Protecting His Own (Masters of the Shadowlands Book 11)

by Cherise Sinclair

  “Me, me, me.” His certainty was a bittersweet joy; for most of the children in the shelter, their answer would never be “me.”

  “Exactly, my boy.” She raspberried his neck.

  His infectious belly laugh made her lips curve upward. Settling him on her hip, she offered a finger to Jessica’s baby. Sophia had a grip like steel, which wasn’t surprising with Master Z as her daddy. “What are you and Kari doing here?”

  “We dropped off a bunch of donations from the last fund-raiser.” Jessica waved her hand toward the storage room.

  Those boxes stored in Kari’s garage had been huge. “You hauled everything here by yourselves?”

  “No way,” Kari answered. “It’s Dan’s day off, and Jessica talked Z into a long lunch break. They carried; we supervised.”

  “Sure, you did.” Who would dare boss around Master Z or Master Dan? The men were two of the most powerful Dominants in the Shadowlands club.

  Jessica rolled her eyes. “Okay, we opened the doors for them and motioned them through.”

  “Now that I believe.” When Zane squirmed, Beth set him down.

  Crowing in delight, he made a beeline for the children’s corner where three other kids were playing. After snatching up a plush dog and a fluffy cat, he plopped down to conduct a meowing-barking dialogue.

  “Just listen to him.” Beth sighed as the other very quiet children stared at the toddler in wonder. It was far too obvious that Zane had never been slapped for making too much noise. “He’s so happy.”

  “Hey, girlfriend.” Still holding Sophia, Jessica rubbed her shoulder against Beth’s. “Remember why you kept this place open—so others could be safe and happy.”

  “True.” Beth offered a small smile and turned as a door opened.

  Master Z walked out of the storage room. “Elizabeth.” The smoothness of his deep voice didn’t decrease the power underlying it. Dark haired, leanly muscular, he strolled across the foyer to join them. His I’m-a-psychologist attire had been adapted for hauling boxes. The sleeves were rolled up on his white, button-up shirt; the silvery gray tie that matched his eyes was loosened. “It’s good to see you. Has Nolan returned?”

  “No. The roofing material was delayed. His postcard said he’d be there another week.” Why couldn’t Sir have volunteered somewhere with decent—or any—phone service? Postcards weren’t any substitute for a real person. Each day felt interminable without him. They’d never been apart more than a few days in the three years they’d been together.

  Z’s gaze sharpened. “Are you getting any sleep?”

  The Dom could probably see every long, endless night she’d experienced. Her fair skin certainly didn’t conceal the dark circles under her eyes. Unfortunately, dodging a Master’s question was an exercise in futility. “Some. You know how it is after you’ve been married a while. It’s hard to sleep alone.”

  “Indeed.” His gaze didn’t waver. “Nolan didn’t want to leave you—not after what happened to Anne.”

  Last May, a woman’s abusive husband had wanted his wife back and attacked Beth’s friends to get the location of the shelter. The women had won the fight, but it left everyone pretty shaken. Beth hadn’t even been there, but…hearing about it and tending their injuries had resurrected old memories. Maybe because she knew exactly what a fist to the face felt like.

  She brightened her tone. “I had a few nightmares at first, but I’m fine now.” Except on the nights when being all alone in the big house got to her. “So, are you guys going to the Shadowlands tonight?”

  “Absolutely. We’re going to actually have time to visit with people and even do a scene.” Jessica made a glee-filled sound. “Linda’s spending the evening with Sophia. In fact, she demanded babysitting time since she misses having babies.”

  “With her babies in college now, I’m not surprised.” Beth smiled at the adorable baby. “And hey, who wouldn’t want to hold Sophia?”

  “Hear that, little one? You’re popular.” Z lifted his daughter over his head, and she squealed in delight, kicking bootie-covered feet.

  Oh, I want a baby.

  He tucked Sophia into the curve of his arm before touching Beth’s shoulder. “Nolan will be home soon, I’m sure. Until then, I want you to call me if you feel unsafe or worried.”

  “I’m fine. Really.”

  “Kari.” Dan joined them and gave Beth a smile before telling his wife, “Boxes are stacked. Time to get going, sweetheart.”

