Mated To The Mafia Werewolves

Arabella had passed the third room, still uncertain about the ghost’s intentions. Despite her confusion, she couldn’t halt her steps.

Each successive room she passed seemed even more sorrowful than the last.

“Where are you taking me?” Arabella queried as they entered the fourth room.

“This is where you were executed. You let him fucked you, and he still killed you,” the woman disclosed, causing Arabella to frown.

“I don’t understand. I genuinely think you’ve got the wrong person,” Arabella insisted.

“No, it’s you,” said the woman, gripping Arabella’s hand. Before she could pull away, Arabella’s eyes widened, witnessing flashes of Allesandro the first, a woman resembling her, lying in a pool of blood, staining Allesandro the first face.

“Did you see that?” the woman inquired, releasing Arabella’s hand.

“I still don’t understand what’s going on,” Arabella murmured, caressing her hand.

“You will soon,” the woman assured.

As they continued walking, the ghost began recounting their history.

“We were a peace-loving group, living in harmony with werewolves thanks to a truce by the werewolf goddess Selene and Pyralis, our deity. But after you found a journal by a greedy sorceress, Astralys, who ignited the rivalry, you became possessed.”

“How do you know all this?” Arabella interrupted.

“Because I am Ellen, your maidservant. You confided in me until you started reading that wretched journal,” Ellen explained.

Arabella shook her head, wanting to clarify that she wasn’t the one interacting with Ellen, but Ellen seemed resolute.

“What happened next? After I was possessed?” Arabella inquired.

The woman stared at her, eyes narrowed, and hissed, “You disrupted everything. You killed everyone for your power-hungry self.”

“Don’t trust ghosts,” came Clarisse’s voice behind her.

“Thank goodness,” Arabella sighed, starting toward Clarisse, but Ellen held her back.

“She’s the real evil,” Ellen declared. “You shouldn’t trust anyone who brought you to the past just for their amusement.”

“We wanted to be here,” Arabella defended.

Ellen, despite her almost detached head, continued to narrow her eyes. “You think you wanted to be here?” she questioned.

Before Arabella could respond, Clarisse snapped her fingers, and Ellen evaporated. Arabella jerked backward, gasping. “You said no one could see me, but she did, and we have been talking.”

“I forgot to mention special people can see you with a special connection,” Clarisse explained, moving toward the door. “Let’s get out of here. Vengeful spirits are coming.”

Arabella hurried out with Clarisse, not wanting to linger in the creepy room despite her curiosity about Ellen.

Rounding a corner, she encountered Allesandro the first, holding a photograph with narrowed eyes. As she approached, she saw the image of a woman resembling her. Allesandro, the first, exuded hatred as if he could snuff out the woman’s life if given the chance.

“What am I looking at?” Arabella asked Clarisse.

Receiving no answer, she turned and was relieved to find Clarisse still with her. Yet, Clarisse remained silent as a burly man with scars joined them.

“Alpha,” he addressed Alessandro the first.

“Did you come to stop me, Matt? You’re my Beta; you should know better,” Alessandro the first interrupted, not giving Matt a chance to respond.

His once sea-green eyes turned golden, a snarl forming on his face. “This woman infuriates me. Why does she act so superior over the land of Ascotan? It is mine and the artifact with me-she’s delusional to think I’ll give it to her.”Property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

“I’m only here to remind you that she is your destined mate,” Matt explained.

“A destined mate?” Alessandro, the first, scoffed. “She’s some kind of evil being with wings. The goddess would never give me such a mate.”

“But it’s real. The seer confirmed it, and the conflict can be prevented if both of you get mated and come to a common understanding,” Matt pointed out.

“No, Matt, it doesn’t work that way,” Alessandro shook his head.

“How does it then?” Matt raised a brow. “You’re being intentionally stubborn.”

“Am I?” Alessandro, the first snorted. “I have no intention of mating with her, and you know the reason I got the artifact-the dying pack members. The disease won’t stop if I don’t do what is right.”

“And the right thing is war?” Matt questioned. “While growing up, I’ve heard you say many absurd things, but this is the height of it all.”

“It’s not just about war, Matt. It’s about using her as an offering to the goddess to plead for our cause. Have you heard about her attributes? As much as I desire to kill her as soon as I see her, she is very much useful,” he said.

