The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

She struggles away from him but it is no use; his thick fingers stroke her cunt, rubbing the elixir on her, though this time, he is more gentle, “If you are a good girl, Coral, and do not fight me I will not be so rough on you.” He presses a finger against her clit, rubbing it in a circular motion.

Coral bites her lip but still the moan escapes; the haze of the elixir hits her and she yearns for a cock to fill her. She shakes her head, forcing herself back to the present by pulling against her wrist restraints; the sharp pain of it jars her back to reality and despite how good it feels, she fights against him, tries as hard as she can to pull away from his touch as she is determined not to break.

Callen lets out a huff, his hand leaving her womanhood; his shaggy fur tickles her back and before she can even tell him to get off of her he rams his cock deep inside of her cunt, as far as it can go, in one violent thrust. With each plunge he grunts, Coral crying softly beneath him; he tangles his hand in her hair and tugs her head back, leaning over her. His voice is strained and threatening, “Look at me Coral.”

She squeezes her eyes shut tight; he slaps her and though she cries out she still refuses to look at him. When a large hand wraps around her throat and squeezes, cutting off her air, his voice cuts into her thoughts, “Look at me Coral,” he demands.

Though she tries to break from his grasp she cannot; finally, she is forced to open her eyes or be choked out. A wicked grin crosses his face, his searing blue eyes staring into hers. He watches her, feeling her cunt tighten down on him, her back involuntarily arch up, and finally the moan that comes out from behind her clenched teeth. A shudder ripples through his hide and he thrusts harshly into her, his seed filling her cunt and oozing out; only then, does he let go of her hair.

Her head falls back onto the mounting stand, quiet tears racking her body. She doesn’t even try to fight him when he unbuckles her and drags her back into the cell. The guard, having watched the entire time, smirks before locking her in. Callen takes a moment to smooth back his brown hair and straighten his shirt, adjusting the belt with the knife on it. He draws in a deep breath, shuddering at the remains of the elixir hovering in the air. With one last dark look at Coral, he smirks. The two centaurs leave.

Coral lays on the stone floor where Callen dropped her, her entire body quivering. When she sees Vadim’s horrified, concerned and angered face, his body stretched out trying to reach her, she rolls away from him before curling into a ball.

“Coral,” his voice is laced with pain. “Please. Come here.”

She doesn’t respond, she doesn’t move. She remains where she is for several hours, her soul dying. Tears fall from her eyes when a tentative hand reaches down to her lower stomach and presses against the soft flesh. She isn’t sure what would be worse-making it out of here alive with the foal, or without the foal. Or not making it out at all.

It is only when the approaching clop of hooves echo throughout the room does she sit up and scramble away from the gate, pressing her back into the stone wall. The guard appears, a disgruntled look on his face. Unlocking the cell, he sets down a pitcher of water, a large bowl and a chamber pot.

“Leave the keys in the lock. I will see to it that your death is quick and painless,” Vadim rises to his feet, his posture commanding, his voice has a surprisingly dangerous tone to it

The guard looks over the man and laughs; saying nothing in return, he locks the door and leaves.

As she watches the sway of the centaur’s body leave, she feels a tightness in her chest, struggling to draw in a breath she pants but it doesn’t seem like she can get any air. Each thud of hoof on stone makes her body jerk in fear. When he is gone, she scrambles over to the mushroom patch; with a shaky hand, she plucks one, tears it in half and stuffs it into her mouth. She presses her palms to her eyes, trying to shut out everything, forcing herself to take deep slow breaths, focusing on the earthy taste of the fungus in her mouth.Content property of NôvelDra/ma.Org.

The calm soon washes over her, bisecting her emotions off, the tightness in her chest loosens and her breathing comes easy. Her dull eyes look down at the patch; carefully, she picks the remaining mushrooms, tearing them apart before gathering them up in her hands. Rising, she sets them down in the corner near where her and Vadim lie; then, she reaches through the bars and grabs what remains of her dress, pulling the tattered rag on, doing her best to tie it closed. She moves with purpose, tending to the tasks before her-the horror of her rape, the stress of her emotions locked down.

