and floated off over calm waters.

  Nalla had been born at six twenty-four a.m.

  “Is it alive?” he’d asked.

  Though it shamed him to admit it now, the only reason he’d wanted to know was because God forbid Bella had to come around and learn that her daughter had been stillborn.

  While Doc Jane stitched up Bella, Vishous had worked fast with a suction balloon over the young’s mouth and nose, then he’d fired up a tiny IV and done something with the hands and feet. Fast. He’d been as fast as his shellan at that point.

  “Is she alive?”

  “Zsadist?”

  His eyes popped open and he came back to the present.

  “Do you need more painkillers?” Bella asked. “You look as if you’re in agony.”

  “I can’t believe she lived. She was so small.”

  As the words came out of Zsadist’s mouth, Bella was confused, but only for a split second. The birth . . . he was thinking about the birth.

  She stroked the fine, short hair on his head, trying to ease him in some small way. “Yes . . . yes, she was.”

  His yellow eyes shifted to the other folks in the room and his voice got quiet. “Can I be honest?”

  Oh, shit, she thought. “Yes, please.”

  “The only reason I cared whether she was alive was because I didn’t want you to be told she wasn’t. She was the only thing you were worried about . . . and I couldn’t bear for you to lose her.”

  Bella frowned. “You mean at the end?”

  “Yes . . . you said you just wanted to make sure she was okay. Those were your last words.”

  Bella reached out and put her palm on his ch
eek. “I thought I was dying and I didn’t want you to be left all alone. I . . . I saw the light of the Fade. It was all around me, bathing me. I was worried about you . . . about what would happen if I weren’t living.”

  His face blanched even further, proving that there was a color paler than white on the spectrum. “I thought that’s what had been happening. Oh . . . God, I can’t believe how close it was.”

  Doc Jane came up to the gurney. “Sorry to interrupt. I just want to do a quick check on his vitals?”

  “Of course.”

  As Bella watched the doctor make fast work of the examination, she thought of the way those ghostly hands had helped her daughter come into the world.

  “Good,” Doc Jane said, linking her stethoscope around her neck. “This is good. He’s stabilized and should be able to get up and move around in another hour or so.”

  “Thank you,” Bella murmured as Z did the same.

  “My pleasure. Believe me. Now, how about the rest of us take off and let you two have some time alone.”

  The crowd dispersed amid offers of help and food and anything else that might be needed. As Wrath went over to the door, he paused and looked at Bella.

  Her grip tightened on Z’s shoulder as the king bowed his head a little and then shut the door.

  She cleared her throat. “May I get you something to—”

  “We need to talk.”

  “It can wait—”

  “Until you leave here?” Z shook his head. “No. It has to be now.”

  Bella pulled a rolling stool over and sat down, stroking his forearm because she couldn’t hold his bandaged hands. “I’m scared. If we don’t . . . can’t bridge this gap . . .”

  “Me too.”

  As their words hung in the quiet of the tiled, clinical room, Bella remembered waking up from the C-section that day of the birth. Zsadist’s eyes had been the first thing she’d seen. He’d been in agony as he’d stared down at her, but slowly his pain had lifted, revealing disbelief and then hope.

  “Show her the young,” Z had called out sharply. “Quickly.”