The Black Dagger Brotherhood by J. R. Ward Page A

. . .” he whispered. “Nalla has . . .”
    He felt her tense up. “Has what?”
    â€œNalla has my eyes. Doesn’t she.”
    His shellan’s voice became soft and careful, like she didn’t want to spook him. “Yes, she does.”
    Z put his hand on Bella’s stomach and rubbed circles over the taut skin, as she had done so many times while pregnant. He was ashamed of himself now . . . ashamed that he hadn’t touched her belly once. He’d been so worried about the birth that the looming roundness had seemed like a threat to both their lives, not something to rejoice in.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he said abruptly.
    â€œWhat for?”
    â€œYou’ve had to do all this on your own, haven’t you. Not just these last three months, but before. When you were pregnant.”
    â€œYou were always there for me—”
    â€œBut not for Nalla, and she was a part of you. Is a part of you.”
    Bella propped her head up. “She’s a part of you, too.”
    He thought of the wide, bright yellow eyes of the young. “Sometimes I think she might look a little like me as well.”
    â€œShe looks almost identical to you. She has your chin and your eyebrows. And her hair . . .” Bella’s voice started to get excited, as if she had wanted to talk with him about all the ins and outs of the young’s makeup for a while. “Her hair is going to be exactly like yours and Phury’s. And have you seen her hands? Her forefingers are longer than her ring fingers, just like yours.”
    â€œReally?” Man, what kind of father was he that he didn’t know all this.
    Well, that was easy. He hadn’t been any sort of father at all.
    Bella extended her hand. “Let’s shower, and then come with me. Let me introduce you to your daughter.”
    Z took a deep breath. Then nodded.
    â€œI’d like that,” he said.

EIGHT
    A s 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.
    â€œWhat does she want?” he asked like an idiot.
    â€œShe 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.
    â€œShe’s strong,” he pronounced, his approval positively dripping off the words.
    Bella made a little noise beside him.
    â€œNalla?” he whispered as he bent down. His daughter pursed her little lips and held on even stronger.
    â€œI 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