The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

She follows the dark, dusty twists and turns, not needing a light to guide her as she has travelled these tunnels may times before, though no one knows; even Laren thinks that she has forgotten about them. She ventures into the normally unused portion of the castle, to the hidden passage behind the walls of the guest room Irron is staying in. She sits quietly on the dusty floor, able to see into his room through a small slit in the wood panel walls. Having arrived before Irron, she has to wait a few moments before he appears.

Soon the door opens and it is Irron, followed by his Advisor Jones who shuts the door behind them. Irron pulls off his golden over coat, throwing it casually over the back of a desk chair.

“So much… wood, everywhere. Not enough stone,” he says distastefully, “What do you think of the Princess, Jones?”

Jones sits on a bench, pulling his ankle up over his knee, “She is beautiful, your highness.”

“Yes, indeed, she is,” he agrees. Irron walks over to the fireplace, inspecting the masonry work, “I don’t think she’s terribly bright but I doubt she is stupid enough to refuse me. If she is, I know her father will make her understand.”

Namora clenches her jaw-her suspicions about Irron lying were correct.

Seemingly satisfied with the stone work he turns to the desk, plucking the vase of flowers off of it and holding it at arm’s length, “None the less, I have a week to bed her before I wed her. Please, take these with you. I cannot stand all of this plant life around me, I’m sure it will make me ill.”

As Jones rises and takes the vase, Irron stops him before he leaves, “Say, Jones, did you bring any of my special wine?”

Jones gets a wicked smile on his face. For the first time, she can see that he shares the same dark, dull eyes of his King, “Yes, King Irron, I believe we packed a few bottles.”

Irron grins, “Good. Tomorrow, for lunch then, with the Princess. That will be all.”

As Jones exits, Irron begins to undress. Namora turns away with disgust, wanting to leave but knowing she should wait until he is asleep in case she makes any noise. After snuffing the lights and shutting the damper on the fire place, she can hear Irron climb into the bed. She waits patiently, listening to his breathing slow, until she is certain that he is asleep. She rises inaudibly and starts to leave, but for some reason she turns around and continues down the passage way, quietly pulling open the panel that leads into Irron’s bedroom.

The new found anger that boils in her stomach gets the better of her and before she knows it she is standing at Irron’s bed with her knife drawn and hovering inches from his throat. Her hand begins to shake as her mind struggles to talk her heart out of killing the man. Tears of rage stream down her face; she silently sheathes her knife and creeps back towards the panel. However, before she leaves the room, she reaches up to her hair and quickly untangles an orchid. She places it perfectly in the center of the desk, if not as a warning to him then as a reminder to herself of her strong willed Derven nature to promote peace before violence. CHAPTER 4: WOODEN KNIFE

Though none would stop her, Namora takes care not to cross paths with anyone as she slips out of the castle and down the short road to the stables. Sneaking in the back door, she creeps up to Greystar’s stall. The mammoth horse begins to shake his head up and down in excitement, stopped only when Namora puts a hand on his nose to steady him. She leans her forehead against his, saying nothing to the beast, but she tugs at his ear.Material © NôvelDrama.Org.

She got Greystar as a foal after his mother died during his birth. Perhaps she felt sorry for him since they shared a loss because she coddled and talked to him like he was a human. She devoted long hours to training him properly and she loved him and molded him into the monstrous beast that he is now. He stands a good hand higher than the next largest horse in her country and is disobedient to everyone except Namora.

She unlatches his stall door and creeps back out of the stable, the horse following just as quietly. When they are a safe distance away on the edge of the forest, Namora mounts him bareback. Together they trot along the tree line to her favorite spot, a quiet, open meadow on a hill, a few miles away from the castle.

At the peak of the hill, a lone willow tree bends crookedly to one side. Greystar, familiar with their routine, lies down under the tree as soon as Namora dismounts. She nuzzles her back against his chest, resting her head on his side. She looks up through the branches to the distant stars and tries to clear her mind but thoughts keep racing through her head. Frustrated, she looks away from the stars and off into the nearby forest, focusing on staring through the darkness. Knowing she is destined for a life of misery and solitude at Irron’s side, she tries to talk herself into finding something amiable about the man, some redeeming quality that would allow her a small bit of affection towards him.

