The Beloved, page 34
“It’s all right.” Bella took her over to the table and sat her down, keeping their hands clasped. “You don’t have to apologize—”
“I do. I was wrong. I didn’t get it because I’ve never known anything different than you being there for Father and me feeling like my problems were never as important—but compared to his, they weren’t that big. Jesus, I’m such an ass—”
“Hey, stop that.” Bella took a napkin out of the holder and passed it over. “We all are doing the best we can. And I did try to support you, too, I really did—”
As a fresh wave of tears came, it was nice timing on the mop-up. “I know.”
She lost it then, really lost it. Pressing the napkin into her eyes, she just let go because she didn’t have a choice—and when the wave passed, and she finally lowered her hands from her face, her mahmen was right there. Still.
Always.
“Can you tell me what brought this on?” came the gentle prompt.
Nalla got herself another blotter. “I… spent the day with Nate, and he woke up from a dream—a nightmare, but he was still in it. He looked at me and didn’t see me. He was back… in a lab somewhere. They were hurting him—and his voice was that of a young. Oh, mahmen, it was awful.”
Bella’s eyes closed and she shook her head. “I had heard about his rescue. Murhder and Sarah got him out of there. It was right before his transition. If they hadn’t gotten there in time, he most certainly would have died.”
“He said that his mahmen was killed there?”
“Well, as I understand, she escaped and died much later of complications. But the humans killed her for sure. Nate and his adoptive parents have kept it all kind of private—and I know he’s struggled. I can’t say I’m surprised his sleep is disturbed.”
“I was trying to wake him, but I couldn’t get through to him. And then he ended up cowering in a corner… he didn’t recognize me. At all.” She glanced over at the bread dough. “You helped, though.”
“I did?”
“I remembered when I’d wake up, in the middle of the day to hear Father shouting in his sleep. And then I’d hear you clap, twice.”
Bella nodded gravely. “Yes, that’s what’s worked for me. If I want to get him out of it. Must be something about the sound forcing the brain to focus on the present.”
“You really, truly helped me.”
“Good, I’m glad. And I’m glad you were there for Nate.” Bella looked around the kitchen, as if she were picturing people in it, her eyes lingering in different places. But given her grave expression, she wasn’t actually seeing anything of the tidy white cupboards and the butcher-block counters. “As for your father and me, when it comes to his past, we really didn’t want you to see behind his curtain, as he calls it. He’s worked so hard on himself, and now, for a lot of nights and days, what was done to him is really not forefront in his mind. Others, though? It comes back. When I think about where he and I started? He’s a different male. But it’s always going to be there, lurking.”
Nalla nodded. “Yes.”
“And he never wanted you to see him as anything other than your father. He didn’t want you to feel like you had to take care of him, or worry that he couldn’t protect us.”
“I never thought that.”
“Good. Because he’s always there for the people he loves, his Brothers… the King and Beth and L.W. Your father is a male of worth, and I try not to get in the middle of you two, but he loves you, he really does. And this distance is just killing him.”
Well, didn’t that bring a fresh wave of the weepies on, so there was some more sniffing and patting on Nalla’s part, her eyes burning, her throat raw. Yet there was an easiness between her and her mahmen that had never existed before.
Then again, they had something in common. They both loved survivors, which was a special kind of bond with someone else.
The mutual respect was also something that happened when you started to see a parent as a person, with a life that started before you, and would continue after you left the house to make your own home. When they were only your mahmen, they owed you everything. When they were more than that, you recognized you were an important part of a larger whole for them.
“So you must be pretty serious with Nate?” Bella asked.
“It’s happening fast. And yet it feels so right.”
“Bonding can be like that. And you know, from personal experience, I can tell you that love makes a difference in people like your father and Nate. Be careful, though. Sometimes the damage does go too deep—and I’m not saying this out of disapproval or judgment. It’s just because I love you. With your father and me, it worked out. I wasn’t consumed by his pain, even though you’re right, it is a big part of my life and always will be. You have to also take care of yourself, though. Sometimes, what is damaged is ruined, and there’s no going back from that.”
Even a night ago, the tender words would have been a red cape to rush at.
Not anymore.
Nalla nodded again. “I understand.”
“Do you love him?”
She had to smile. “Are we doing Moonstruck here?”
Bella cracked a laugh. “I think so. But I’m not going to tell you it’s too bad if you do.”
“Good. Because I think I do love him.”
“I’m really happy for you.”
The two of them held hands for a long moment. Except then both their smiles faded.
“I don’t think so,” Bella said… because she’d read Nalla’s mind. “Nate’s given your father and the Brotherhood a run for the money these last few decades, and with everything else that’s going on with the war, that’s hard to forgive, harder to forget.”
“But maybe if he gets to know Nate? Maybe he can see what I do. Nate isn’t just what he’s done in the past, and God, if anyone should be given a second chance, it’s him, considering what was done to him by those humans. Father’s got to see that, got to believe that.”
