The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

She can see Daniel shake his head at her, “You Derven are an odd breed,” he huffs before he wanders off to the dance.

Following Rick to an empty spot against the wall, she stands as still as a statue, skeptical of what is expected of her. Looking out over the crowd, Rick speaks quietly to her, “Do you dance, Mora?”

“Occasionally,” she responds, keeping her head lowered but looking out upon the dance floor. In Derven it seems like someone is celebrating something at least once a month. While her father doesn’t always go, Mora loves the opportunity to fly around the room freely. Having been taught properly at a young age when she was taught everything else, she is quite a skilled dancer.

“Perhaps, later, you would be so kind as to indulge me. The last dance of the night is always the Hunter’s Waltz; I’m afraid I’ve never had a partner graceful enough to do it properly.”

She swallows hard, the Hunter’s Waltz being her favorite. She agrees with him, it is a rather complicated dance and the best partner she has ever had, is Amyee. The women love to practice it during the Festival, though it never does much good. In Derven it is also the last dance of the night and by that time the men are usually so drunk that more end up on the floor than in their partner’s arms. Her heart quickens at the thought of Rick holding her during the dance. Her mind pushes the words out of her mouth, trying to restrain her desires, “Please, don’t let me keep you from enjoying yourself until then. I promise to remain right here while you are gone.”

Turning his head to her, she instinctively looks up at him, caught in his blue eyes, “There isn’t anyone out there,” he nods towards the rest of the room, “that I wish to share a dance with.”

Feeling her knees tremble, she leans her back against the wall for support, her body threatening to buckle under his gaze. Finally, she is saved when a well dressed old man comes up to Rick. They shake hands and begin talking about business. The old man ignores Mora. Instead, she watches the couples on the dance floor fly about, laughing happily while she herself grows irritated, jealous at their simple and carefree lives. Men come and go, chatting and laughing with Rick; he seems at ease talking to them, though she gets the feeling that he doesn’t leave the tavern much.

She spots Rebecca and Fanny gawking over at them. Rebecca, right arm tied up in a sling, gives her an evil stare. Mora can’t help the wicked smile that crosses her lips. Flustered, they turn away, pretending not to notice. Now smiling to herself somewhat proudly, she feels a bit more freedom to look about the room. Women definitely outnumber the men. They all seem to resemble Rebecca and Fanny in style: tight dresses without enough fabric to freely dance across the floor, hair mounded high on their heads and faces painted with the colors they wear. To them, she must seem rather plain and small; with her hair pulled back at the base of her neck she is a good eight inches shorter than the other women her size and without make up her natural attractiveness is allowed to shine through. When she catches a few of the men’s eyes, they quickly look away as if embarrassed that she spotted them.

Her eyes fall on a man larger than the rest; even though he stands under the shadows of the balcony opposite her, she can easily distinguish his bright green eyes staring back at her. His small smile hits her with a pang of guilt. She offers one in return, though hers is more apathetic. When his fades, she is afraid that she offended him until she hears Rick’s voice.

“Advisor Kelvin, my best wishes to you on your birthday,” he intentionally says it louder to catch her attention. Mora drops her head down a little but can see that Kelvin looks her over.

“Thank you, Master Rickan. Perhaps you will grant an old man’s birthday wish and allow him to dance with your servant?”

There is a pause when Rick is caught off guard, “Why… of course, Advisor.” She can tell from the tone of his voice that he doesn’t want Mora to go but has no choice.

An unfamiliar hand extends into her field of view as the last song draws to a close, “Shall we, my dear?”

Also having no choice unless she wants to expose her true nature, Mora reluctantly takes his hand with a cold smile on her lips but she doesn’t look up. She allows herself to be led away from Rick, her body throbbing with anxiety when she gets the feeling that something is not quite right about the Advisor.

As the next song, a slow sarabande, begins, Kelvin places his hand on her hip, the other perfectly wrapped around hers in the air. With her free hand on the edge of his elbow, she keeps her chin raised and her eyes off of his face and past his shoulder. He leads her in perfect time around the dance floor and she follows without difficulty. She can see a few curious gazes from the crowd.

Kelvin breaks the silence, “Please excuse the stares, no one in Sceadu is used to seeing one such as yourself. You dance with the true grace of a Princess, Namora.”

