The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

The irritation on his face is evident-he expected to win easily and now he is angry that she keeps avoiding a loss. He swings his sword low with one hand, throwing a punch with the other when she isn’t protecting herself. His fist connects with her jaw, causing her to bite her lip. He grins at the sight of her blood-Mora just gets angrier. Instead of simply deflecting his attacks, she showers him with her own. The look on his face is priceless: it is almost as if he regrets making her mad.

While smacking away the blade of his sword she gets a few swift lashes in to his rib cage. The pain frustrates him and he starts to get clumsy in his haste. He tries to trip her and when he is focused on doing so, Mora brings the staff down hard on the hand holding his sword. He yelps in pain, dropping it. Having the upper hand, she pummels him a few good times. He defends himself and she doubts her hits hurt him much but that isn’t what she is after. Slowly but surely she backs him towards the edge of the stage. By the time he realizes it, he’s falling backwards and lands on his ass.

Mora flips forward, landing her knee into his chest and knocking him back. She quickly pins his elbows down with her toes and drops the staff across his throat. On either side of his head, she balances the weight of her body through her knees and onto the staff. Lucas, enraged at being pinned down, struggles against her but even though she’s less than half his weight, each time tries to break free, she leans forward slightly to cut off his air supply by pressing the staff into his throat. When he stops struggling, Mora lets up some pressure, but makes sure that she keeps him incapacitated.

“Now, Lucas, the lesson I wish to teach you is this: instead of giving all that you have in the beginning, save your strength for an open window.”

He looks angrily at her and starts to struggle again. Mora leans her weight forward, not enough to cause him to pass out but enough to make it difficult for him to continue swinging at her. She brushes some loose hair from her face and flashes him a nice smile, “My dear Lucas. If you knew even a fraction of what I do about wood, you would know that this staff is bamboo. While it isn’t as impervious as steel, it is extremely pliable,” she puts her finger to her lips like she is guessing, even though she knows that she is right “I’d wager that I could put the full weight of my body on this staff and it wouldn’t snap. Your throat, however, would most likely be crushed…”

He stops struggling and closes his eyes. Through gritted teeth, he mutters something. Mora can’t make it out, so she leans her weight back onto the balls of her feet, digging Lucas’ elbows into the floorboards, “What was that?”

“I… yield…” Even though he is in a tremendous amount of pain Mora knows that it hurts him more to admit defeat to her.

She pats him on the chest before getting up, “That’s a good boy,” and offers him a hand. He ignores it, turning his back to her to limp off towards the table. She can’t help but give him a swift lash in the ass with the staff; when he jumps and glares at her over his shoulder, she laughs musically at his expense.

Mora spins delicately on her heels and with one leap she lands on the stage. After she puts the staff back into the barrel, she returns to the table. She gives Rick a somewhat smug smile as she sits down.

“So she tried to kill Dell and slit her own throat,” Daniel repeats himself. No one laughs this time.

SADNESS

As the evening continues, her companions try to pry information from her; where are you from, what do you do, how exactly did you get stuck here? But each time Mora deflects their questions in a roundabout way. She spends most of her time tracing the grain of the table with her eyes. Rick converses freely but when it is almost dawn he finally directs his voice towards Mora.

“Have you figured out what kind of wood it is, Mora?”

“Amberwood,” she blurts out without hesitation. She looks up to him, trying to cover her tracks, “I think, at least…” He must see the slight panic on her face because he now has a big smile.

“So you are from Derven, then?” The name of her country rolls off Rick’s tongue with a drawl.

His voice catches Lucas’ attention, “Derven? I thought the people in Derven were not… capable of violence?”

All eyes once again drift back to Mora. Discovered, she cannot think a way out. It seems pointless to lie about her homeland. It isn’t as if they guessed she was the Princess or anything, so she corrects him, “We are a strong willed people. No one of Derven would ever willingly enter a battle or duel without the full intention of dying for their beliefs. That is why as youth, we are taught to find other means to solve problems, less there be none of us left to form a country when all is said and done.”

“That’s a little unnerving to know… we all thought you were a bunch of frolicking idiots,” James blurts out. He looks over to Mora, “Sorry but it’s true.”NôvelDrama.Org owns all content.

She smiles tightly at him, “Frolicking at times but never idiots.”

Rick stands, stretching out his long frame. He offers a smile to his friends before dismissing them, “Good morning.”

There is a small delay before they all rise. Yawns spread as if contagious. Slowly they gather up their stuff, saying their good-byes to Rick. Lucas lightly punches Mora in the shoulder, “Nice fight,” he mumbles.

Daniel and James are too busy chatting to say good-bye to her but Sari lingers a moment when she reaches Mora’s chair. Unable to think of how to word what she wants to say, she nods gruffly before following the men out of the tavern.

Rick slowly strolls past Mora, towards the stairs as Todd snuffs the torches that light the bar. Hesitantly she rises and follows Rick, catching up to him by the time he reaches the second step. There is a loud thunk when Todd drops the plank across the front doors; he walks through the dark tavern easily before disappearing into the storeroom behind the bar.