  Little Zane abandoned the stuffed animals and toddled across the room to be picked up and swung in a circle by his father. As with Z, Dan’s hard expression turned gentle. The tough Masters of the Shadowlands sure were softies when it came to their children.

  Nolan would be like them if he had a child. He was born to be a father and should have lots and lots of children. Please, please, please.

  Kari hugged Beth. “Teacher planning days are in a couple of weeks, so let’s get together before I’m inundated with students.”

  Where had the summer gone? “Yes, let’s.” She glanced at Jessica. “Have fun tonight.”

  Jessica gave her a squeeze. “Just because Nolan isn’t here doesn’t mean you can’t come to the Shadowlands. Come early, and we’ll chat, watch the scenes, and eat munchies. Okay?”

  “I…yes. Thank you.” It was hard to be alone. Even though her Sir could take taciturn to new levels, just his presence was enough. When he was gone, the house echoed with loneliness. “I’ll come early.” She’d also leave soon enough that Jessica and Z could have their playtime.

  When the group left, she picked up her gardening tools and returned to the center yard. Once she finished here, she’d grab lunch before starting her afternoon projects. If she rushed, there would be enough time at home to assemble a new client packet for tomorrow’s early morning appointment.

  After tugging on her bright blue gardening gloves, she weeded the St. Augustine grass from the flowerbed until the scent of rich, moist earth hung in the humid air. A low rumble of thunder drowned out the sounds of the children, and contentment seeped into her soul. Flower gardens were a visible assurance that the world held far more color and beauty than pain and ugliness.

  Her phone rang.

  Seriously? She scowled at her filthy hands. Was some demon lurking nearby and coaching his cohorts? “Wait…wait…yes, her gloves are covered in dirt. Put the call through now.” With a huff of exasperation, she worked her gloves off and swiped ANSWER. “This is Beth.”

  “Mrs. King, this is Dr. Thompson.” One of their fertility specialists.

  Her heart skipped a beat. He’d have her results. “What did the tests show?”

  “I’d like to make an appointment with you and your husb—”

  “No.” All the moisture in her mouth disappeared. Doctors might share good news over the phone but would insist on delivering bad news in person. “He’s not available right now.” Nolan didn’t even know she’d tried this final treatment. “Tell me. Now.”

  “Mrs. King, it would be good to—”

  “Spit it out, doctor.” Her ragged tone was unrecognizable. “My uterine lining still isn’t…thick enough? Even with the hormones?”

  His sigh was one of concession. Undoubtedly, he was telling himself she’d already guessed the results. “I’m afraid the endometrium didn’t respond as well as we’d hoped. There simply isn’t enough for implantation.”

  Oh God. No. She closed her eyes. Even though she knew the answer, the question still broke out. “What’s left? What else can I do?”

  “Mrs. King.” His voice softened. “Beth. It’s time to consider using a surrogate mother or pursuing adoption.”

  The thick air clogged in her throat, smothering her. The laughter of the children on the playground sounded harsh and shrill. “Of course.” She roughly swiped her T-shirt over her wet cheeks. Foolish Beth. Then again, her period had started yesterday, and her emotions were already messed up by the hormone shots. That’s why she was crying. Not because all her
hopes were now dead.

  Nothing had worked.

  Outraged accusations and anger rose…and she swallowed them back down. The doctor’s unhappiness emanated through the phone. Not his fault. “Well, we knew—you told me—success wasn’t likely.”

  He hadn’t even wanted to try, but she hadn’t been able to give up. Not if there was any chance at all.

  “I’m sorry, Beth.”

  He was, she knew. Just because he’d smashed her dreams didn’t give her license to take her unhappiness out on him. Despite the enveloping grief, she kept her voice steady. “Thank you for calling. I appreciate that you didn’t make me wait, even though it was bad news.”

  As she said goodbye and shoved her phone into a pocket, she concentrated on breathing. In. Out. Tearful meltdowns weren’t unusual in a domestic violence shelter, but she was a volunteer, not a resident. Not a survivor.

  Only she was a survivor. A scarred…damaged…blighted survivor.

