Betrayal and Devotion

(FRANCESCA POV)

I blinked away the blur, as the reality came crashing down.

“By Luna’s light, what have I done?. This could bring down Fenrir’s wrath on me!” 

I gasped, jolting upright in bed, my hands clutching the sheets as I took in my surroundings. “This was not my room” I said as I scanned the luxurious furnishings, the rich red walls, and the elaborate ceiling. And then my stomach dropped.

Beside me, under the same tangle of sheets, lay a man. But not just any man, Marco, my ex-boyfriend’s older brother, The Lycan Don. I could barely breathe as I took in his bare, chiseled chest, his muscular arm draped lazily over the bed as if nothing were out of the ordinary except that I was in this room with Marco.

“Damn you, Fenrir's fang, not again”. I muttered under my breath. The realization hit me hard. I was naked, in bed with Marco.

 A rush of shame and anger surged through me. I had fought for years to bury my feelings for him, knowing they’d bring nothing but ruin. But here I was, lying next to the brother of the very man who haunted my dreams and tortured my waking hours, Gianni my ex-boyfriend, No the best word is my ex-fiance.

I shifted, desperate to slip away quietly. I gathered my clothes that was scattered across the floor like remnants of a storm, and clutched them close. But just as I stood up to leave, there he was standing tall, dominating, and looking down at me.

“Leaving so soon, Francesca?” 

Marco’s voice was laced with mock amusement.His gaze trailed lazily from my face down to my bare legs. 

I froze from the embarrassment heating my cheeks as I tightened my grip on my clothes.

“Look,I just want to go home”, I managed to say, my voice wavering.His gaze was intense, and predatory, reminding me just who he was.  

He was powerful and ruthless, and I knew all too well that he had a weakness for watching me squirm.

But instead of stepping back, Marco moved closer, his fingers reaching out to brush a lock of hair from my face. 

He held my neck and his touch was both harsh and electrifying, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with something dark and hungry.

“Oh, but we’re just getting started, my love,” he murmured, his lips dangerously close to mine. My heart pounded wildly, my mind screaming to resist, but his presence consumed me. I hated how easily he could make me feel weak, and powerless, all with a single look.

“Marco, please”, I whispered, my voice barely audible. “Let me go”.

His hands slowly moved from my breast which lingered on my nipples, I was dripping, his hands moving like the shock of waves on my body, his touch igniting a fire I didn’t want to acknowledge. 

He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. “Do You want me, Francesca? Say it"

I nodded out of impulse.

 He was right to ask, I was yearning and I couldn't hide it. Against every instinct of reason and self-preservation, I leaned into him, letting the raw, primal pull of desire take over, just for a moment. But before things could spiral further, he suddenly released me, smirking as he took a step back.

“Get out,” he said, his tone shifting coldly as he folded his arms. The sudden change in his demeanor was a slap to my pride, yet a twisted part of me still wanted more. 

Swallowing hard, I forced myself to focus. I needed to escape the tangled web he wove, both for my sanity and for my heart.

Dressing hurriedly, I stumbled down the stairs, my mind a storm of shame, anger, and yearning. As I slipped into my heels and reached the foyer, I felt the weight of the mansion pressing down on me.

The house stood like a fortress, carved deep into the edge of a misty, ancient forest. Crafted from a blend of dark stone and reclaimed timber, the structure seemed to pulse with untamed energy, as if it had grown organically from the earth a sheer power Marco, the symbol of a Lycan power which he held, the undeniable grip he had on my life.

Outside, I quickly called a taxi, praying to the Moon Goddess that no one saw me leaving. The car pulled up, and as I settled into the back seat, I exhaled shakily.

 The air was thick with tension as I took one last glance at the mansion through the rearview mirror.

My phone buzzed, jolting me from my thoughts. It was Aunt Emilia, her voice frantic and high-pitched. “Francesca! Your father collapsed! He’s at Winston Memorial… they’re saying it’s because of heart failure. He was dealing with the Mafias.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. “What?” I whispered my voice barely breathing. The shock robbed me of words, my father’s face flashing through my mind. For years, he had struggled to protect our family, and I knew his involvement with the Mafia was for our sake. But now…

“Miss, you alright?” the driver asked, his concerned eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror.

I nodded numbly. 

“Take me to Winston Memorial. Quickly.”

As the taxi sped down the rain-slicked streets, my mind spun with questions and fears. Had Marco known about this? Was this some twisted part of his game? And why had he called me there last night?

When we arrived at the hospital, I practically threw money at the driver and raced inside, my heart pounding as I searched for answers. I stopped at the information desk, out of breath and panicked.

“I’m here for Mr. Anderson Colman, My father.”

The nurse looked up, sympathy softening her stern expression. “He’s in surgery right now. The doctors are doing everything they can,” The nurse said. 

My legs nearly gave out beneath me. Surgery. 

The word rang in my ears, thick with dread. I slumped onto one of the lobby chairs, wrapping my arms around myself as if I could shield myself from the storm tearing through my mind.

As I sat there, head buried in my hands, I felt a prickling sensation at the back of my neck. I looked up and saw Aunt Emilia with her sad face and teary face.