The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

Kierra rests a gentle hand on Vadim’s shoulder but speaks to Quell, “She has been through a lot-they both have, Quell. Like all wounds it will take time to heal. We must be patient and try to understand without pressuring them.”

Pelium comes rushing forward with a bottle in his hand; he sees the three of them. When Kierra nods in his direction he quickly enters the bedroom and shuts the door behind him.

Every scream that Coral lets loose tears at their hearts. Quell starts to frantically pace back and forth, his anger and impatience rising. Vadim winces when he hears her wails of terror, knowing all too well what they sound like, though he never thought he’d have to hear them again.

As she walks back to the apothecary from making her rounds, Margaret notices clusters of people and centaurs in the streets, their hushed whispers and confused faces. When she passes by the bakery and sees Tillie outside locking up, she greets the woman.

“Hello, Tillie,” stopping beside her, Margaret motions out into the busy street, “Do you know what is going on?”

“I heard that the Princes returned with a small group this afternoon,” she says with a frown, “but I think King Rainer is still in Centurion.”

Margaret nods, waving goodbye before continuing quickly down the board walk. She drops off her basket in the apothecary before locking the door behind her and heads towards the castle with a bounce in her step, thankful that almost everyone has finally returned home. No one knew exactly what was happening over the past few weeks-the first group with the Princes and Coral left, then a few days later the King went to join them. She had hoped they would be back sooner; Margaret discovered that not only did she miss Coral’s company, she also yearned for Tomir. Her affection has grown with each passing day they’ve been apart and she noticed that her aversion to centaurs in general has lessened. No longer does she cringe at the sight of the males with their human mates but instead she can see the affection in their eyes, the true love between the pairs; it is something deeper than she has ever seen between a human man and a woman.

She dons a large smile and forces her pace to slow slightly, otherwise she would be running as she can hardly contain her excitement. The cool wind whips her face though it isn’t the only thing that causes her cheeks to redden as she forces the idea of mating with Tomir from her mind.

It isn’t long before she comes upon the castle and walks up the steep ramp to the large doors. She hesitates, not having been inside of it before and worries slightly that she might be stepping outside of her station to go looking for Tomir within it. Swallowing hard, she dispels her doubts, determined to see the centaur as she has waited far too long for his return.

Slowly she pushes open the large door and slips inside, shutting it quietly behind her; the entry hall is grand and vast, the stone floor covered in a lush carpet, tapestries and artwork adorn the walls. Margaret has to contain her awe at the lavishness of it-nothing she has seen before even comes close to the luxury within the Centuarna castle-but when her eyes fall on Tomir, all of her other thoughts are cast aside.

He is standing between the ramp leading to the second floor and the smaller one down to the front doors, talking with Junta. Both centaurs look tired and dirty, as if they had just spent the entire day running about. Junta wears a frown, Tomir’s expression matching his, both of their faces wrought with concern. Regardless, Margaret’s smile creeps across her lips while her eyes wander over his sweat slicked grey body, admiring the strength and commanding presence he has.

She has done a lot of reflecting in his absence and came to realize that maybe, just maybe, taking a centaur as a mate wasn’t as horrible of an idea as she first thought. Her days have been spent dreaming of Tomir and after helping the other midwives with another birthing, Margaret found herself wondering what a foal of her own would look like.

Unable to refrain, she bursts into a run towards him, ascending the ramp quickly. He barely sees her before she is upon him, throwing her arms around his neck. He jerks in surprise but quickly, firmly embraces her, breathing in her scent. She cannot deny how wonderful it feels to be pressed against him or even how pleasant his sweaty musk smell is. They remain tightly wrapped in each other’s arms for a long while until finally she loosens her grip but when he lets her go, she immediately sees the distraught look on his face.

Her smile quickly fades until her expression matches his; getting a sinking feeling that something went terribly wrong in Centurion, she tentatively asks, “What happened?”

Tomir glances at Junta, then back to her; he shakes his head, not able to find words. Margaret’s stomach starts to spin when she sees Doctor Pelium come trotting up the ramp from the surgery, quickly proceeding to the second floor. Her breathing quickens, her heart pounding and she immediately follows the doctor without asking. Tomir takes two large steps to catch her, grabbing her by the hand so he can halt her progress before she hits the ramp.

She whips her head back around to Tomir, now breathing quickly almost to the point of panicking; wide eyed, she looks at him, “Is it Coral?” His expression doesn’t change, instead he continues to look deep into her eyes. When he tries to pull her away, she repeats herself, a little louder this time, “Is it Coral!”

As the terror over comes her, she rips her hand free and runs up the ramp to the second floor. Swinging a left she comes to a dead halt when she sees both Princes in the hall. Quell paces back and forth, growling angrily; his entire affect betrays his loss of control, appearing almost as a savage beast instead of a civilized centaur. Vadim stands off to the side of the hallway, his shoulders drooped, his hands clenched into fists at his side.