Coral kneels near the cell door and brings the pitcher up to her lips to drink down the cool water, her throat scratchy and tender. Taking it and the bowl, she sits next to Vadim and offers him the pitcher; he drinks gratefully. By the time he has it set down, Coral holds a spoon full of stew out to his mouth. He shakes his head, “No, Coral. You need it-you are eating for two.”

Swallowing the mushroom, she hastily takes the bite before scooping up another and offering it to him, “We are in this together, brother. Either you eat with me, or I don’t eat at all.”

His dark eyes look into hers; Coral senses his apprehension when she looks back at him. Studying his face, she realizes how tired he looks, how pained his features are. When a sigh escapes his plush lips, it occurs to her that he feels just as helpless as she does. He is right, she should eat the entire bowl of stew but he is the only one trapped with her in this, the only one who can offer her some semblance of compassion. That is why she insists again that he eats, almost prodding his lips with the spoon.

Reluctantly, he takes what she feeds him, eating in silence for a while before he speaks, “Quell will come, Coral. He will not stop until he has found us.”

“I know,” she says, adding before she can ponder that it isn’t the right response, “I just hope he arrives before we are dead.”

Vadim drops his head into his hands, his voice is shaky, “Tell Callen the recipe, Coral. I cannot bear to watch you be taken like that anymore. I kills me that I cannot help you.” When he looks back at her, there are tears falling from his eyes.

She looks over him calmly, remembering his love of her, her love of him. She feeds him the last bite of the stew, “No. I will not give him the recipe, Vadim.”

The sadness doesn’t dissipate from his face, “Please, I beg you.”

She shakes her head, setting the bowl down, “I will not.”

“Why?” He cries out, frustrated, “Why put yourself through this? Why put me through this? Why put Quell and your foal through this?” He is getting angry.

Looking over the unusual emotion on his face, she sees his easy affect shattered, gone. She knows that he is correct-it kills him to see this happen to her; Callen has already succeeded in breaking the Prince. Vaguely, she thanks the stars that he wasn’t the one with the recipe. “I will not give him the recipe because this is bigger than us. If he had the elixir he could do this to every woman. He would do this to every woman. No, brother-this ends here. It has to.”

Ending the conversation, she drags the chamber pot over; she offers to help him but he refuses. With her back turned, she counts the mushrooms; she knows that she needs to keep them close so that she can get one into her mouth before she is dragged from the cell.

When she has had her turn with the pot, she places both it and the empty bowl near the door, not wanting to give the guard any reason to come closer than he has to. Vadim pulls her close in his arms, offering what little comfort he is able to provide. They sit in silence for hours.

…

Vadim lies with his head in Coral’s lap, asleep. He is exhausted, though she is still wide awake, dread sinking deep into her body. She tries not to think about Callen but instead focus on Quell. She recalls the safety she feels in his arms, the warmth of his body on hers, the adoration in his eyes when he looks at her-but each time she pictures his face, she sees Callen. When her chest starts to tighten, she looks down at Vadim and gingerly strokes his jaw, thankful that he is here for her.

This time, Coral hears the soft clop of hooves from a distance. Hastily, she stuffs half a mushroom in her mouth, pressing it against her cheek, sucking the earthy, gritty dirt from the fungus. “Vadim,” she whispers, shaking his shoulder slightly.

When his eyes open, he sees the guard unlocking the gate, Callen walking in. He hisses, “Leave her alone, Callen.” He sits up trying to protectively cover Coral.

The eerie calm washes over her; she can see something in Callen’s eyes-a need, an urge, a desire to hurt something. He is in no mood to deal with Vadim. She squeezes Vadim’s hand before sliding out from under him and stepping away, keeping her back against the rough stone wall to drawn Callen away from her brother.

“Come here, Coral,” he commands her.

She stares down at her hands objectively, her bruised forearms-she does not want to lie with him but fighting doesn’t make a difference as he takes her anyways. Still, even with the calmness of the mushroom floating through her, she cannot force herself forward. She steels herself against his advance; when he grabs her she doesn’t jerk away but she gives him cause to keep pressure on her arms.

She makes him force her into the stand, letting him know that she still does not want this. She swallows the remainder of the hooded harbinger and tries not to fight him as he takes her again. He pulls her head back and she stares into his deep blue eyes-eyes the same color as her mate, eyes she used to adore getting lost in, eyes that used to make her blush when they wandered her body, but now eyes that she hates.