The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

After a little bit a man comes to get Cecil; a while later, the man comes back for Margaret, leaving only Coral around the fire. The sky has darkened, the sun just a distant glow over the tree line. Though she is a stone’s throw away from home she feels as if she is in an entirely different country, a strange new land filled with creatures of myth and foreign customs. She finds comfort in the warmth of the fire, watching the dancing flames whip around in a frenzy, almost taunting her with their seductive movements. She feels like she should cry, or yell, or scream, or run away, but she simply sits there and accepts her fate.

An older graying man carries an arm full of cut wood over to them, dropping it into a pile on the ground before jabbing a few logs into the fire, “Hoy, Reid,” he says.

“Marcus,” Reid replies in greeting, having not moved from his position behind Coral; his arms are crossed over his chest, the flames casting shadows over his looming figure making him appear larger than he actually is.

Marcus glances over at Coral, waiting until she looks up at him, “Ah, so you’re the one all the gossip is about.”

She looks at the man blankly, sitting with her hands in her lap. She wasn’t expecting anyone to approach her other than a centaur. It only makes sense for someone of her own kind to extend a greeting, though she got the distinct impression that the centaur behind her would warn others off; the way he hovers near her makes her feel as if she has been accused of something, though she doesn’t know what her offense is.

“Heard there was an argument, some young lad felt slighted?” He laughs, “I can see why, you are a pretty young lass.”

Coral gets a chill down her spine; she barely inclines her head towards Reid, her voice quiet, “They seem to think that I will run off.”

Marcus glances up, “What, Reid? Naw, that’s where you’ve got it all wrong, lass.” He sits on the log next to her brushing his hands off on his pants, “A few Atonements back, I forget what town it was now, but a young maiden was chosen-a pretty little thing, though not as pretty as you. There was a lad who had gotten it in his mind to propose to her but she was plucked before he could. Later that night he snuck into the camp,” Marcus shakes his head, “Lads are stupid when they are that age; when they get an idea in their minds and they convince themselves it is the right thing to do. It makes them dangerous and determined and it takes years for that haughty dumbness to wear off. He found the woman and he, well,” clearing his throat, he words it politely, “he stole her maidenhood from her, against her will. I suppose the lad thought he was saving her, that if she had already been taken by a man she would be less valuable to the centaurs. I doubt it even occurred to the lad that it wasn’t his choice to make.” Shaking his head, he tilts it slightly towards Reid, “He’s not here to make sure you don’t run away, he’s here to make sure you remain safe. In time, you’ll see the truth.”

Her brow crinkles, “What truth?”

“They aren’t the savages, lass, we are.” He rises when a man walks over, finally summoning Coral. Marcus nods at her, “Good luck, maiden.”

Nervously, she follows Reid into a tent mulling over what Marcus had told her. She always felt that the centaurs were chivalrous creatures though she never wanted to admit that the stories she’d heard had still struck fear deep within. Coral tries to keep an open mind, but still finds her heart beating fast, like an animal being hunted, full of worry and scared that they will be no different than the monsters the past had painted them to be. Reid sets her medicine case down to the side, gesturing for her bag only to do the same. Then, he leaves.

Coral stands there awkwardly, waiting. The tent is one of the larger ones, sectioned off into two other chambers by thick tan canvas. Brightly colored woven rugs cover the floor and aside from a few pillows tossed into piles, it is sparsely furnished, containing only a tall table on which a basin and pitcher sit.

When she hears movement, she turns towards the sound. Rainer walks out from one of the partitions, his large, dark, imposing form contrasting the surrounding canvas makes Coral’s knees grow weak. She tries to breathe slowly, willing herself not to run.

“I didn’t expect that much of a ruckus when I chose you,” he says, almost as if it were an apology. Not following it up with anything he waits for her to speak.

“I’m not sure why you did choose me, master centaur,” Coral’s voice is timid, her fear obvious; she keeps her eyes trained on his black hooves. They bring him a few steps closer.