“I don’t doubt anything you’re saying. But again, it’s been three decades of Nate being a liability—” Bella held her palm up like she expected an argument. “I’m just talking about his actions. I’m not maligning him as a male.”
Nalla exhaled slowly. “I don’t know what he did, but I’m not going to dispute facts.”
Bella smiled a little. “You have turned a corner.”
“I have. And so has Nate. And I really don’t want to have to choose between the male I love and the father who raised me, whose blood is in my veins.”
Bella’s look got serious. “I also hope that’s not what it comes down to.”
When there was a long silence, Nalla said, “But…”
Yeah, except where could she go with any arguments on that front? If her father wasn’t going to listen or even give Nate an opportunity to prove he was pulling his act together, there was no hope.
“I know my hellren, unfortunately.” Bella shook her head. “And you may not like the way he loves you, and he may not be perfect, but when it comes to his daughter, he’s not going to compromise, even if that means losing you.”
Tears blurred Nalla’s vision. “I don’t want that. I don’t want to choose.”
Her mahmen closed her eyes like she was bracing herself for a cold wind. “I don’t want you to, either. And I’ll do whatever I can to support you and Nate—as long as that male really does gather his own reins and turn his attitude and actions around. He needs to prove himself to me, too, but at least I’m willing to give him a chance.”
“Thank you. I feel like it’s more than I deserve.”
Bella smiled. “You deserve every happiness in life, Nalla. I love you so much that I can’t put it into words. And I truly am glad you and Nate found each other.”
Yes, there was an asterisk in that statement, but Nalla had meant what she’d said. She wasn’t going to argue and she was done with the pushing. Besides, what was that saying? The proof was going to be in the pudding.
“You know what…” she murmured. “I think I’ve grown up a hundred years since I left the house the other night. And it was way overdue.”
Resolve2Evolve.
Not a bad tagline, after all.
Now, if she could just get her father to not want to kill the male she was in love with. Maybe they’d start and build from there—
Oh, fucking hell, who was she kidding. Her father had made up his mind.
And no matter what Nate did or didn’t do, it was going to take an act of Lassiter to change it.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Miles away, in the Brotherhood’s training center, Shuli made another trip to the break room. As he pushed open the door and eyed the array of vending machines, he didn’t go over to the chips and bullshit. He also looked past the hot fare buffet, which was shut down, and the bowls of fresh fruit, which he would rather die than eat—because fuck vitamin C and fiber—and instead focused on the male who was sitting in one of the armchairs under the muted TV.
L.W. was looking like the cushion under his ass was full of cut glass, his limbs at odd angles, his torso shifted to one side, his lips tight as a line drawing. He was wearing a pair of surgical scrubs bottoms, his tattooed chest on display, the bandage at his side suggesting that his interior had gotten the help it needed.
“Should you be out of bed?” Shuli headed over to one of the machines after all and decided a Snickers really would satisfy. “Weren’t you just on the operating table.”
As the candy bar thunked into the well, the future King said, “Why are you looking all Hugh Hefner up in here.”
“I have standards.”
“Yeah, and they’re fucked up.”
“Just because you choose needles and ink and I like silk doesn’t mean we can’t agree on something.”
“What’s that.”
Shuli nodded at the television and then walked across to sit in the chair next to the male. “Homer Simpson is comfort food for the brain.”
L.W. looked up at the TV, too. Then nodded.
And this was no doubt the only thing they’d have a consensus on.
Unwrapping the Snickers, Shuli wondered whether he was going to wade into waters he had no business swimming in. Then he thought… fuck it.
“So you had a visitor for a while there, huh.” When there was no reply, Shuli paused with the chewing. “Listen, I’m not trying to tell you your business—”
“Great, so shut the hell up—”
“—but Bitty’s a female of worth.”
Brows crashed down over those pale green eyes, and for a moment, Shuli measured the distance to the exit—and wondered if he could outrun the guy. Probably.
Maybe.
Okay, fine, he was going to have to punch that surgical wound first and then pray to Lassiter that his velvet slippers had more tread on them than he remembered.
“I’m not in competition with you.” He put his palm forward. “So relax, tiger. I just—she’s not like Mharta. She’s not the type who’s going to ride one night and walk off the next.”
“I’m not having this conversation.”
“Yeah, we are. And I don’t care if you kick my ass. Some things need to be said—and I’m not the only one who’ll come after you if you behave like an ass. Nalla will fuck you up.”
Those brows got even lower. “How is she involved.”
Shuli laughed. “You don’t want to mess with that one. The apple does not fall far from the Z tree. I thought she was going to put a cap in the asses of my idiot buddies at Bathe. She will protect her friend, and although I don’t particularly care for you or about you, I feel duty bound to warn you about that.”
L.W. glanced back up to Homer and his donuts. “There’s nothing going on between me and Bitty.”
Yeah, right. “Okay, sure.”
“Don’t you have to go do your hair?”
“Yup.” Shuli got to his feet. “As always, it’s been soooo good talking to you. I can’t tell you how much I enjoy these little interludes—”
The door into the break room opened, and when they saw who it was, they both cursed under their breath: The great Blind King was the first to enter, his service dog at his side—and the entire Black Dagger Brotherhood was with him. One by one, the huge males filled the space, the whole training center, with the force of their presences.
