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

moved not just his hand, but his heart.
    â€œYou’re like your mahmen,” he whispered. “You make the world go away for me. . . .”
    Nalla kept wagging his hand and let out a coo.
    â€œI 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.
    â€œCome 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.
    â€œShe doesn’t know what they are,” Bella said softly.
    He took a hard breath. “She will. Someday she will know exactly what they are.”
    Â 
    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