He snorts, “We are not good with dancing around the truth, Ms. Coral. I chose you because you appear to be a gifted healer. We have a master doctor back in our land who tends to all centaurs, but I am afraid that there is no one to help the human population with their ailments. Plus, our doctor doesn’t travel well as he is getting on in years. You are young, vibrant and capable, and while your fellow villagers would look upon us with distain you do not hesitate to help.”

She nods, “I understand, Sir.” She gets a small sense of relief, barely enough to knock down her will to run though she is still nervous at being left alone with the leader of the centaurs.

“As I said, eloquence often evades us so I will let you know that my reasoning is twofold. The first is as I have said. The second, well,” he pauses.

Coral dares to raise her eyes to his, waiting for him to continue.

“You are a young and beautiful woman, Ms. Coral and a verified maiden.”

She draws in a sharp breath, feeling her ears burn as the blood rushes through her body. She trembles, trying to keep herself together.

Rainer looks her over waiting for her to speak but when she doesn’t he adds, “I chose you in hopes that you will become a mate to my son.”

A slight choking sound escapes her and she drops her gaze. Coral wishes she would have put some mushrooms in her pocket before she left home.

“I saw the way he looked at you yesterday, the way he minded you-I have no doubt that he is attracted to you.”

Her eyes get wide as she remembers the injured grey centaur and she stutters out, “But he’s just-a colt… he’s younger than me!”

Rainer’s brow furrows, “What, Wistan?” Instantly he laughs, his hearty booming voice no doubt carrying out into the night; the sudden deep sound makes Coral jump. It takes him a moment to rein it in, “Yes, Wistan is a young one and yes, he is my son, but that is not who I was speaking of. I chose you for Quell.”

That name instantly dredges up images of his piercing blue eyes, the way his lips felt against hers; she can feel her face start to flush and her fear and dread are almost instantaneously replaced by another feeling-desire. “He is your son too,” she states. “Did he… did he ask you to pick me?”

“No,” Rainer affirms, “nor would he have even if I gave him the option. He is wise enough not to trouble me with such whims. But yesterday when he spoke with you, you did not shy away in disgust as many your age do. And, last night, I spoke with him when he returned to the encampment from wandering out on his own. He smelled of your scent.”

Coral repeats the choking sound, dropping her head to shield her face from his burning eyes; she asks, wondering to what extent their encounter was revealed, “What did he tell you?”

“The truth. That the Governor’s son was acting a drunk fool and you ran off into the woods. And that he saw you home safely, and alone, which is definitely not something I approved of as a lone centaur makes a target. But when he told me that despite what you had been through you had concerns for his well being-I knew then that you two would be a good match.”

She doesn’t respond, her mind a jumbled mix of a million thoughts. While before her future was molded and decided upon by Tobias, her future now is at the choice of Rainer. Either way she is at the whim of men.

Rainer can see her struggle; he retreats behind the curtain only to come back out with a box. He speaks gently to her, “I will not force you into this match, none of us will. Despite what your kind says that is not our way. If you choose each other, then you will be mated. If you don’t, then you will be treated justly as our other humans are. You will work your trade in our home for one year and you will be paid a fair wage for it. If, at that time, you decide to leave, you are free to do so.”

Coral manages to gain the courage to look up back up at him, “No one ever comes back,” she replies.

He opens the box, taking out a pair of short, soft leather gauntlets, much lighter in color than she has seen before and much smaller, almost more of a cuffed bracelet. Reluctantly she offers up her wrists to him; he responds as he laces them on her, “That is because no one ever wants to return.”This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

Looking over the cuffs she sees the beautifully tooled scroll pattern swirl about the leather, “These are different from the others?”

“Aye,” he says, putting the box on the table, “a visual way to determine your ranking, if you will. You may freely attend our feast and when you are tired you will sleep in this tent tonight,” he points towards the left enclosure.

“You are giving me special treatment,” she affirms, “I did not ask for this. Is it because-”

He cuts her off, “It is because you are a special asset. You are more valuable to us than a baker or a seamstress, you are a healer. You will sleep in here so that we can make sure you are safe.”