Mated To The Mafia Werewolves

Sandro winced, rubbing the back of his head after colliding with a tall tree. Standing up, he took a deep breath and surveyed the forest surroundings. He was certain he was in some kind of forest, thanks to Clarisse’s questionable idea.

Arabella was nowhere in sight, and Sandro wondered about her whereabouts. Dusting his hand on the leather jacket he wore, he approached the forest opening, muttering, “What the hell?”

His eyes widened as he halted, observing a surreal scene before him a gathering of a thousand phoenixes as if stumbling upon a slumber party.

Their colorful wings concealed their features, giving an impression of deliberate hiding.

A cool voice interrupted Sandro, explaining, “It’s the Phoenix Rising Ceremony, happening once every 100 years.”

He turned to see Clarisse.

“What the hell?” Sandro growled. “Why bring me to a costume party, and where’s Arabella?”

Not finding Arabella behind Clarisse, he expressed his concern.

“She’s where she should be,” Clarisse replied. “And you are where you should be.”

“What does that even mean?” Sandro narrowed his eyes. “If you’ve harmed Arabella, I swear by the goddess, Clarisse…”

Clarisse dismissed his threat, saying, “You never cared about Arabella; don’t act like you care now. She’s fine for now.”

Sandro glared, refraining from further questioning. “What am I supposed to see here?” he finally asked after a brief pause.

“Where it all started. It would be unfair if you were to see things solely from your ancestors’ point of view. I wanted Arabella to witness your ancestor’s perspective, and you can see from hers. Since you both share in the sin,” Clarisse explained.

“Whatever,” Sandro muttered, glancing at a winged woman with dark-brown hair and a petite figure approaching. “Can they see us?”Content is © 2024 NôvelDrama.Org.

“No,” Clarisse shook her head. “We are in the past, and all these events happened before.”

“Good,” Sandro breathed out. The idea of being observed by the creatures he was gazing at was unsettling.

The phoenixes before him were unlike any he had encountered. While at Ascotan, they were not as mysterious or frightening as exemplified by Arabella.

“This has always been the true form of a Phoenix,” Clarisse said, interrupting his thoughts.

“With horns and fangs and slitted eyes. Great,” Sandro added, sarcasm dripping in his voice.

For creatures often described as beautiful, they appeared anything but.

Perhaps malevolent and malicious-those would be the easiest words to describe them.

The banging of drums snapped him out of his reverie, and he walked towards the source of the sound, realizing he was standing where the ceremony would take place.

“Although this is originally for the werewolves, this is the Phoenix’s established land. A right had been granted to them by the goddess after calling a truce with the Phoenix Deity Pyralis,” Clarisse explained.

“Shouldn’t Arabella know about this instead of me?” Sandro pointed out.

“Arabella is learning as well. And both of you should know this for future generations,” Clarisse replied, smiling briefly before her expression turned serious.

Clarisse began, “The Pyralis is a deity of balance, representing the cyclical nature of destruction and rebirth. Benevolent but demanding, Pyralis is revered for bringing both purifying flames and the promise of renewal.”

“Isn’t that the whole point of being a Phoenix? I mean the flames and rebirth, whatever,” Sandro asked as he and Clarisse walked in circles around the large gathering.

“That is, but there’s much more to it,” she replied. Sandro nodded, waiting for Clarisse to continue, his eyes scanning the gathering and then returning to Clarisse, who was gazing at the moon.

“There is a Cataclysmic event known as the Luminous Eclipse. Just as the fire influences the Phoenixes and the moon, the werewolves, the luminous eclipse disrupted the natural order of the celestial energies, creating a surge that affects the moon and the fire influence on both creatures.”

“Technically, we were both faced with threats,” Sandro commented.

“Right,” Clarisse affirmed. “Both the goddess and Deity understood this and decided to find a way to restore balance and call a truce. By doing that, both agreed to share guardianship over a unique artifact called the Solaris Nocturne Crest, a gemstone, or whatever anyone decided to call it. But the original name was the Solaris Nocturne Crest. Hence, the ceremony of concordance was established, mutual blessings were given to both factions-the werewolves and the phoenixes by the goddess and Deity-and rivalries were forbidden. Anyone who defied the truce shall face divine consequences.”

Sandro nodded, but after a brief silence, he turned to Clarisse. “Is that all? That doesn’t even explain the reason the rivalries between them occurred. You only mentioned a truce.”

“It started long ago, before the truce between Selene and Pyralis. A sorceress called Astralys, who sought to exploit the inherent animosity between the werewolves and the Phoenixes, started it,” Clarisse explained.

Sandro groaned. “Are you launching into another story? I don’t think I’ll get what I had to do done at this rate.” He glanced at his wristwatch before turning to Clarisse as she spoke up.

“It’s no use. Time stopped the moment you came here. When you return, it will be exactly the time on the wristwatch now. It seems as though everything has frozen briefly.”

Sandro didn’t really care about frozen time and more stories. He just wanted to leave. “I need to take Arabella…”

“My lady,” a deep baritone interrupted, halting Sandro’s words.

“What is it, Steven? I thought we spoke about this earlier,” another voice, sultry and seemingly out of place for the era, spoke up.

“I am sorry, my lady. I feel there is a need to bring it up again. I don’t think any of us is ready for what is coming. I mean, we can use the whole year to prepare, and we would never be able to beat them,” Steven expressed concern.

“Are you forgetting what I am?” said the sultry voice confidently. “I am the most powerful being here, Steven. And did you even remember what happened the last time? They all fled. I am not backing down on this. They stole what belonged to us and started the war. So, it is only sensible we strike back.”

Sandro was intrigued, eager to know who she was. A woman unafraid, proud, and overly confident-qualities he found attractive. He imagined a tall, slender woman with fiery red hair, stormy grey eyes, and a captivating smile that brought men down to their knees.

Shaking his head, Sandro realized he was daydreaming about a woman from a hundred years ago, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Perhaps,” Steven agreed, “but not at this critical time. It is the Rising of the Phoenix ceremony, for goodness’ sake. And this place is a ground where blood must not be spilled; have you forgotten that?”

“That I have not forgotten, and I don’t intend to fight on the Phoenix sacred ground,” she assured.

Unable to resist the urge to know who was speaking, Sandro stepped toward the voice, a few distances away, close to the gathering.

Rather than the fiery red hair Sandro had imagined, the first thing he caught sight of was white waist-length hair billowing in the wind. He was right about her being slim and curvy in the right places. Her waist was slender, and he couldn’t help but imagine gripping it. Her fair skin and well-shaped backside made quite an impression on him as well.

Sandro found himself analyzing her in a way he usually didn’t with women. Typically, he only focused on their faces to determine if they were worth his time, except with Arabella. However, this woman was driving him crazy, and he knew he wouldn’t see her again.

“Who is she?” Sandro asked Clarisse but received no response.

When he turned, he realized Clarisse was no longer with him. Just then, the woman with the sultry voice turned, and his eyes locked with familiar crystal blue eyes.

“A-Arabella?” he stuttered, his eyes widening in disbelief.

The woman smiled as if she was gazing at him at that instant.

No, she wasn’t his Arabella. He was sure of that. The Arabella he knew might harbor resentment towards him, but not to this extent.

Even though he was in the past, Sandro could sense the woman’s anger, saw it in her eyes and smile.

Fuck, the woman before him was not his Arabella. She was fucking Malevolent.