The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

Margaret feels for Coral; she knows that the healer adores her mate, yet she also knew that Coral wanted bairn someday and while Quell did not it was just as much his fault that she was pregnant, as it was hers. None the less, Margaret knows what it was like-her father had told her mother ‘no more children’ before her youngest brother was born. In fact, her father strictly forbade it-her parents’ relationship is rocky at best, but when her mother found out she was pregnant yet again, she started to come apart. Margaret saw her cry in secret, dread the moment she would have to tell her husband and Margaret watched on in horror, when her father beat his wife because of it. There was nothing Margaret could do but cover her ears to her mother’s cries of pain, then take care of her mother once he was gone to work. Her mother insisted that it wasn’t his fault-she had brought it upon herself but she seemed to forget that the walls of their house were thin and Margret knew that her father always got what he wanted, when he wanted it with little regard to her mother’s desires.

Even though none of the men in their old town had any interest in her, she was looking forward to the Celebration-she didn’t lie to Coral when she said she planned on leaving. It was true-not only did her parents see her as a burden despite the fact that she took care of her younger siblings and helped with a majority of the housework but she also felt like she never had a chance to experience a life of her own while living under that roof. As soon as she was old enough to do chores she had basically become a second mother to her siblings, forced to grow up faster than almost all the other girls in her town-everyone, but Coral. Perhaps that is why they get on so well now, despite the fact that they had little to do with each other before.

As she watches Coral say good night to her mate, she sees Quell smile teasingly at her before leaning down and placing a tender kiss on her lips. Margaret knows that even if he doesn’t want a child, he would not beat her for it; she just hopes that Coral will gain her courage sooner than later, as the longer she waits, the more anxiety she will suffer for it.

It was very odd for her, seeing Coral and her mate, as well as Prince Vadim and his. Aside from her brief time living with Janis, she hasn’t spent much time around mated pairs. It was interesting watching them interact, though she was surprised to see the way Vadim stole glances at his sister. Margaret knows that he had courted Coral as well but it is clear to her that he still had some lingering feelings towards his sister.

She turns her attention back to Tomir, who shifts his weight on his grey back legs. His black hair is longer, though he keeps half of it pulled back into a braid while letting the rest flow freely over his shoulders. His dark brown eyes look her over, not with a primal lust that she was told all centaurs had, but with a kind, soft curiosity.

He offers her a tight smile on his clean shaven face, “Are you comfortable in the apothecary?” His voice is a low tenor.

“Yes,” she says curtly; remembering Coral’s words, telling her to be nice, “I am very fortunate to know Lady Coral and her kindness.”

He nods in agreement, “Yes, I believe we all are.” His gaze turns over towards Quell, watching him converse easily with a group of humans, “She makes her mate very happy.”

They continue on in awkward silence, occasionally punctuating it with random questions and pleasantries. Though Margaret feels uncomfortable around most centaurs she is surprised to find herself somewhat at ease around Tomir, at least until she remembers that he is a half breed.

By the time she finishes her fourth glass of mead, she has a hard time keeping her eyes open. The room starts to tip slightly when a firm hand grasps her bicep, “Perhaps it is time that I see you home, maiden.”

He helps her put her cloak on, following behind as she unsteadily makes her way across the tavern; half way through, Quell intercepts them, his face amused but concerned, “Are you all right, maiden?”

“Yes,” she affirms. Margaret curtseys but stumbles slightly on her way back up; Tomir easily catches her arm to keep her from falling, though she doesn’t notice, “Good night, Prince Quell.”

He chuckles, bowing slightly to her, “Good night maiden.” Glancing at Tomir, he pats him on the shoulder before wandering back to the tavern.

The cool night air feels good on Margaret’s hot face, though the darkness doesn’t help her balance any. When she stumbles again but does not fall, she finally realizes that her arm is threaded through the centaur’s beside her. She glances up his torso to find Tomir concerned, but smiling at her, “The mead in Centuarna is far more potent than that watered down drink the human towns serve. Perhaps next time you would like to try the ale instead?”

