The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

“Mora,” his hands stop moving but when he doesn’t let go of her leg, she looks up to him, “they don’t… want me for who I am, they want me for what I am,” he says, as if trying to reassure her.

She feels her eyebrow raise, questioningly, “A tavern owner?”

“Yes,” he smiles but she can see he is trying to hide what she already knows, “they have no desire to get to know me as a person, nor do they intrigue me or interest me in the way–” he stops short, looking sincerely at her. His hands let go of her leg before he dips his fingers back into the medicine. He scoots up to sit next to her and gently, he raises her collar to rub his fingers against her neck wound though she knows it is no longer there. His touch though soothing, has no effect on her heart this time. She feels betrayed that he lied directly to her face. He continues, speaking softer in that tone that he saves for when they are in private, “They don’t interest me in the way that you do,” he admits. “Though I doubt there’s anyway a woman of your status could ever find someone like me appealing,” he draws her in, his face calm.This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org.

Her heart skips at the notion that he… likes her? But she still can’t get over being hurt like that-though she feels slightly guilty that she more or less did the same thing, in her mind she is justified because the Queen ordered her to keep her mouth shut. She speaks quietly, “Appealing? A tavern owner? Yes…” The glimmer of hope in his eyes makes her heart ache at what she says next, “But a liar? No.”

His hands freeze, brow furrowing at her, “A liar? What are you talking about, Mora?”

She keeps her eyes locked on his, “You tell me, Prince Varickan.”

“I am not the Prince anymore,” his face darkens, “I gave it up. Now, I am no more than who I am.”

“You cannot ‘give up’ something you are born with,” she hates herself for the way she speaks to him.

He puts the lid on the salve, rising to his feet. His voice is as dark as the expression on his face, “Have a peaceful rest, Mora.” Before she has a chance to respond, he leaves the pit and snuffs the lights.

CHAPTER 19: THE HUNTER

When she wakes, her body is moist with sweat and her night gown is twisted around her. The soft light of the evening peeks out from behind the curtains. Rick didn’t wake her nor is he anywhere to be found. She dresses somewhat quickly, angry at herself for what she said to him last night. Sari was right-he seemed to have feelings for her and admitted as much until she ruined everything. Not bothering to rebraid her hair, she finds some pins near the box that contains the brush and ribbons and quickly secures the loose flyaways. She couldn’t figure out if she intentionally tried to sabotage herself or if she just did so out of stupidity. She had no right be upset with him for not telling her; she was doing the exact same thing.

By the time she makes her way down the stairs and to the table, the tavern is in full swing. Two men fight on the stage but it is Lucas who proctors them. When she sits down, only James, Daniel and Sari are at the table. The instant Todd spots her he heads over with a plate of food.

“How did you rest, Mora?” Sari asks but the look in her eyes says she wants to know if Mora told him the truth or not.

“Not well,” she responds, “Where is Rick?”

Daniel shrugs, “Not sure, exactly. He wasn’t around when we got here.”

“He went to visit the Queen,” Todd says. Everyone turns to him; he continues, “He wanted to see if he could expedite your release, Mora.”

While it should seem like a nice gesture, it pains Mora greatly. He wants her gone and out of his life for good and he can’t wait a few more days for that to happen. When Todd tries to offer her a plate of food, she rejects it, her stomach in knots at what she’s done, “I’m not hungry, thank you. Just some wine.”

The others eat quietly while Mora sits, deflated, staring at nothing. Daniel tires to broach conversation with her; he points at a table near the door, “Do you know them, Mora? They’ve been staring over here all evening.”

She barely turns her head towards the men to glance at them; she doesn’t recognize them, but they look similar to the men who come to trade metal in Derven. She returns her weary gaze to the table, “No, I do not, but they look like peddlers.” The vacant tone of her voice makes it obvious to everyone that she doesn’t want to talk anymore.

It is only an hour later when Rick comes back but he doesn’t sit down. Instead he directly relieves Lucas and proctors the next fight. Lucas comes over to the table to eat-everyone else has turned their chairs to watch the fight including Mora, though she only sees Rick. She hopes for a chance to catch his eyes, to apologize, but he doesn’t even look her way.

“Boy, he’s in a rotten mood,” Lucas says after a few bites.

