The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

Nervously, Margaret walks back to the apothecary and bounds up the stairs-she has no idea why she did that. Her hands shake as she hastily unwraps the rabbit, breaking the animal down before placing it in a pan on the small stove before stoking the fire into a blaze. Quickly, she dices the vegetables and adds some fresh butter and herbs to them before placing the second pan next to the first. As they begin to slowly sizzle, she covers them with a lid. Gathering up plates, silverware and two mugs, she carries them downstairs.© NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

The only thing of centaur height in the apothecary is the long counter in front of the shelves of medicine jars. Margaret takes care to arrange the plates properly, filling a fresh pitcher of water and bringing down the loaf of bread. She has to drag a tall stool over to one side of the counter for her to sit in-then, at the last moment, she decides that instead of sitting across from Tomir, she should sit next to him.

Running back upstairs, she scrambles to brush her hair; she contemplates changing but quickly pushes that thought aside-reassuring herself that this isn’t a date, because she would never take a centaur as a mate; this is a dinner with someone she hopes could become a friend.

Thankfully the rabbit and vegetables cook to perfection. Unable to carry the two hot pans down the stairs, she arranges the food on a platter before taking care to walk slowly so she does not trip. She barely gets the platter placed on the counter when there is a swift knock on the door; opening it, she discovers Tomir nervously standing on the other side. He greets her with a smile, before offering a jug of ale as his contribution to the meal.

Margaret invites him in; when he walks past her, her gaze falls on his muscular horse body and she realizes that his grey coat has been freshly brushed, his long flowing tail drifts perfectly behind him while he makes his way to the counter. She cannot deny that his horse body would be beautiful for a creature, as his man half would be handsome for a man though the pairing of the two still jars her.

Taking her seat beside him, Margaret serves him dinner while he pours them ale; they eat in silence before she gets up the courage to broach conversation, “Have you any interesting news?”

He glances to her before looking back down at his plate, “None that would make for good conversation over a meal with a maiden. How about you? Are there many pregnant women you are attending to?”

Her mind is immediately drawn to Coral; she knows she should pay her a visit soon. If she had told Quell no doubt it would be the talk of the town yet as she hasn’t heard a word the healer obviously hasn’t gathered her courage to do so, “There are six women who are expecting, though it won’t be until after winter that they have their bairn. Mainly I make the rounds with Janis so she can collect her gossip. As it is still early in their pregnancies there isn’t much that can be done for them, aside from offering them some herbs to alleviate their morning sickness.” She stabs a few vegetables, bringing them up to her mouth, “It does not seem that many women have more than one foal-why is that?”

He chews his food carefully before replying, “I suppose it is hard enough for a woman to take her mate so that her garden can be seeded; I would think that after the first bairn, a centaur doesn’t wish to cause her any more pain so they just express their need by playing with each other as the youth do. Though, from what I have heard about this elixir that Lady Coral has created, I would expect your job will become very busy soon enough.”

Margaret feels her cheeks burn with his bluntness; she sips her ale to hide her embarrassment, “What do you mean by playing with each other?”

Glancing at her sideways with a smirk, “Aye, that is right-humans do not play. Well,” he shifts the weight on his hind legs, “I am not sure how to describe it to a maiden, but it is a way for unmated ones to gain satisfaction and pleasure from the opposite sex.”

Margaret laughs nervously; Coral had said that she really enjoyed being with her mate but Margaret remembers hearing each time her father took her mother-there was no enjoyment in the noise, at least not on her mother’s part. Quickly she changes the subject, “This ale is very good.”

He nods, “It is from the tavern near my home. I’ve been to all of them and you would be surprised, each makes theirs a little differently.” He divides the remainder between them, “It seems that it agrees with you better than mead.”

She blushes, recalling how the mead affected her, “I do enjoy the mead but perhaps I should enjoy less of it. I shall have to visit the tavern to procure a jug of this for myself.”

“If you wish, I could escort you there tonight,” he offers while chuckling.

Nervously glancing up at him, she nods, “All right.”

Their eyes lock for a moment; he is surprised she accepted. Their gaze breaks and they finish eating in silence.

Margaret locks the door behind her, wrapping her cloak tight around her shoulders before walking beside Tomir who pulls the hood of his own cloak up. He slows his pace so that she doesn’t have to move briskly but they share no words as they make their way to the tavern. Once inside the warm building, at the bar, Margaret surprises him yet again by requesting a mug of ale instead of a jug. He does the same and pays for both.