Her cold eyes snap up to his. His light, green eyes look back at her. Mora studies his face for a moment; his graying hair and pale skin, along with his eyes make him appear washed out, though the sharp curve of his nose gives her the distinct impression that he is a cruel man.

He offers up a smile, searching her blank face for something, “As the Advisor of War, I am privy to such information. Somehow, you must be keeping your secret well because none suspect, even though your curious ways draw a lot of attention. Rebecca thinks her wrist is broken.”

Her face remains blank, “Since you know who I am, you’ll excuse me if I speak plainly.”

“Of course, my dear,” he almost mocks her.

“I did not break your daughter’s wrist, I simply twisted it. Perhaps if she spent half as much attention on her social skills as she does on the men that walk by, she could have avoided the situation.”

His smile makes her nervous. He is slow to respond, “I can see why Warden Eric has taken a liking to you.”

She stops suddenly, clenching her jaw. Kelvin, surprisingly a very good dancer, swings her arm between them, forcing Mora to spin. Once he has twirled her completely around, he picks up with her movement and without missing a beat continues the dance, covering up her defiance so well that no one notices.

“Relax, child, he didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to-his concerns about you being placed with Master Rickan made his affections obvious.”

She continues to press her lips tightly together, returning her stare just past his shoulder. She can see Eric, who has now walked over to Rick; both are watching her and Kelvin and neither look pleased about it. Mora, suddenly agitated, wishes the song to be over before she does or says something foolish.

“I would be more than happy to take charge of you,” the dark tone of his voice draws her eyes back to him, “I am sure you would be more comfortable under my roof. I dare say, my house is lavish compared to the meager accommodations that Master Rickan can give you.” His pale eyes wander off her face and down her neck to her chest.

Mora feels herself growing angry, “My current accommodations are more than adequate,” she says harshly. Hearing the final cadence of the song begin she decides not to wait until the end. Letting go of his hand and shoulder she turns away from him. She feels a sharp pain in her arm when Kelvin roughly snatches her wrist, stopping her from leaving. He pulls her close, eyes narrowed, “I will ask the Queen to transfer your indenture to me.”

Her voice comes out threateningly, “The Queen has no say over where I lodge. If she attempts to remove me, I will finish the task I set out to do in her office.”

The song draws to a close and the dancers begin to exit the floor, leaving Kelvin and Mora behind. His grip tightens on her wrist, “I do love a challenge.”

Eric appears next to them. As soon as he speaks, Kelvin lets go of her arm. “Master Rickan has granted me Mora’s next dance,” his voice is calm but as before he hides his anger well.

Kelvin smiles, as if to cover up his outburst, “Your father sent word that he will meet with Queen Sheynne in six days.”

Mora looks away from him to Eric’s extended hand, to Rick. Rick, who looks to be on the verge of snapping Kelvin’s neck, nods to Mora, affirming that he sent Eric.

She returns her eyes back to Kelvin briefly; providing a small curtsey, her voice comes out cold, “Thank you for the dance, Advisor Kelvin.”

He bows curtly as Mora takes Eric’s hand and the next song begins. Kelvin swiftly walks off the stage, almost plowing over a few other couples. Dwarfed in size by Eric, she has to extend her arm further up to reach his. When he takes the lead, she is surprised to find that he has a light step. The concern in his bright green eyes quells her anger.This is the property of Nô-velDrama.Org.

“You must excuse Advisor Kelvin, it appears he has been drinking,” Eric says softly. She raises a brow, wondering why he would cover for such a despicable man; he adds, “A lot.”

Though he continues to stare at her face, she fixes her gaze on a button on his shirt. She appreciates his concern for her but doesn’t want to lead him on.

“How is he treating you? Master Rickan?” His voice is curious.

“Fine. He is…” she tries to think of a neutral word, so as not to hurt Eric with her affections, “amiable.”

In silence, they dance through a majority of the song. Finally, Eric speaks again. The softness of his voice makes her hurt, “I have a key. I could free you, if you want.”

She looks deep into his eyes, “In a country that murders its trespassers I would hate to know what they would do to you to for letting me go.”

“I don’t care,” he says, “I don’t think it is right to keep you here like this.”

She feels thankful that he wants to help her but saddened that she cannot return his affections, “I’m afraid that running from a problem never solves it. Besides, I’m… not exactly in a hurry to return to my life.”