“Then we leave innocent blood out of it,” Matt stated.

“I’ll think about that,” Sandro murmured. “And tell Eric it’s time.”

“Surely,” Matt nodded before striding out of the room.

Just like Sandro, Arabella mused, shaking her head. She couldn’t fathom why he harbored such hatred and a desire to kill her if they were meant to be together-unless she had rejected him.

Rejected or not, Arabella pondered, what did it have to do with Alessandro’s first actions? Couldn’t he have moved on unless he was obsessive and controlling like Sandro appeared to be?

“We need to be elsewhere,” Clarisse declared, and before Arabella could inquire where Clarisse snapped her fingers, the scenery changed.

***

Sandro muttered to himself as he stared at the figure he believed to be Arabella. “My lady Arabella, it’s almost time,” an old but healthy woman approached her.

Arabella, Sandro mused. It seemed more than a coincidence-she looked like Arabella, and now she had the same name.

“I need to communicate with her,” Lady Arabella murmured, pointing to a statue nearby.

“I thought you did earlier?” wrinkled Ellen asked.

“Circe is much more demanding than the other goddesses. Also, I am a descendant of her, so I should revere her all the time,” Lady Arabella sighed.

“It’s fine, my lady. I believe it can be done swiftly because we need you to start up the ceremony,” Ellen stated.

“I’ll be with you shortly,” Lady Arabella said, a sinister smile on her face.

Approaching the statue, she knelt. “Great Circe, from the flames of your divine lineage, I call upon the ancient powers.”

Wind encompassed her, strong enough to pick up debris but not to destroy the surroundings.

“Grant me the fiery strength to rise, a Phoenix queen ablaze, to scorch the foes that stand against my path,” her hands alight with flame.

For the first time, Sandro witnessed the flame of the Phoenix. The intensity overwhelmed him, and he felt the heat radiating off it. His eyes narrowed as Lady Arabella torched the ground around her-fire and wind now encompassing her, and her white hair turned fiery red, mirroring the flame.

“Hear my plea, immortal enchantress, and let your magic flow through my veins as I become the inferno that consumes all opposition,” Lady Arabella growled.

The sound was deafening, and more flames poured out of her for a brief moment until it ceased. Everything fell silent again, and Lady Arabella stood, gently kissing the statue before turning on her heel as if nothing had occurred.

“What a psycho!” Sandro grunted. He believed the trait often associated with him wasn’t fair because the true definition of psycho was the woman he had just witnessed.

“That’s because of your mother’s blood running through your veins. She decided to quell the psychopathic energy,” Clarisse explained.

Sandro turned to glare at her, and his eyes widened as he noticed Arabella behind her.

“Tesoro,” Sandro murmured, stalking towards her. Gripping her hand and white hair, he raised it to his nose, sniffing her in, before locking eyes with her.

“You’re real,” he said.

“Of course I am,” Arabella replied, her voice cold, tugging her hand away.

“Let me go, Sandro,” she said as he held on tighter.

“I don’t think I am comfortable being in the same place as you,” she added, avoiding eye contact.

Sandro gently gripped her chin, prompting her to look at him. “Can we at least be civil for the sake of our child?”

“Don’t tell me you developed sudden amnesia and turned a blind eye to all that you did to me? Besides, I never mentioned carrying your child, did I?” she retorted.

“You didn’t,” Sandro murmured. “But I feel within me that it is mine.”

“Keep feeling,” Arabella rolled her eyes.

“Love birds,” Clarisse remarked.

“I don’t love him!” Arabella snapped, turning to Sandro, who watched with amusement but said nothing to refute Clarisse’s statement.

“Why don’t we get down to the reason we’re here rather than fight over a child that is yet to be born? You can always do a DNA test to know if it’s yours or not,” Clarisse suggested.

“I intend to do that after getting out of here,” Sandro asserted.

“That can only be possible if I let you,” Arabella retorted.

“Come on,” Clarisse urged, leading them down the path Sandro had taken earlier, the same path Lady Arabella had taken.

“Hate me all you want, I don’t care. But stay close to me. I don’t want anything happening to you or the child,” Sandro said, his hand snaking around Arabella’s waist, pulling her closer.