She looks over the centaur, desperately trying to push aside her prejudices; her time in Centuarna, though brief, has been very lonely. If she had not made the connection with Coral, there would be none she could even remotely call a friend-her obvious aversion to the half breeds has made her unpopular amongst the midwives and she finds that judgment has prevented the other humans from approaching her. Margaret admits to herself that Coral was correct-Tomir is a good man and a respectable centaur. From all that she could see amongst the pregnant women, even between Coral and Quell, the centaurs seem to love their mates earnestly despite being two different creatures. The relationship that mated pairs have are stronger and more loving than the tolerance her parents had for each other-perhaps, despite being filthy half breeds, centaurs make better companions than humans.

When they finish their drink, Margaret pays for a jug of ale but Tomir insists on carrying it. Making their way towards the exit of the tavern, a rolling thunder booms and lighting strikes outside the window before the heavens open up and dump water down to the ground. Margaret frowns; it is almost a half an hour walk back to the apothecary and she would no doubt be soaked to the bone in this weather. She could run, but not while carrying a jug of ale.

Tomir senses her hesitation, “I live just around the corner; if you like, we could wait there until the rain stops, then I shall see you home.”

Glancing around the tavern, she realizes that not only is she the only human there, she is also the only woman. Her aversion to the centaurs makes her nervous to remain close to so many, “I would like that, thank you.”

She follows Tomir’s quick trot around the corner from the tavern to the covered porch of his small home; shaking the rain off of her cloak she pushes the hood back and removes it before entering his house. Tomir sets the jug of ale on the ground near the door before taking his own cloak off and hanging both on the wall.

His home is sparsely furnished, though the few items it contains are all well made. There are several plush pillows in front of the large fireplace next to the door; beyond that is a small open dining and kitchen area with a tall table, a large stove and a few cupboards. A dark hallway leads to what Margaret guesses are the bedrooms but as she looks around, it occurs to her that there is no human sized furniture-nor would there be, because unlike all of the homes she has been in thus far, he does not have a human mate.

He opens the flue of the fireplace, jamming a few logs into stoke the flames, “Please, sit,” he says, motioning to the large mound of pillows.

Margaret hesitantly complies, finding the mound somewhat awkward to sit upon and instead ends up half lying down while somewhat upright. Tomir slowly walks towards the kitchen only to return with a few mugs of water for them. She watches him as he gracefully kneels beside her, easing his furry legs out towards the fire place and his torso into the pillow beside her; he offers her a glass.

Accepting it, she holds it with both hands and drinks slowly, “Thank you for allowing me to wait out the storm here.”

He nods curtly, sipping his own glass before setting it down on the floor behind the pillows, “I do not want you to get sick by walking through the rain and I suspect you would not want to ride on my back so that I could see you home.”

She averts her gaze, staring at the floor, “I-I didn’t know centaurs allowed humans to ride them.”

He grunts, “No we do not, though it is not uncommon for a centaur’s mate to mount him, or if there is a dire need for a human to ride then most make exceptions.” There is a frown on his face. He sighs deeply, before resting his head back onto the pillows, “You can wake me when it stops raining and I will walk you home.”

Margaret watches him lie back, his eyes drifting shut; before long, she can tell by the slow pace of his breaths that he is asleep. Her eyes continue to linger on him, appraising his face, his chest, his strong horse legs, the thick, muscular, grey hide that is angled away from her. Setting her glass down beside his, she also lies back into the pillow but does not find sleep, instead her mind wanders over Tomir’s affect.

She was greatly disappointed that he was no longer following her throughout the day and when she ran into him this afternoon, he seemed almost cold towards her, but he accepted her invitation to dinner and has been nothing more than kind to her since. Margaret gets the feeling that she offended him somehow; perhaps he no longer likes her. When that thought settles in, she realizes that it makes her sad-she does not want a centaur mate, in fact being around them still makes her skin crawl at times but it is different with Tomir; he is kind to her. If Coral was correct in her assumption that he desired her as a mate, then she was also correct in saying that Margaret wouldn’t be forced into anything-Tomir has been nothing short of a gentleman. Watching him sleep, she wonders if she could truly be able to get past his half beast nature.