  Damn you, Kyler. Damn her for being so young and stupid when she’d met him, for thinking she was marrying a Dom who’d cherish her. Instead, she’d wed a sadist—and psychopath.

  Scars marked her body, others her soul. Perhaps the worst wound had been losing her unborn baby. She’d always wondered if he’d deliberately chosen to beat her that day. It’d been too early for the baby to live, too late for a simple miscarriage. Staring down at her fingers, she felt again the panicked realization when something inside her had…broken and blood had pooled between her legs.

  Her hands fisted in the dirt as grief seized her—along with the enduring shame that she hadn’t somehow shielded her baby.

  After losing the baby, she’d continued to bleed, and the necessary D&C had caused some ghastly syndrome where her uterine lining became so thin that no egg could latch on. Asherman’s Syndrome.

  Even if she got pregnant, the doctors doubted she’d carry to term. Nolan hadn’t wanted her to try, hadn’t wanted to risk her. But it was her health and her life. After much discussion, they’d compromised. He’d supported her through the medical treatments and, at the same time, they’d gone ahead with adoption and foster care classes, inspections, and certifications.

  When they’d brought up using a surrogate to carry their fertilized egg, Nolan had refused completely. He had good reasons, actually. A cousin, bearing a surrogate child, had died in labor. Another surrogate friend had committed suicide. Too aware of the risks of pregnancy, Nolan wouldn’t hire a woman to endanger her life in such a way.

  So no surrogacy.

  Adoption it would be. Since many children lacked parents, she and Nolan had always planned to adopt. Eventually. But first, she’d wanted to give him a baby—a child they created together. And…to know she wasn’t really broken.

  But she was.

  She laid her cheek on her knees. How could she ever tell him about this failure? He didn’t even know she’d attempted the risky treatment. He’d be furious. But the horrible cell reception at his third-world construction site had made it impossible to explain—let alone argue. Considering how much stress he was under, what with late deliveries and untrained laborers, she couldn’t stand adding to his worries.

  What could she have said anyway? How could her man understand her longing to bear a child for him, to cradle a baby with his black eyes and beautifully bronzed skin?

  He wanted children. He’d grown up surrounded by brothers and sisters, wanting the same for his own future. He’d designed his house big enough to hold a large family. Now, she had to tell him she couldn’t give him his dream.

  That he’d taken a wife who was…barren.

  Maybe she really was as worthless as Kyler had always said.

  Chapter Two

  In the parking lot of the Shadowlands, Tampa’s most exclusive BDSM club, Nolan King turned off his truck and opened the door. The humid Florida air wrapped around him, plastered his white shirt to his torso, and turned his jeans to fucking cling wrap. With a grunt of exasperation, he slid out of his pickup. At the jarring movement, his shoulder set to throbbing as if someone was hammering masonry nails into it.

  Crap. The long hours on the plane hadn’t done him any favors. He braced his good arm against the pickup and waited. The pain would eventually subside…as would the gut-twisting memory of how he’d gotten hurt.

  The night sky was erased by the noon sun that’d turned the African roof into a frying pan. The older carpenter working with him had stood up abruptly and staggered backward. One step. Another. Nolan had lunged forward, stretching to catch the guy. Brushed his boot. So close. But the man had toppled over the roof’s edge without a sound.

  Off balance, Nolan had almost followed. Sliding, sliding. Desperately rolling sideways. Falling through the unfinished portion, hitting a rafter. Fingers closing on the wood, his weight almost ripping his shoulder from the socket.

  Nolan had lived, but the old guy was dead. Turned out the fall hadn’t killed him—the heart attack had. Couldn’t have saved him.

  He still felt guilty.

  The hum of a car passing on the lonely country road returned him to reality, and he slammed the door shut then headed toward the three-story mansion. Time to get his life back in gear—and to find his wife. He’d hoped to surprise Beth at home, but she wasn’t there. Shouldn’t make assumptions, King. Still hoping for a surprise, he’d texted Jessica to see if she knew where his wife was, and Z had responded. Beth was at the Shadowlands—and had been looking stressed.

