MAFIA'S ANGEL

CHAPTER 21

When her eyes peeled open the next morning, the sheets besides her were cold. His masculine scent lingered on the pillow she clutched to her chest. The sun was high in the sky, its merciless bright rays blazing down at her through the gaps in curtains. 

With a groan, Angelique rolled over. Her shoulder was killing her, much like the settling realization that she had willingly allowed Nikolai between her legs. And enjoyed it immensely. 

God.

She groaned into the pillow. It had been a moment of weakness. He was vulnerable, and to be frank, also drunk, and very handsome. The disheveled hair, the unbuttoned shirt, the soft grey eyes. Damn, he got her good. 

He had been so gentle, nothing like the mob boss she knew him to be.

And apparently it's all it takes for me to give in. 

She wanted to scream her lungs out. In a single night the man she hated - the guy that had totally ruined her life - had charmed her into sleeping with him. Literally. 

Angelique glanced at the empty space besides her. They had passed out together, his heavy arm draped across her waist. It had been so comforting and warm to sleep in his embrace. 

"You moron." She scolded herself. 

The ache in her shoulder intensified. For once she was thankful to pain. It took her mind off of the hunky wolf. 

Groaning, Angelique slumped back into the covers. Was it supposed to hurt this much? 

Duah. You got shot, genius. 

The pain meds had ran their course and she was left writhing in agony. It was fucking bad. Cold sweat coated her skin and the more she moved the worst the pain got, robbing her of senses. She didn't even hear when the door cracked open. 

"Angel." A cool hand suddenly settled on her forehead. "You're burning up." Familiar deep voice stated, cursing lowly. "Get a doctor in here! Stat! " 

Her eyes had grown heavy again. Too heavy to open. Her blurred mind registered that the booming voice belonged to Nikolai. He was saying something in Russian. If she more strength, she would scold him for saying things she didn't understand. His voice sounded rougher when he spoke his native tongue, barking orders left and right. Only distantly she heard other people shuffle inside the room. 

She felt searing pain and his cold hand stroking her hair before everything slipped back into pitch black. 

Angelique awoke when the sun had dipped below the horizon. The fire was once again casting the orange glow across the room, and a lamp was lit up on the nightstand besides her. 

"Finally, you're awake." Irina's worried voice echoed. "How are you feeling?" The woman sat forwards on the bed, genuine concern printed on her face. 

"Like crap." 

Irina forced a chuckle. "You got feverish. Doctors said you need to rest and drink a lot of water." 

"Where is..." She looked around the room, hoping to see the familiar tall figure.

As if to read her mind, Irina answered, "Mr. Ivanov is at the meeting. They are trying to figure out who attacked you. Attempt at his life is a serious crime." Her voice dropped to a softer tone, "He hasn't left your side until now. I was asked to look after you while he's gone." She smiled. "You truly mean a lot to him." 

"I'm just his possession." Angelique admitted bitterly. 

"I don't think so." Irina argued, "He has changed since he met you. I can't really put my finger on it, but..." She trailed off. "Sorry, it's not my place to say."