Page 9 of Shielded By My Mate

I sigh. “You’re not going to remember any of this in the morning, are you?”

She smiles softly as her eyes drift shut. A minute later, she’s fast asleep.

I watch her peaceful, even breathing until I spot Russo approaching the front porch through the window.

Pushing to my feet with a wince, I go out to see what he’s found.

4

Mira

The first thing I see when I wake up the next morning is Ansel’s worried face. He smiles, his expression relaxing as soon as I open my eyes.

“Morning,” he says, helping me as I move to sit up. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. A little sore. Hungry,” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

“I made breakfast. Christian said you should take the medicine with food so you don’t feel nauseous.”

He places a pillow on my lap, taking a moment to make sure I’m settled, then sets a plate piled high with bacon, pancakes, fruit, and eggs in front of me.

“I made a bit of everything. I wasn’t sure what you liked or would be hungry for,” he says sheepishly as he looks at the amount of food on my plate.

My stomach growls loudly. “This is amazing. Thanks.”

I dig in, practically inhaling the food. When was the last time I ate? I’m not sure how long I was out for, and I don’t remember eating before Ridley and I went to the office.

“Feeling better?” Ansel asks once I’m done.

I nod. “Much. Thank you so much.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he says, taking our empty plates to the kitchen.

When he comes back, he seems anxious, which puts me on edge. I watch as he shifts on his feet, his big body coiling tight with nerves.

I take a deep breath, fidgeting with the pillow on my lap. “Is something wrong?”

“I was wondering what you remembered from last night.”

I frown, trying to replay what happened yesterday. “Um, I remember jumping from the truck, the men, you getting shot, the doctor.”

He nods like he wants me to go on, watching me intently.

I sit up straighter on the couch, trying to remember what happened after that, but my brain is fuzzy from the pain medicine and utter exhaustion.

Then a memory of him telling me that we were soulmates hits me. My head spins, and I grimace as I bend my knees and my ankle presses into the couch.

“Careful. Here,” he says, passing me pain medicine and a glass of water.

“Thanks.”

I swallow the pills, praying that they kick in soon.

“I remember some of it,” I admit as Ansel sits in the chair next to me. “But it doesn’t really make sense to me.”

“What do you remember?”

I lift my eyes to his. “You said we were soulmates.”