Mated To The Mafia Werewolves

No sooner had Sandro reached the pack house and his room, then he staggered. Fortunately, Arabella wasn’t on his back anymore.

“I thought I weighed nothing,” Arabella remarked dryly.

“Yeah, you weighed nothing,” he said, clutching his side. Straightening, he started forward but stumbled again.

“What’s wrong?” Arabella frowned, stepping towards him.

“I think I took a hit from one of the rogues,” Sandro lifted his hand, eyes widening as he saw the blood that coated it.

“What the hell?” Arabella exclaimed, catching Sandro just in time as he stumbled for the third time. She dragged him towards the bed, setting him down, only to find he was unconscious.

Removing his hand that was still gripping his side, she grimaced. “This looks awful.” The injury wasn’t that deep, and it wasn’t something he wouldn’t be able to heal from, but it stunk.

Arabella wondered if it was normal for an injury that wasn’t even up to an hour old to stink. Walking to the bathroom, she filled a bowl with water, grasped a towel, then returned to the room.

She cleaned Sandro’s injury, applying some disinfectant before returning the bowl filled with his blood and water to the bathroom.

She returned a while later to find he was now sitting up. His face was pale, and he brushed a hand through his hair.

“Water,” he murmured.

“Are you alright?” Arabella asked.

“I feel like shit,” Sandro said, his eyes moving to his side. He noticed the injury there and how Arabella had done her best to make it even better than it was before. He let his gaze wander to her; his brows raised as he assessed her from head to toe. “Are you alright?”

“I am not the one with an injury that deep at my side. I look well,” she stepped towards him, placing a hand on his forehead. “You’re pale and running a fever. Are the rogues diseased?”

“Not that I know of,” Sandro grunted. “Except the goddess is trying to punish me.”

“Why?” Arabella muttered. As far as she knew, Sandro had been doing right by the goddess, and he had not done anything to warrant punishment from her.

“I don’t know. She enjoys toying with me,” he said, then added, “I need water, Bella.”

Arabella walked to the tabletop fridge situated at the corner of the room, brought out a bottled of water, uncapped it, and handed it to Sandro. He gulped directly from the plastic bottle, emptying the contents before scrunching it up and tossing it across the room.

“That tastes like shit too,” he groaned, falling back on the bed.

Arabella sighed, “You should rest. I’ll find a solution to what is going on. It might not be that serious.”

“I am burning up, Bella. How can you say it’s not that serious? Would you have said the same if Blaze was in a similar position?” Sandro asked.

“This isn’t about Blaze,” scowled Arabella.

“Of course, it isn’t. It’s about me,” he pointed out.

“Can you be less insensitive now? You’ve mentioned Blaze’s name a lot this week, and I don’t think it’s fair for you to do so.”

Sandro snorted, sitting up straight. “Why? Is it because he’s dead?”

Arabella shook her head. “Yes. And he should be respected.”

“Would you respect me in the same manner? Also, would you even have a second thought about me, considering I am the father of your unborn children?”

“Sandro…”

“No, Bella. I am done pretending as though I was fine with all that happened between you and Blaze. He was my friend, but he still messed with you. He still has a hold over your mind, even in death. I owned you, Bella.”

Arabella’s hands clenched by her side. “You don’t own me, Sandro. I am not a possession.”

“But I do,” Sandro said. “You might try convincing yourself otherwise, but at the end of the day, you are mine.”

“You know what? I am done with this conversation,” Arabella said, stalking out of the room.

Perhaps she shouldn’t get mad, considering how Sandro’s behavior had always been, but she couldn’t help it. She had thought he had changed.

Was he only pretending to get her to like him? Definitely, he was. He had told her he was trying to be nicer to her, but it wasn’t genuine. He wanted to see if she would ever soften towards him.

Arabella felt stupid for believing he had changed. “Goodness, I hate him so much.” She groaned as she felt a kick after her declaration and glanced at her stomach, caressing it. “You little demons. Are you supporting your father now?”

“If I could turn back the hands of time, I would have preferred he died.” She felt another kick. “Okay, fine. Support him!” she shouted, storming towards Thalia’s room. Anywhere was better than where Sandro was.

“My stupid big mouth,” Sandro muttered. He hadn’t meant to say that. He would blame his jealous heart.

He was envious that Arabella didn’t soften towards him despite all he was doing. Was he doing it all wrong? He wondered. He had gotten her a puppy and saved her life several times, yet all he got from her was some coolness rather than the warmth he desperately craved.

Sandro glanced at the dent that formed in his pants, his lips twisting in disgust. He was aroused despite his condition. He wanted her, but there was no way he could have her if she didn’t come willingly to him. He didn’t want to force it.

Also, the fact that the injury wasn’t as severe as he was making it out to be, just to see her reaction, made him feel even more stupid. He knew what she would have done if it was Blaze in the same position. She would have gone all out for him.

Perhaps, it wasn’t fair that he had mentioned Blaze’s name out of frustration, but what Arabella was currently doing to him wasn’t fair either.

Sandro grimaced as the water he drank surged up his throat, and the urge to hurl filled him. He tried to push it down, but it was futile. He dashed into the bathroom, emptying his stomach in the toilet. Weakened, he stayed there for a while, eventually lying on the floor and drifting off to sleep.Content © provided by NôvelDrama.Org.