Lover Enshrined (68 page)

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 the length of the table. Maybe it was the stinging distress she felt; maybe it was the panic; maybe it was the desperation; but she found herself thinking of when she had been on the thing as a patient. Two months ago. For Nalla’s birth.

God, what a nightmare that had been.

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.

To keep herself from going crazy, or more likely because she was already nuts and her brain wanted to cough up memories that would make her stay in the land of the gaga, 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 had arrived, it nonetheless had been a shock. She’d been in her eleventh month out of the usual eighteen and it had been a Monday night.

Bad way to start the work week. For real.

She’d had a craving for chili, and Fritz had indulged her, whipping up a batch that was just as spicy as she liked it— which meant you didn’t want to get it on your lips for the burn. 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. Feeling 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 possibly 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 Bella’s water.

Bella had lifted her robe and looked down at the wetness, thinking for a moment that she’d lost control of her bladder or something. Then light had dawned. Although she had 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, there’s no going back.

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 that Nalla had to be taken out. Pitocin, which was used frequently to induce labor in human women, was administered, and shortly thereafter Bella learned the difference between pain and labor.

Pain got your attention. Labor demanded
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. He’d ditched his weapons into a pile of gunmetal and stainless steel 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 with her had helped her get through the pain, though. And she’d needed any relief she could get. 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.

Moving her to Havers’s clinic was a no-go, because once the Pitocin had fired up her body, the labor had unexpectedly progressed too quickly for her to be taken anywhere. And as dawn was close, there was no way to get the race’s physician to the training center in time. . . .

Bella came back to the present and smoothed 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’d felt as if she were getting ripped in half.

And then her vitals had crashed.

“Bella?”

She wheeled around. Wrath was in the PT suite’s doorway, the king’s huge body filling the space. 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 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
, she thought. “Where is he?”

“He was at Havers’s, but he’s being transported home right now. I figured you’d be worried, so I wanted to let you know.”

“Thank you. Thank you . . . ’’

They had been having their problems lately, but still, the idea of losing him was catastrophic.

“Come here, Bella.”

“No, I’m fine.” The hell she was. “Really, I’m . . .”

“The hell you are. Consider it a royal decree if it lets your ego off the hook.”

Bella smiled and gave up the fight. As she stepped into him, the king wrapped her in his huge arms and held her gently.

“Let the shakes go through you. You’ll breathe easier that way, believe it or not.”

She did as he suggested, loosening the rigid control she’d been exerting over her muscles. In response, her body shimmied from shoulders to calves, and she had to rely on the king’s strength or she would have twitched her way right onto the floor.

Funny, though. He was right. Once the wobbles passed, she could take a deep breath or two.

When she’d become considerably more stable, she pulled back. Catching sight of the gurney, she frowned. “Wrath, may I ask you something?”

“Absolutely.”

She had to pace a little before she could frame the question properly. “If Beth . . .if you and 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. “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 glasses off his brilliant pale green eyes. As he thought for a while, he played with the wraparounds’ slender arms, his blunt, strong fingers moving them back and forth, a little plasticky squeak rising up into the tiled room.

“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 for 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. . . . 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 Zsadist wouldn’t even pick Nalla up—

The double doors of the clinic bounced open as Z was wheeled in. He was dressed in a hospital johnny, no doubt 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. More than that, he looked dead.

She rushed to his side and put her hand on his shoulder. “Zsadist?
Zsadist?
”

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 her voice and the knowledge that you were home, and suddenly you came back from the brink.

Z opened his eyes. The sapphire blue stare he met brought a gloss of tears to his own. 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 that was the best he could do.

He’d refused any pain meds at the clinic, because the sluggish effect of them always reminded him of the way he’d been drugged at the hands of the Mistress. So, with his busted leg and what had happened to his palms, he was in mind-bending agony. And yet just seeing Bella helped the pain so much.

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

He looked 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.

As the details of the room came into clear focus, he thought of the last time he’d been here.

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 he was hurting.

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

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

“I love you. . . .” he whispered. “Oh, God, please don’t leave me. . . .”

1

New York Times
Bestselling Author Suzanne Brockmann

2

Publishers Weekly

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