The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

Her head is pounding. Her body is cold, she feels it seeping up from the stone beneath her. There is a damp moisture in the air. Slowly, she opens her eyes, everything is blurred and out of focus. She can feel something stroking her cheek, hushed whispers that finally make sense in her foggy head.

“Coral, wake up,” Vadim says. The very tips of his fingers touch her face.

As her eyes focus, she sees his arm stretched out to her; he is lying on the stone ground as well, sprawled out as he tried to reach her body to make contact. She forces herself sit up, bracing her hands on the ground when it begins to tilt around her. Slowly, as everything starts to clear up, she gets a look at her surroundings.Content provided by NôvelDrama.Org.

It is a cave, of sorts. The two walls behind her and Vadim are rough, damp, raw stone stretching thirty feet up before bowing over. The other two walls are thick, tarnished metal bars; she makes out a door, locked. There are only a few torches around lighting the cavern, all of which are outside of the large cell. Casting shadows on the areas beyond, she sees shapes of tables and such but can’t discern anything specific. She turns her gaze over to Vadim; his boots gone, ankles shackled with thick cuffs, each with a ring out of one side. A large chain bolted to the wall runs through the cuff of his right ankle and secures to the left one, allowing him a wide stance if he were to stand close to the wall, but pulling his legs together if he were to stand away. It seems to be meant to cobble a centaur.

She realizes now that he is sprawled out on the stone floor because she was just beyond his reach otherwise; he did what he could to stretch out to her, trying to wake her. As he sits up there is relief on his face that she is conscious; he scoots with his back to the wall, pulling his knees up into a sitting position.

Coral, still woozy, half crawls over to him, the stone floor beneath her bites into her palms and through her gray dress. With a chill down to her bones, she sits almost inappropriately close to the only one trapped with her, seeking comfort and solace after being treated so harshly and stolen away from the safety and security of her mate and their guards. Vadim instinctively wraps his arm around her, drawing her closer, both realizing that a prison cell is hardly a place for propriety. She allows him the gesture and slowly lets her head drift to rest on his shoulder. She breathes his scent-it is different from Quell’s but familiar to her none the less, reminiscent of their brief intimate encounter that now seems like it was years ago.

When she tries to remember how she got here, she recalls the sickening crack of something over Vadim’s head, of seeing his body crumple to the ground. She turns to face him and reaches up with her hands, gingerly feeling his skull through the thick cords of coarse hair that are half pulled back at the nape of his neck. She is relieved to discover no fracture, only drying blood.

“I don’t suppose you know where we are?” He asks her once she has finished. He gazes into her bright green eyes for the briefest of moments before returning his face forward, looking out upon their cell.

“No,” she says, settling back into her spot underneath his arm, returning her cheek to his shoulder, finding that she is surprisingly comfortable against him again, “after you were knocked out, someone grabbed me from behind. I couldn’t breathe and I blacked out.”

“Do you know who it was? I never saw anyone coming.”

She thinks on it, “No I do not, but it was a man,” she remembers the feeling of bare skin and shaggy fur mashed against her back and ass, “and he was a centaur.”

They sit in silence, unsure of what their future holds, taking a small amount of solace at being alone in each other’s company. Coral reaches across her chest, sliding her fingers into Vadim’s hand of the arm encircling her. She dreads discovering who brought them here-no doubt the centaurs responsible for raping the maidens are the same ones blatant enough to kidnap a Prince and his younger brother’s mate from the castle. At least she thinks she knows who is not involved as they left a crowd of aroused centaurs behind them when they made an attempt to retreat to their room.

