Chapter 19 I Am Your Mate

[Ella]
I had a strange but interesting dream after I saved Mr. Clapton.
I arrived at a garden surrounded by freshly baked buttered bread. A huge butter bread turned into Mr. Clapton's appearance and talked to me. Did the butter bread become a fairy?
I cupped his face, and it was warm and smelled like a delicious mixture of butter, milk, and wheat. Well! It seems he is indeed Mr. Clapton transformed from a bread fairy.
A gray wolf with a knife attempted to grab the bread that had become Mr. Clapton. I got angry and stopped him, but he stabbed me.
After I was injured, the gray wolf fell to the ground. I completely forgot the conversation details between Mr. Clatpon and me, who was the bread. All I could remember was Mr. Clapton turned back into buttered bread, and it smelled good.
I took a bite of that delicious smelling bread, but I didn't expect this bread to be hard. I was so disappointed in not eating the good bread that I didn't care what the butter bread fairy said to me.
Several loaves of butter bread in police uniforms ran from afar, not knowing what had happened.
They wanted to steal the bread fairy who could turn into Mr. Clapton from me. Although this bread was hard, the smell of him fascinated me. I wanted to take him home to show him to Ethan and Mia and didn't want anyone else to take him.
The loaves of bread in police uniforms were reasonable and carried away the gray wolf on the ground. Maybe they said something, but I didn't care because I wanted to go to a place with no bread gardens, no bread police, no Mr. Clapton, and get a good night's sleep.
***
My phone alarm wakes me up, and I habitually go to my bedside table to touch my phone. 5:30 am Saturday. Oh yes, last week, I adjusted my alarm clock for the weekend in preparation for running in the park every weekend morning.
I yawn, and then the smell of blood wafts into my nostrils. Noticing the blood on my left arm, I lose all drowsiness. Judging from the smell, I am sure it's my blood.
What happened? Why did I get hurt? I immediately sit up and try to recall what happened last night.
Oh yes, last night I was at Jenny's Kitchen for a treat. Because Mr. Clapton left the restaurant after I pissed him off, I took a sip of champagne before apologizing to him. Then Jenny reminded me that two rogues might be planning to rob Mr. Clapton, and on my way to Mr. Clapton, I heard a gunshot.
However, my memory stops at me kicking down the rogue with a pistol aimed at Mr. Clapton.
Oh my gosh! What the hell happened after that? Did I fight with Mr. Clapton, and I fought back so that my arm was injured?
Come on, my brain! I bury my head in my knees and scratch my hair, trying to activate my brain and awaken more memories of what happened last night.
Wait! I grasp the soft, smooth, dark gray silk blanket and realize a shocking thing this is not my comforter. Despite the floor-to-ceiling curtains blocking the light, the over 400 sq. ft. bedroom, the king-size bed, and the crystal chandelier overhead all tell me clearly that this is not my bedroom.
I instantly get out of bed and trot to the bedroom door. My hand is just on the doorknob when the door is pushed by someone.
"Ouch!" I cry out, covering my forehead.
"Are you all right?" He sounds sexy with the unique, low, muffled voice in the morning.
I look up to see Mr. Clapton standing at the door, topless and wearing only a pair of shorts. "Mr. Clapton, why are you here?" I take a few steps backward in surprise until I'm 10 feet away from him.
"This is my apartment. Why can't I be here?" The corners of his mouth curve upward, and he spreads his hands.
"Your apartment? Why am I in your apartment?" I ask, my eyes widening to show my shock.
"It sounds like you don't remember what happened last night after getting drunk. I was going to take you back to your apartment, but you were hugging me like an octopus, and I had to bring you here." Mr. Clapton explains to me with a smile, leaning against the door frame.
"Uh~" So that Mr. Clapton in my dream, who was transformed from a loaf of butter, was real. As soon as I hear what I had done to him when I was drunk, the temperature of my cheeks rises rapidly. Noticing that his right thumb was wrapped in medical gauze, I am reminded that I seemed to have taken a bite of bread in my dream.
"Are there any other things I've done to you?" I ask him discreetly. My stomach is sinking.
"Hmm, let me think..." Mr.Clapton finds me noticing his right hand, and he nods, "Oh, yes. You bit my hand last night and then commented it was too hard. You used my shirt as a tissue to wipe your bloodied hand. Then you threw up in my car on the way back to my place, and after we got to the apartment ...."
I cover my ears since I don't want to keep hearing how many stupid things I did last night. Still, my keen sense of hearing allows me to hear the last thing he said, "... You took off my clothes and wanna sleep with me."
Huh? I forget to cover my ears in astonishment, then quickly pull the collar of my T-shirt. Thanks to the moon god, my bra is still there, and no hickeys on my body. No discomfort between my legs. It looks like I didn't have a one-night stand with him. He must be joking, right? I stay alert and move back a few steps.
"Don't worry! I never force any girl to make love. Besides, you fell asleep quickly. We both did nothing." Mr. Clapton puffs out a laugh.
Finding me relieved, he starts to move closer to me, "What? Do you want me to do something with you?"
I shake my head quickly, catching a glimpse of his injured right hand and feeling guilty.
He is the Alpha from the largest pack in North America. It is reasonable to say that his abilities in all aspects are superior to average Alphas. That means his self-healing ability should also be exceptional. But the gauze on his right hand implies that his wounds have not healed, which means I must have given him a pretty heavy bite last night.
"Look, I'm sorry for what I did to you last night. I tend to do stupid things when I get drunk. But please trust me, I definitely don't mean to do that." I apologize to Mr. Clapton and run my fingers through my hair.
Mr. Clapton pauses about five feet from me, rubs his chin with his left hand, and asks me, "So what do you do to compensate me? I did not leave you on the road with grace; then, I carried you back with my injured right hand. Also, I left you my own bedroom."
What he said makes me feel even more guilty. "Okay. If this will stop you from being mad at me ...." I close my eyes and extend my right hand to him, "Please bite me as hard as you can!"
Considering Mr. Clapton is stronger than me, or even my father, his strength must be incredible. Although my self-healing ability is far better than the average shifters, I still have to be prepared that the wound Mr. Clapton will leave me with won't heal in a short time.
A large warm hand holds me; a soft thing touches my hand. In that instant, the aroma of buttered bread fills the room. The paralyzing sensation spread from my hand to my whole body and even reached the tip of my heart, causing my whole body to tremble and slowly heat up.
This is... my mate!
I open my eyes and see Mr. Clapton kissing my hand back. He also extends his eyes until his lips leave, gazing at me, showing a tender look I've never seen before.
"Mr. Clapton, you are... you're my..." My lips are quivering, and I'm afraid to say the word because I can't believe the truth.
"You've managed to change my mind, Ella Jane Ronan," he grins, showing his straight, white teeth before giving me a definite answer.
"You are right. I'm your mate."