  The thought of his Beth being anything but carefree was a boot in the gut. He should never have left her, never have let Raoul talk him into supervising construction in a third-world country. He’d known the job would be a can of worms. Relying on volunteers and a put-together crew with unreliable sources of materials? Yeah, no. It’d been a goat-fuck. True, the medical clinic building was now up and looked fine but at the cost of a month longer than he’d calculated. His own construction firm here in Tampa had suffered.

  Beth had suffered.

  He hauled open the heavy oak door and stepped inside. Behind the security desk, Ben saw him. “Hey, King.” The craggy-faced guard’s pleased expression faded. “ ’Bout time you got back. Your girl’s wasting away—and you don’t look much better.”

  “Screwed up my shoulder. It’s why I ended up returning early.” But what was this about Beth? His little subbie must look like hell. Nolan frowned as worry knotted his guts. “Is Beth inside?”

  “Yep. You know, she didn’t even put on fetwear.”

  “That’s not good.” Beth loved dressing up in fetish clothing—something he sure enjoyed. His tough little woman didn’t possess many girly traits, so he’d come to cherish the few she had.

  He studied Ben for a second, noting the guard’s relaxed demeanor. Being in a relationship was good for him. “How’s your Mistress doing?”

  “Got herself tired out today, so she’s staying home and taking it easy.” Ben patted his flat gut and grinned. “She’s finally showing a baby bump. It’s cute as hell when she frets over how her clothes fit.”

  “I’d give money to see that. Tell her hi for me.” When Mistress Anne, former Marine, former bounty hunter, and the most renowned of the Shadowlands’ sadists had become pregnant, everyone was amused—and delighted. Giving Ben a two-finger salute, he headed into the clubroom.

  Inside, as the raspy-voiced music and brutal rhythm of Coil’s “Heartworm” scraped against his skin, he paused to let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light of wrought-iron sconces. Good crowd tonight. The clubroom encompassed most of the mansion’s bottom floor, and every scene area down the length of the room was filled.

  In the right corner, dancers writhed on the small dance floor. Fancy latex and leather gear vied with the classic choice of bare-ass naked. Past them, in a roped-off spanking bench area, a Domme smacked her whimpering blonde submissive with a paddle. Erratic screams farther away were probably from someone using a cattle prod.

  On the left, the food and drink buffet corner held s
mall tables and chairs. No Beth.

  In the center of the room, unoccupied submissives had a sitting area where they hung out. No Beth.

  Doms and their submissives clustered around the massive oval bar, which was tended by Cullen and his submissive, Andrea. Someone there would undoubtedly know where his little rabbit had holed up.

  “Hey, welcome home, buddy.” Cullen’s voice boomed out as he reached a long arm across the bar top to grip Nolan’s hand. “Didn’t think you’d ever get back.”

  “I was beginning to wonder myself.” Nolan accepted a Corona from Andrea. Cold brew—one of life’s finer pleasures and one he’d been missing lately. Making love to his woman was another. “Where’s my wife?”

  Three years ago, wife had been a four-letter-word; Beth had transformed the word into one that meant miracle.

  “She and Jessica wanted to watch Vance and Galen co-top.” Cullen motioned toward the far end of the room. “Good you’re back. Beth’s not looking good.”

  “So I hear.” Nolan’s mouth tightened. She was probably having nightmares brought on by those fucked-up assholes who’d broken into Anne’s house. Thank God, Beth hadn’t been there. Kim had suffered a few flashbacks from the attack, but Raoul, her Dom, had seen her through them.

  Nolan hadn’t been around to help Beth.

  Cullen’s thick, brown brows drew together. “You look almost as bad as she does. You okay?”

  “Yeah. Banged up my shoulder a tad.”

  As he headed for the back, other members greeted him. He spotted other Masters here and there. Olivia was with a new subbie—a blonde this time. Jake had restrained Rainie to a St. Andrew’s cross and was adjusting the lighting to show off her colorful tattoos.

  In a gold-trimmed dungeon monitor vest, Dan watched a newbie trying to flog a pretty brunette. From the cop’s displeased expression, he’d soon take the flogger away and send the young Dom home to practice on a pillow.