“Man, if I’m getting permanently fired,” Shuli muttered, “do they all have to witness the pink slip?”
“If a vote’s required,” L.W. said with equal quiet, “I’m a yes.”
“Good, I’m glad you’re keeping me—”
“Fucking never. I’m a no.”
“So you don’t want to fire me. Great—”
“That’s not what I mean—fuck you—”
“Fuck you.”
When the King stopped, they quit the bickering and Shuli bowed low even though the male couldn’t see him—and he stayed down as he waited to be addressed: Sure, he was an asshole, but he had been raised right in the glymera.
He wasn’t a savage.
“My Lord,” he said.
“Stop staring at your loafers,” the King said with characteristic impatience. Then those wraparounds shifted over to L.W.’s direction. “How you feeling, son.”
“Fine.”
When there was only silence, Shuli tennis-matched the two, bathing in all the father/son bonding. Not. But then the focus was on him again, and he got himself good and braced.
“And you, Shuli?”
“Good, yup.” He took a deep breath. “Listen, I can clean out my locker down here and get my shit—”
“Why would you do that?”
“I—ah.” He glanced at all the serious faces and wondered why he had to say it out loud: Clearly, his suspension had just become permanent, because he’d violated his time-out in the field. “Well, I’m figuring you all didn’t come here just to see if I was up on my feet.”
“You’re right about that.” Wrath’s voice lowered as he switched into the Old Language. “You have honored your bloodline by protecting mine own, your act of courage deeming you worthy of reward and the restitution of your position within our fighting ranks.”
Shuli looked down at L.W. Who looked back.
Blink. Blink. Fucking blink.
As Homer started running around in circles—kind of like Shuli’s brain—the King continued, “Further, in recognition of your bravery, and your willingness to sacrifice yourself upon the field of combat for the benefit of mine own blooded son, I hereby confer unto you the role of ahstrux nohtrum, in favor of him—”
“Wait, what?” L.W. burst up from his chair—or tried to. He wobbled and grabbed his side. “Fuck—”
Before Shuli could think better of it, he lunged across and caught the male.
“Will you get off me—”
“Jesus Christ, I’m just trying to keep you from face-planting—”
“I don’t need the help—”
“Well, I didn’t want to give it to you anyway—”
“Then what the fuck are you doing holding my arm!”
The collective laughter that broke out reminded Shuli of what Rhage had sounded like the night before in the cop car. Only this time, the ripple was in stereo, every one of the Brothers chiming in with a yuck-yuck’ing.
“The honor of this position is conferred upon you by mine hand, and shall be marked in the appropriate manner.” Abruptly, Wrath switched back to English. “You saved my son last night. I am personally in your debt.”
L.W. shook his head. “You got it wrong. I saved him.”
Wrath looked over at his son. “Yeah, you did. And if his sire were still alive, he’d feel the way I do right now. Grateful.”
“So send Shuli a fucking fruit basket. You do not need to saddle me with him for the rest of my life.”
“It’s done. This is how I want it.”
The expression on the younger Wrath’s face was a clear warning to anybody who could see it. But Shuli had a feeling that even if the King’s eyes had been working, he wouldn’t have given a shit.
Immovable object, meet unstoppable force.
Well, wasn’t Last Meal going to be just great at their house, Shuli thought.
Except then the implications hit him.
With dawning horror, he looked over at the male next to him. Oh… shit. Was he going to have to live with L.W.?
And get a tattoo on his face?
* * *
Wrath really didn’t care that his son had a hair across his ass.
When his brothers had reported what Shuli had done, he’d asked them to repeat the name of the fighter who had run into all those lessers to make sure L.W. got out alive. And then he’d needed a second try at the whole story.
Except it was undeniable: Shuli had proven himself in the old-school way. Lip service was all well and good, but when you were willing to put your own blood down at the foot of the enemy, to protect another? Well, that was the interview for a job Wrath hadn’t even realized he wanted to fill.
The fact that the two couldn’t stand each other? That hadn’t made a difference the previous night, and it wasn’t going to change anything going forward.
And L.W. had gone back for the aristocrat, too.
“I can take care of myself,” his son snapped.
“I didn’t say you couldn’t.”
The reality was, after Wrath had gone up to the Sanctuary, the thirty years he’d lost was in his blood, sure as if his body had gone through the time that had passed all at once. And the breadth of what his shellan and his brothers had been through, what Rahvyn and Lassiter had done, was hanging heavy on him—and he was going to do everything he could to avoid that kind of shit in the future.
If something happened to his son? His and Beth’s lives were over. And by extension, so were everybody else’s. Again.
So, yes, he was going to pair up this aristocrat with his heir. There were better soldiers, certainly. But technical skills weren’t the only thing that mattered when you were in the field. Having that heart, that kind of grit, was nothing you could teach. It was the kind of thing a fighter just had.