The darkness burning into her eyes, she sits and stares, thinking. Time passes, ticking or flying by, she doesn’t know which. She decides that he at least has the courtesy to pretend that he loves her and at the very least she could do the same. Though she doesn’t want him to mistake her acting for truth, she thinks that she can find a way to make him understand such.

Namora unsheathes her hunting knife; the well worn, dark wood handle feels smooth and familiar in her fingers. The curved blade-about as long as her forearm-shines dully in the fading moonlight. She can remember when it was new, when Laren gave it to her as a present for her first Huntress Festival. She can also remember the first brush tiger she killed with it.

It was five years ago when Namora was of age to participate in the bi-annual, women only Festival. She was put in a group with her friend Amyee and three other women who were older than her. Even though, by tradition, all women are considered equal during the Festival, the older ones insisted that she climb a tree to stay out of harm’s way during their hunt. They had found an old den; there were no tigers in it but the more experienced women said that they wouldn’t come back until just before dawn. In the darkness, Namora sat patiently tucked away in the tree. The four below her were spaced out around the den, all hidden from her line of sight.

A young brush tiger came stalking quietly out of the darkness. As the sky began to brighten with the coming of the new day, the tiger sought to take refuge away from it. She came up to the den and was just about to enter it when she sniffed the air, tensed and bolted. The older women sprang from their hiding spots and followed it but Namora was too high in the tree to join them. By the time she dropped silently to her feet, they were gone.

She started to walk to the spot where Amyee was hiding when she saw another brush tiger slink into view. This one was massive, one of the larger males. He limped awkwardly, his hind leg dragging uselessly behind him. Namora guessed that he managed to escape one of the snares they set. She was about to attack the tiger when her step forward landed her foot on a brittle twig; the snap it made seemed to echo through the forest. The tiger tensed and turned on her, a low threatening growl coming from its throat.

Namora froze, biding her time to attack. She looked deep into the yellow eyes of the tiger; they stood out like a fire in the night against its dark brown fur. He moved closer to her. She imagined they shared the same thoughts. When he was only a foot away, he sniffed the air, catching a whiff of Namora’s scent. His mouth closed and the low deep growl turned into a rumble when the tiger began to purr. Slowly, it sat on its hindquarters before dropping its front paws down and laying out. The huge tiger rolled onto its side in front of Namora and closed its eyes, purring to her.

Even though her heart was heavy with guilt, Namora knew the tiger was in pain and she needed to end its suffering. Without hesitation, she leaned her weight forward, pinning the tiger’s neck down with her knee. She raised her arms, knife in hand and plunged them straight into the tiger’s heart, twisting it to release the last breath from his body.

When the other women returned, Amyee appeared out of the bushes. She told them what had happened, that it was the oddest thing she had ever seen, “It was as if the tiger loved her and gave its life to her.”

Namora shook her head, “He was suffering and he knew that I would end the pain for him.”

“A tiger,” one of the older women looked at Namora curiously, “who loves its hunter. I have heard stories about this before but I never thought it was true. The others will seek you out.”

And seek her out they did. Her first festival, Namora killed seven tigers by herself. She earned the coveted title of Head Huntress, a title that no one had held since her mother died, because of the impossibility of killing the required five tigers by one’s self.

At first she isn’t sure if she is dreaming or if her mindless stare is causing her eyes to play tricks on her. Just beyond the trees, she sees a shimmer of blue coming closer to her. She grips her knife tight, watching as the blue splits into two eyes, with a glint of blonde fur against the moonlight. Just inside the edge of the forest, the same mysterious brush tiger from the Festival sits on its haunches, staring at Namora. Greystar continues to sleep, his hooves twitching slightly as he dreams of running. The tiger is downwind from them, so her horse has no idea of the danger. Her muscles tighten with the idea of the oncoming attack but instead the two simply sit, staring at each other.

Something about Namora’s scent attracts the tigers to her, making them think that she is one of them. She hates the idea of killing this particular tiger but if it continues to follow her, she will have no choice. As if he is calling out to Namora, begging her to come into the sanctuary of the forest, the tiger begins to pace back and forth just inside the tree line.