Her head whips forward, her chin down, “Who said there would be a next time?”

“Did you-did you not enjoy yourself?” His voice is quiet, almost defensive.

“I did,” she reluctantly admits. It is enough to pacify him into silence for the remainder of their walk.

He helps her up onto the boardwalk in front of the apothecary; when she fumbles with the keys and drops them, he picks them up and opens the door, seeing her inside. Instead of climbing the stairs, though, Margaret sits down on them.

With a frown on his face, Tomir walks into the back room of the apothecary, finding a pitcher of water. He brings it to her and though she refuses, he insists that she drinks some. Setting the pitcher down, he reaches to her face and gingerly wipes her chin off.

“I had a good time in your company tonight, maiden,” his voice is soft. When he catches her gaze, he sighs, his desire for her clear yet he offers her a small bow before handing her the keys to the apothecary, “Good night, Margaret.”

He turns and leaves, shutting the door behind him.

“Good night, Tomir,” she says softly, her brows crinkled in confusion.

…

Margaret’s head throbs the next morning. She forces herself out of bed, stumbling towards the wardrobe for a fresh shift before stripping off her old one. Making haste, she wipes herself down with a cold wet rag, brushing the knots out of her dull brown hair. Gazing at her naked form in the mirror, she doesn’t see anything she likes; her face is plain, forgettable, simple brown eyes matching her hair. Her chest is small and despite the fact that her mother said it would grown and remain large when she became pregnant, she seriously doubts that will happen. Her frame is not slender, like all the other women, but rather curvy, with her full hips and rear jutting out from her waist. In all, it never surprised her that no men had any intentions of taking her as a wife because she never considered herself anything special. Not like Coral.

She is almost ashamed to admit to herself that she disliked Coral for years before their arrival in Centuarna-the woman had a way about her that always put people at ease and with her fiery red hair and bright green eyes she stood out like rose in a wheat field. Aside from Tobias, there were at least four other men who had intentions of making her offers but now that she knows Coral, Margaret realizes that the healer wouldn’t have picked any of them. Seeing her around her mate made Margaret jealous; the only other relationship she knew was her parents and she long ago believed that they remained in each other’s company solely because they didn’t have a choice.

Pulling on a shift and a new dress before grabbing herself some bread and jam for breakfast, Margaret ponders over last night. After Coral pointed it out, she sees the truth of it-Tomir does like her. He is kind enough and a good person but she still shudders at the sight of his half breed body. If only he was a man.

Gathering up her cloak and bag, she leaves the apothecary to make the rounds with Janis. Sure enough, now that the centaur is in her forethought, she notices him throughout the day, talking with other men, shopping for food in the market. She pretends not to notice him, keeping her eyes down so that she doesn’t have to acknowledge his presence.

This occurs for a few more days but on the fourth day, when Margaret expects to see him, she does not. It is curious to her and she discovers that she is somewhat disappointed that the centaur isn’t stalking her movements. As her work day comes to an end, she stops by the market on her way home; though most of the vegetables offered are now the hearty root kinds, it doesn’t bother her, as she finds them the most tasty. She is excited to get some fresh rabbit and milk and a lovely loaf of bread from the baker Tillie. On her way out of the bakery, she accidently bumps into a centaur.

“Excuse me, sir,” she offers curtly; but when she glances up to see Tomir, the smile that briefly touches her lips is sincere, “Tomir-how are you?”

“I am well,” he says. His stance is somewhat deflated though, his lips in a slight frown.

“I was just about to go home to make some supper,” she offers as an excuse. She doesn’t know why she does it, but the words flow out of her mouth, “Would you want to come by later? For dinner?”

He looks surprised, “I-I cannot climb the stairs to your quarters. But thank you for the invitation.” He turns to leave.

Feeling slightly dejected, Margaret tries again, “I will bring the food down to the apothecary; we can dine there.”

He stops, glancing back at her, his voice soft, “All right, maiden.”

“Will you come by in two hours?”Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org exclusive © material.

“Aye.” With a quaint bow, he leaves.