“You are not helping anything with this behavior, Quell,” Vadim tries to say in an attempt to calm his brother down, though his own voice is tight with anger.

“Do not tell me how to act! She is my mate! I will act any damn way I please!” he hisses back.

Their attention is drawn towards Margaret when Tomir appears behind her suddenly; he attempts to grab her hand again but she dodges him, hastily making her way forward. “Let me see her!” she practically yells, being stopped by both of the Princes.

“This is not the time maiden!” Quell snaps at her, “She needs a doctor, not some worthless midwife!”This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org.

The loud sound of shattering glass jars everyone in the hallway, all eyes turning to look upon the closed door. Moments later, Pelium comes backing out of the chamber; his face is ghastly white and he looks completely beside himself.

Margaret looks from him to Quell, seeing fear and rage in the younger Prince’s eyes; when she turns towards Vadim, she sees his pain. None of the centaurs move, all of them at a loss as to what to do after discovering that Pelium accomplished nothing. Ignoring all of them, she walks to the doctor and pulls the vial out of his hand; bringing it to her nose, she smells it, “Laudanum?” Her brow crinkles when she gazes upon the old centaur, “Why would you give this to her?”

Quell growls and his swift steps bring his large form towards the maiden, his face twisted in anger and his intent clearly not hospitable. Vadim quickly rushes forward and steps in front of his brother before Quell can reach the midwife; his voice is firm but comes out gently though it is obvious that he forces it, “Brother, perhaps it is best that the maiden attend to Coral. Please, calm yourself-we shall see to it.”

Quell’s wild eyes dart around, finally falling on Vadim. His raging pants slow into deep breaths, his imposing stance deflates, his shoulders slump; Margaret can see the desperation in the centaur’s stature, the agony in his face as he goes from violent and savage, to regretful, to broken. His gaze drops to the floor. When Quell nods, Vadim hastily approaches Margaret; he places his hand on her back and guides her forward to the door, urgency in his movements while he leads her into the bed chambers.

Margaret warily looks around, her eyes narrowing when she sees everything in dismay; several pieces of furniture are over turned, a few pitchers are broken, pottery and glass littering the floor as if a domestic fight occurred. Her gaze follows the Prince as he crosses the room; watching Vadim, she sees him head towards the far corner past the bed where she is heartbroken to discover Coral, curled in a ball, against the wall.

“Coral,” Vadim says softly; he crouches down before pulling her towards him. He wraps his arms around her shaking body and gently smoothes her hair, “It is all right now, you are home.” He rocks her slowly, calming her until she stops shaking; he glances to Margaret with a nod.

Margaret is cautious when she approaches; Coral raises her gaze to the maiden but doesn’t respond in any other way. Tentatively, Margaret crouches down and holds the bottle to Coral’s lips, letting the laudanum fill her mouth. It takes a while but she sees Coral’s body relax, her tight grip on Vadim giving way. Brushing a dirty lock of hair from her friend’s face, she speaks quietly, “Prince Vadim, could you get a wash tub and warm water brought in? I shall take care of her from here.”

The sadness in Vadim’s eyes cuts deeply into Margaret; she retains her composure, keeping her face calm and her voice steady, trying to reassure him that Coral will be safe with her. Reluctantly, he nods before untangling his limbs from his sister. Coral doesn’t panic, she simply sits and stares off into the distance, awake but not really. He gives the maiden a long look before leaving the room. Margaret sits on the floor next to her, pulling Coral close as she slides her arms over the woman’s shoulders. After a few minutes servants quietly bring in a wooden wash basin and fill it partially with water before excusing themselves.

She has to tuck her hand under Coral’s arms to pull her to a standing position before walking her to the tub. Margaret gets no fight from the healer, taking the opportunity to strip her of her robe and pull the shift over her head; when Margaret’s eyes fall on Coral’s naked body, the maiden immediately starts crying. Coral’s smooth, pale skin is dotted with bruises in various stages of healing, a few bite marks, some hand prints. Her once plush flesh seems to have withered away, her bones starting to show through around her ribcage. Hesitantly, Margaret reaches out a hand to Coral’s stomach, seeing most of the remaining fat clinging there. Choking back her sobs, she helps the healer into the tub and forces the woman to sit down.

Margaret takes great care to wash Coral’s hair, scrubbing the dirt from her back; she knows what the shiny, dried slicks are on Coral’s skin and it makes her want to vomit but she keeps her mind focused on the task. Coral seems to be entranced by the dancing flames of the fire in front of her and doesn’t fight, just mindlessly moves as Margaret leads her.