Mated To The Mafia Werewolves

Sandro’s narrowed his eyes as he recognized what had transpired. The dimensions had shifted once again. Why did this always occur when he was on the point of reaching Arabella?

It seemed the moon goddess was playing games with him. While he had always acknowledged her fickleness and unpredictability, this was an excessive torment. He gazed up at the sky with a glare.

“Why are you doing this?” he bellowed, his voice reverberating across the desolate landscape. “Do you derive joy from thwarting my plans and reveling in my suffering? No, you undoubtedly do, so why am I even surprised!”

Yet, despite his rant, he waited for a retort, but silence prevailed. Only the rhythm of his breath and the faint rustling of leaves in the breeze reached his ears.

Sandro’s fists clenched. He was tired of this ceaseless game, exhausted by how the moon goddess trifled with his existence.

“Answer me!” he growled.

Even though he recognized deep down that no response would be forthcoming and understood that he was essentially shouting into the void, he couldn’t suppress his outburst.

With a frustrated grunt, he kicked a nearby stone with his shoe-clad feet, grimacing as a sharp pang shot up his leg.

Drawing a deep breath to compose himself, Sandro surveyed his surroundings. He sensed that the dimensions had shifted again, leaving him disoriented about his location. The flora and fauna appeared distinct, and the air hung heavy with an unfamiliar humidity.

A short distance ahead, the entrance to what resembled a cave beckoned. It stood as the sole feature amidst the forest of oddly shaped trees.

Sandro approached the cave, ventured inside, and exhaled.

An eerie stillness enveloped him, sending shivers cascading down his spine. Despite his reputation as a fearless man, the cave infused him with an unshakable dread. As his gaze swept the interior, memories of a cave from his childhood stories resurfaced-the notorious “Antrum Timoris,” the Cave of Fear.

Although Sandro had grown up hearing tales of the Cave of Fear, he had never set foot inside it. Standing within the dimly illuminated cave, he contemplated whether this was the cave he had been cautioned about.

Fear seized him as his mind conjured the direst scenarios-what if this was indeed the infamous cave trapping him within its confines? His thoughts spiraled into images of shadowy creatures and wicked traps, leaving him feeling more isolated and defenseless than ever.

Sandro’s frustration surged as he endeavored to steer the cave’s interior, yet irrespective of the direction he followed, he encountered only dead ends. It was akin to being trapped in an eternal labyrinth. He retraced his steps and started afresh, yearning for an altered outcome, but the result stubbornly persisted.

Coming to an abrupt stop, Sandro’s gaze fixed upon mysterious drawings adorning the cave walls. Their meanings got out of him, their potential significance tantalizingly out of reach. This cluelessness grated on his nerves, kindling a feeling of irritation.

“Sandro…” A voice whispered, barely audible, yet it reached his ears.

Startled, he spun around, locking eyes with Arabella. She materialized before him, crossing a sandy desert. His brows arched in bewilderment as her form came into focus.

His survey widened, revealing that he stood surrounded by sand, and the air suddenly parched. He had been transported to a desert landscape alongside Arabella.

Maybe, he speculated, he was caught in a dream. Sandro repeatedly blinked, almost in disbelief, yet each time he reopened his eyes, Arabella remained.

But how? How had the cave metamorphosed into a desert? How had Arabella appeared in this place?

Perhaps the moon goddess had, at last, responded to his requests, and this time, he was determined not to allow her to escape his grasp. He clenched his fists and surged forward, propelling himself toward her, an aspiration burning fervently within him.

As abruptly as she appeared, Arabella vanished into thin air, leaving Sandro in the middle of a barren desert with no one in sight. In the very next moment, the desert disappeared just as mysteriously as it had emerged, and he found himself back in the dark cave.

“What the hell was that?!” he muttered to himself, his brows furrowing. Was this place toying with his mind?

“No,” he corrected himself. “Maybe I just imagined seeing her.”

Pushing aside the recent occurrence, Sandro shook off his confusion and continued walking. However, as he wandered, his anxiety began to intensify. The cave seemed to shrink suddenly, its walls closing in on him. His throat constricted involuntarily, and he gasped for breath, clutching at his throat as he panted.

After a few moments, he managed to regain control of his breathing, albeit with some effort, before finally slumping against the damp cave wall, exhausted. As his eyes shut, they snapped back open at the sound of faint whispers, so soft that they could easily have been a mere figment of his imagination. Yet, the voice persisted, calling out his name in a haunting, ghostly tone.

“Alessandro, come,” the voice beckoned, causing Sandro’s heart to skip a beat. It sounded like his mother’s voice. He strained to listen, and the voice repeated unmistakably his mother’s. He was sure of it.

However, it carried an ethereal and otherworldly quality, as though it was emanating from beyond the grave.

Springing to his feet, his heart racing, Sandro frantically searched for the source of the voice. And then, there she stood, before him, in a shimmering, ghostly form. It was his beloved mother.

Sandro stood rooted to the spot, his eyes locked on her, unable to comprehend the sight before him. She appeared just as he remembered long, flowing dark hair, lithe body and green eyes that sparkled, and a gentle smile.

“Come, darling child,” Her ghostly figure beckoned to him, and he felt an undeniable urge to follow. Overwhelmed, he began walking toward her, compelled by an irresistible force.

He came face to face with her; arms outstretched, the warmth of her embrace almost detectable.

“Mum…” he whispered. But then Lace, his wolf, let out a fierce growl, causing Sandro to halt in his tracks.

Confused, Sandro shifted his attention to Lace. “What’s wrong?” he inquired, a hint of annoyance at the interruption creeping into his voice.

“That’s not her, Sandro,” Lace cautioned, his tone edged with urgency. “She’s nothing but a deceptive illusion!”

Sandro averted his gaze from the apparition and resumed walking. He understood he couldn’t trust anything within this bewildering realm-not even the voices resembling his cherished ones.

“How can you know that? You can’t even see her! I can feel and see her,” Sandro retorted stubbornly, his refusal to accept the unreality of his experience evident.

Lace emitted a low growl as if he could sense Sandro’s mounting frustration. “I sensed your fear, Sandro. It’s what’s luring you toward whoever manifests before you. But what you’re perceiving is a mirage, and you must focus yourself,” he explained patiently.

Drawing a deep breath, Sandro attempted to clear his thoughts. He momentarily shut his eyes, immersing himself in the rustling sound of the cave’s winds.

Reopening his eyes, he discerned the figure ahead beginning to waver, the beckoning voice fading into the ether.

A pang of melancholy washed over Sandro, acknowledging that the woman he had believed to be his mother was nothing more than a deceitful illusion. It was another wicked trick conjured by this labyrinth. Lace was right.

He understood the peril illusions posed, tales of individuals trapped by their allure and drawn into ominous abysses. A shiver coursed through him at the prospect of perpetual entrapment within the cave’s confines if he had indeed listened to the voice and followed her.This text is © NôvelDrama/.Org.

Summoning a cleansing breath, Sandro attempted to suppress his suspicions and retrain his focus on solving the maze. He swept his gaze across the cave, searching for hints or patterns that might guide him toward escape.

After a few paces, he saw the cryptic symbols and markings that adorned the walls again.

Rather than just staring away like before, he intently glanced at the symbols. Some appeared vaguely familiar, arousing quick memories, though he struggled to place them definitively.

Sandro traced his fingertips along the symbols, hoping to stimulate a recollection or insight. He sealed his eyes shut and concentrated, beckoning his intuitions to guide him.

A while later, the pattern unveiled itself to Sandro’s discerning gaze-the symbols seemed configured in a spiral formation, directing him inward toward the heart of the cave.