Without anything else to focus on, she repeats the events of the day in her head, the taxing meetings with the abused women. With the exception of the last town they visited, each of the women were clearly terrified of the centaurs, which she expected, though several seemed more afraid of Quell. She found it odd then and she finds it odd now-it is true, he is a very imposing creature. He is tall and strong, his face handsome and eyes piercing. There have been times when the mere sight of her mate becoming aroused sparked a deep fear within her; she knew he would never hurt her but when his long thick cock dropped menacingly towards the floor and he got a sultry, lusty look in his eyes he would draw himself up even taller, almost prance before her, strutting to her, like he was a predator stalking prey. She swallows hard, not wanting to know what a savage centaur would look like, how terrifying of a creature they would be when they became aroused and had no reservations of kindness to them.

When the familiar clicking of hooves on stone echoes throughout the chamber, a chill crawls up Coral’s spine, her heart pounding fiercely in horrified anticipation to discover the culprits of the atrocities that have plagued Centurion for over a year. Part of her wishes they would never come, that they would let Vadim and her starve to death-but the other part of her wishes to get it over with. She doesn’t know what they will do with her or to her yet she knows that Quell, Tomir, Junta and the others will not rest until they find her and Vadim. Unfortunately, her outlook is grim because they had no luck figuring it out before.

The shadows of three centaurs appear, slowly walking towards the cell. She realizes that their suspicions were correct, it was a small group of rogues. However, as they come closer to the door, into the light cast by the torches, Coral feels like she is going to vomit.

“You are a complete idiot. I told you, only grab the Prince. Who’s fault is this?” Callen’s voice snaps. Coral’s heart feels like it is wretched from her body. She starts to grow cold when the panic rises in her chest-did Yulnar know that his son was raping women? Did his mate know about it? Why would they want Vadim and not her?

“We tried but he was never left alone, they made sure of that; this is the only time he has been without a centaur so I made the decision to take them both,” one of other centaurs responds. With his shaggy brown coat, unkempt hair and beard, Coral recognizes him as one of the guards that was standing outside the castle the day they arrived, with the other centaur the second guard. The bile rises in her throat and she is barely able to force it back down-they aren’t rogues, they’re part of the royal guard and the Prince-she reasons that no, Yulnar doesn’t know or he wouldn’t have asked Rainer for help. The fact that the future ruler of this country is the one responsible for commiting these atrocious acts doesn’t bode well for it. Perhaps Tomir was correct, they should be left alone to fade from existence.

Callen turns to the guard, disproval on his face, his eyes dark and almost feral. Without hesitating, he unsheathes a knife from belt around his waist and jams it into the centaur’s upper ribcage, piercing through his bare skin and straight into his heart. Callen shoves him aside, maintaining the grip on his knife while the centaur collapses. With a sneer, the Prince leans down and wipes the blood from the blade and onto the brown hide below him. The guard wheezes a few more breaths before falling silent.

“Open it up,” Callen snaps to the other centaur before sheathing his knife again.

As the guard opens the gate, Coral starts to tremble. She has seen creatures die before, she has even killed animals-but never a man or centaur and never without need or purpose. She feels sick, knowing exactly why those women refused to speak-they were terrified and rightfully so. It is clear that nothing will prevent Callen from getting what he wants.

She feels Vadim’s protective grip on her tighten, pulling her close to his body, trying to shield her, to save her. But when the centaurs enter, his efforts are virtually useless; the guard snatches her up, easily tearing her from Vadim’s arms. Her body shakes uncontrollably. Vadim immediately rises to his feet. There is a fierce determination, a terrifyingly dominant commanding look in his eyes resembling the powerful intimidation that his father comes by naturally. He makes a move towards Coral, to get her back but is halted when he stumbles as the chains hobble his feet together.

Callen slowly walks in, ignoring Vadim’s indignation. His bright blue eyes wander over Coral’s body, a haughty air following him naturally. His deep voice has a pleasant aristocratic lilt to it despite the words that come out, “I am sorry my lady but this was strictly an accident; you weren’t meant to be here.”

“Then let us go and we can all pretend it was a mistake,” Vadim’s voice is dark, threatening. He stands tall, his wide chest heaving, fire burning in his eyes.