Page 66 of Never Fall for an Angel

My first instinct is to jerk back at his vicious growl, but I keep hold of the glass, pulling it out in the process of falling over on my ass.

The moment it’s gone, Phantom starts licking his battle wound, and I . . .

I look down at my hand to see blood oozing from several teeth marks on my wrist.

Well fuck.

That hurts.

My head spins at the blood, tears welling in my eyes despite myself because the adrenaline of the moment is wearing off.

Pain throbs in my wrist, and I clutch it to myself, afraid to look at the bite and see how bad it is. I know he didn’t do it tohurt me. Animals aren’t that different from humans. Pain makes us fight back against whatever caused it, and for Phantom, I was responsible for his momentary agony.

My head spins, the room rocking on its axis around me. I fall back to lay amongst the thicket of weeds growing through the rough stone floor, closing my eyes, and try to calm my breathing.

A wet nose touches my face, and I cautiously blink an eye open, finding the black wolf towering over me and watching me with a thoughtful expression.

“I don’t like blood,” I explain, forcing a breath through my mouth.

God, why is it so hot in here all of the sudden?

One . . . two . . . three . . .

He leans closer, sniffing my face, my hair, then moving down to my hand, still clutched tightly to my chest.

“It’s okay,” I breathe, reaching out with my other hand despite just being bitten moments before. Some part of me knows he didn’t mean it and that he’s sorry. “I know it was an accident. Is your paw better?”

He responds with a lick to my cheek. An unspoken apology and thanks for removing the broken shard of glass. I force myself to sit up, patting his head and leaning my cheek against his warm fur to let the nausea pass.

Nervousness stirs in my stomach, but I continue to stroke the top of his head, knowing that there’s no way I’ll be able to keep this from Christian.

He’ll shoot him, and I can’t let that happen.

A quiet tear slips down my cheek, contempt sliding up my throat.

Why does everything have to be so damned difficult?

“It’s okay,” I repeat, even though deep down, I know it won’t be for much longer.

When I exit the greenhouse, the sun is starting to set, and with a heavy feeling of paranoia, I clutch my bloody wrist to my chest and hurry towards the cottage, praying with every step that Christian is still up in his mancave.

Blood seeps from the wound on my hand, and I keep it curled into my chest, wincing at the pain that throbs with each step. When I near the house, I pull my borrowed coat sleeve down to cover it, making my way towards the front door.

Only, it opens before I reach it.

Christian stands in the doorway, a volatile presence against the fading sun.

His stare stills the beat of my heart, clouding over like a storm washes across the sky when he notices the blood dripping from my fingers onto the rough stone beneath my feet.

“What happened?” I jump at the sound of his voice, my stomach plummeting at the calmness in his tone.

I’ve known him long enough to know a calm Christian is a dangerous Christian.

“It’s nothing,” I lie, holding my hand tighter. “I slipped. I’m fine.”

He takes a step towards me, his front nearly pressed against mine, and looks down at the blood staining my coat. An icy sensation trails down my spine, sending a shiver through me at the violence in his gaze.

“There’s a dog in the greenhouse, isn’t there?”

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