While Rick moves slowly but steadily up the steps, Mora keeps her eyes down on her hands. She rubs them tenderly; they are raw and red from being exposed to the bamboo staff.

About half way up the steps, Rick’s voice breaks the silence. Even though he doesn’t turn his head to look at her he knows what she is doing, “Not used to using your hands much?”

The comment irritates Mora despite the neutral tone in his voice; tired and worn out she responds defensively, “I use my hands plenty. I just normally wear gloves.”

A few more steps, he continues, “So you are nobility?”

“No.” She says; it isn’t exactly a lie. There are no nobility in Derven, simply the royal family and everyone else. Status is something that is earned through hard work and skill, not passed through blood. Mora’s family earned their royal status generations ago and maintains it through the years of dedication and service. “My father works for the crown,” she arranges her words carefully, “it has allowed me to grow up with more than most.”

“And your mother?”

She knows he is trying to pry information out of her but she is too tired to skirt the whole truth, “She died when I was young. I never knew her.”

They reach the balcony. Mora’s heart pounds as each step takes them closer to his bedroom. After seeing what she is capable of, she wonders if he will chain her when she sleeps-if she is allowed to sleep. When her hands start shaking from nervousness, she squeezes them into fists despite the pain it brings to her palms. Her throat feels dry. She doesn’t like not knowing what will happen to her or between them and she definitely doesn’t like the excitement she gets from imagining the possibilities.

He pulls the doors open and she follows him inside. They shut behind her on their own. Unsure exactly, of what is expected for her, she stops by the entrance and just stares at the floor, waiting for Rick to make his move.

He disappears out of her sight for a moment but returns with a folded item in his hands. When he hands it to her, Mora realizes he means for her to change. She doesn’t move, knowing that it seems ridiculous for her to be so nervous about it all but her blood pulses in her veins so quickly she feels like she could bleed to death from a paper cut. Understanding her hesitation, Rick’s fingers raise her jaw so that she can see him. When he has her attention, he points over to the screen near the wall.

Mora undresses slowly; it takes her a while because her hands are shaking so badly. Even though she is shielded by the screen, there are but a few feet and flimsy pieces of wood separating her and Rick on the other side. She can hear him walk back and forth out of her view; each time his steps get closer she tries to cover herself up. Neatly, she folds her clothing and sets it on the chair behind the screen. She knows it has taken her a long time and even with her difficulty, she knows that she is stalling.

The closest she ever slept to a man was at Amyee’s house, when Franklin was in the next room. Mora remembers his loud breathing was barely muffled through the wall; her nervousness kept her up all night and that was with a man she knows she could trust with her life.

“Are you all right?” Ricks voice penetrates the screen through to her.

Startled, she jumps, crossing her arms over her bare chest. When she realizes she is still alone behind the screen, she quickly puts on the night gown. Even though she sleeps by herself at home the nightgowns she is used to cover more of her body than this one-it barely extends past her knees. The lightweight fabric is almost transparent and clings to the curves of her body. The deep V neck shows the entire space between her breasts. She clenches the slit closed before she dares to step out from behind the screen.

She can see Rick has changed as well. He is now shirtless with a pair of loose linen pants; at the sight of his golden skin, pulled tight over the muscles beneath, her heart pounds so hard it distorts her vision. As if he doesn’t notice her gawking at him, he steps down into the pit of pillows and pats one next to him. With the cold, wooden floor making her skin prickle she tip toes across the room slowly. She avoids his stare, worried that if she looks at him again her knees will shake and she will trip. Mora climbs down into the pit next to Rick. She lowers herself gracefully onto the pillow, folding her legs underneath her so she can pull the nightgown down to cover her calves. Her hand still clutches the neck of her gown, both covering herself up and as something to hold onto so she stops shaking.

Though she tries not to, her eyes creep across the pillows, drinking in the sight of his half naked body before landing on his face. His eyes seem to be a brighter blue. As Rick smiles, his gleaming teeth seem a bit sharper than she recalled.

When he tips forward towards her, her breathing quickens like she just finished running across the forest. Her body grows tense with anticipation. His face hovers so close, only inches away, before he stops. She feels a yearning ache inside, desperately wanting to close the distance between them. Her mind is overwhelmed with confusion at her body’s reaction to Rick; she cannot think straight. It takes her a moment before she realizes he is looking at her neck.

A hand drifts up towards her. He pushes her collar closer to her jaw. Heart thumping away, Mora closes her eyes, letting her hand release the top of her gown and drift back down to her side. His warm, strong fingers touch her neck; she bites down on the inside of her lip to keep herself from whimpering with excitement. It isn’t until she catches the faint smell of spices and lavender that she realizes he is tending to her wounds.

When his hands withdraw, Mora slowly opens her eyes. His face is calm and blank. She drops her chin to her chest, looking at her hands as they wring nervously in her lap. She feels completely foolish, unsure of what to do with herself. Just as her breathing begins to slow down to a normal rate, she inhales sharply when his hands reach out to her once more. Unsure what he wants, she doesn’t move, body as still as death.