Zsadist was dressed in his fighting gear, black leather coating his body in a second skin, weapons strapped on his chest, his thighs, under his arms—
In spite of the way he looked, Bitty broke away and went right over to the scarred male, her well-washed,handmade dress frothing under that ugly black coat of hers.
Z did a stop-short just as everyone else had—kind of like he’d seen a ghost. And then he looked around in what seemed to be confusion.
“You’re Zsadist,” Bitty piped up. “You have a young—may I meet her? I should like very much to meet her, please.”
In response, Zsadist moved extra slowly, lowering himself down to her level. And then he just stared at her for a time, as if she were some wild creature that had unexpectedly proven to be tame.
“Her name is Nalla,” he said roughly. “My daughter is much younger than you. She would like to have a big sister, if you’d like to teach her things.”
“Oh, yes. I would.”
“What’s that in your arms, little one?”
Bitty looked down, and Mary held her breath. “This is my mahmen. She passed. That’s why Mary and Rhage are fostering me. I hope I get to stay here, though. I like them a lot.”
Just like that. The explanation was simple, and heartbreaking … and had all the adults blinking back tears.
Zsadist inclined his head low, his yellow eyes glowing. “Mycondolences for your loss. And welcome to our home—which you should now call yours, too.”
Bitty leaned her head to the side andregarded the Brother. “I like you. You’re nice.”
— The Beast, J.R. Ward