“Why is that?” Sari asks for Mora.

“Dunno. I guess he went to see the Queen about her,” he motions to Mora before shoveling more food into his mouth, “something about trying to shorten her stay here. When I asked him about it, he looked angry, said the Queen said something like ‘the wheels are already in motion and you must be patient. Give that girl a chance.’ Don’t think he liked that answer.”

As soon as the words leave Lucas’ mouth, everything immediately becomes clear. She now understands the smug quality in the Queen’s voice after Rick spoke so gently to her the first time. Queen Sheynne means for them to fall in love. It makes perfect sense-she saw something in Namora-perhaps her defiance-that she thought would peak Rick’s fancy. If Namora as Princess, would fall for Rick, the Queen thinks that she would betray her kinsmen and call off the wedding to King Irron, therefore disbanding the threat to Sceadu.

Mora presses her lips together, frustrated that she didn’t see the Queen’s devious plan before. She stands up and turns her chair around, away from the fight. The others seem somewhat confused; when Sari asks her what’s wrong, she ignores her. She glares down at the table, angry that she fed into everything.

The night drags on but Mora continues to burn a hole into the planks with her eyes. Time has no effect on Mora’s rage and though she can hear the sounds of the fight, the movement of the people and the conversation of her companions, nothing registers but her anger. When it is early in the morning, perhaps a few hours left until the Tavern closes James puts his hands on the table. He leans against them, bending down into Mora’s view.

“All right, time to have a go. Come on,” he says.

When she ignores him, he wraps his fingers around her wrists and tugs hard. Before she can reroute her anger towards him he has her up and out of her chair. She is too stunned to react and by the time she realizes what’s going on he has drug her half way across the tavern to the stage. Finally letting go of her wrist, he leaves her as he bounds up the steps. Irritated, she folds her arms over her chest and glares at his back.

He goes to the barrel of staffs. Sorting through them he finds the one she used before plus another thicker, heavier one. He walks back across the stage, tossing hers without even looking. Mora has no choice but to catch it or get hit in the face by it. When her hand snatches the staff out of the air and her knuckles tighten around its girth, turning white, the two men who were fighting on the stage stop and leave willingly.

“I don’t want to fight you, James,” she says coldly, but it is a lie because she desperately wants to beat something into the ground.

“That’s all right,” he says, shrugging. Mora walks stiffly up onto stage. She stands opposite of James, shoulders back, staff held diagonally in front of her. She can feel her anger well up inside unsure of whom she wants to attack most: King Irron, Queen Sheynne or herself. James throws his staff to Rick, who catches it before he realizes what is going on, “Because you’re fighting him.”

James walks away from Mora, over to Rick. He takes the proctor whistle out of his hand before he heads to the edge of the stage, intentionally leaving more space between him and the two fighters than he would with anyone else. No doubt he believes their battle will be epic. Rick turns to him to object but James simply tilts his head to the side. He gives Rick a look that says ‘you have no choice.’ He blows the whistle.

By the time Rick turns to Mora her anger has completely deflated. She does not want to fight him-instead she wants to drop to her knees and apologize, hoping that she can salvage what small amount of friendship they have. Her eyes are down cast, shoulders drooping while she stands before him in a wary, meek manner. His expression is still dark like the night before but he looks at her now; he doesn’t wait long before he swings at her. She deflects it, stepping back, making her stance small so that it is obvious she doesn’t want to do this.

Twirling his staff in one hand, he says flatly, “Is this another guise of yours, meant to draw me in before you attack?” He swings again.

Mora doesn’t deflect it but leaps and rolls out of his reach, “You must know a lot about guises, Prince Varickan…”

He narrows his eyes at her, displeased about being called that but comes after her again, swinging low. She back flips to avoid being hit, leaving her staff behind as she makes her way to the opposite edge of the stage.

“Who told you, anyways?” Rick sounds somewhat angry.

“Come on Head Huntress, beat him senseless!” Lucas shouts. Mora looks past Rick towards their table; Lucas pumps a fist in the air out of encouragement. She notices a man, one of the peddlers, head over to him.

Turning her attention back to Rick, she walks backwards away from him, “Does it matter who told me? It wasn’t you and it should have been.”