Father Mine (6 page)

 

I'M SORRY. I LOVE YOU, BUT SHE AND I HAVE TO GO. I'LL GIVE YOU
THE ADDRESS WHEN WE'RE SETTLED LATER TONIGHT.

 

Outside the air was cool, and Z dragged the shit into his lungs in hopes of calming his stomach. He was taken directly to the Hummer and settled in the back, along with the civilian who had passed out cold. John, Blay, and Qhuinn piled in, and then there was a stretch of hurry-up-and-wait.

Finally Rhage bolted from the house, flashed three fingers and a fist, and dove into the shotgun seat. While the brother started texting on his phone, Qhuinn hit the gas and once again proved he had half a brain: The guy had been smart enough to back in so he had a straight shot down the driveway, and he took the way out with a vengeance.

Rhage looked at his watch as they bumped along. “Four . . . three . . . two . . .”

The house behind them exploded into a fireball, the aftershocks sending waves of buffering energy through the air—

Just as a minivan full of the enemy pulled into the end of the driveway, blocking the way onto Route 9.

 

Bella double-checked the two L.L. Bean bags and was pretty sure she had everything she needed for the short term. In the one with the green handles she had some clothes for herself, along with her cell phone charger, her toothbrush, and two thousand dollars in cash. The blue-handled one had Nalla's clothes, bottles and diapers, along with wet wipes, rash cream, blankies, a teddy bear, and
Oh, the Places You'll Go!
by Dr. Seuss.

The title of Nalla's favorite book was a shitkicker on a night like tonight. It really was.

When there was a knock on the nursery door, Bella called out, “Come in.” Mary, Rhage's
shellan,
popped her head in. Her face was tight, her gray eyes grim even before she looked down at the bags.

“Rhage texted me. Z's been injured. I know you're going to leave, and the why is none of my business, but you might consider waiting. From what Rhage said, Z is desperately going to need to feed.”

Bella slowly straightened. “How . . . how badly injured? What—”

“I don't have any more details other than that they'll be home as soon as they can.”

Oh . . . God.
It was the news she had always dreaded. Z injured out in the field.

“What's their ETA?”

“Rhage didn't say. I know they have to drop off an injured civilian at Havers's new clinic, but that's on the way. I'm not sure whether Z's getting treated here or there.”

Bella shut her eyes. Zsadist had sent her that text while injured. He'd been reaching out to her when he was in pain . . . and she'd slapped him back with the fact that she was abandoning him to his demons.

“What have I done,” she said softly.

“I'm sorry?” Mary asked.

Bella shook her head as much at herself as in response to the female.

Going over to the crib, she looked at their daughter. Nalla was sleeping with the hard, dense exhaustion of the young, her little chest pumping up and down with purpose, her pink hands curled into fists, her brows bunched together as if she were concentrating on growing.

“Will you stay with her?” Bella asked.

“Absolutely.”

“There's milk in the fridge over there.”

“I'll be right here. I won't go anywhere.”

 

Back in the driveway of the Jolly Green Giant house in the sticks, Z felt the heavy-duty lurch of Qhuinn slamming on the Hummer's brakes. The SUV held steady as the laws of physics gripped its mass hard, putting an end to its acceleration just before the vehicle crushed the frontal lobe of the minivan in its path.

Gun muzzles came out of the windows of the Lessening Society's soccer-mom special like the bitch was a stagecoach, and bullets went ape shit, pinging the Hummer's reinforced-steel body and ricocheting off its inch-thick Plexiglas windows.

“Second night out with my ride,” Qhuinn spat. “And these fuckers are Swisscheesing me? Hell, no. Hold on.”

Qhuinn threw them into reverse, jumped the SUV back fifteen feet, then punched the engine into first gear and nailed his foot to the floor. Wrenching the wheel to the left, he dodged around the Town & Country, chunks of earth clumping up and clapping against both cars.

As they bounced around like a boat in bad weather, Rhage reached into his jacket and took out a hand grenade. Opening his bulletproof window just far enough, he popped the pin with his teeth and tossed the fist-size explosive out. By the grace of God the damn thing tripped off the minivan's roof and rolled under the vehicle.

The three
lessers
leaped out of that fucker like the thing was on fire.

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. . . .

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 she 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.