The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

Her heart now racing Mora tilts her head up, forcing Rick to stop and look at her. The color of the world rushes back into her eyes with a vengeance and everything is almost so vivid she can barely stand it. His chin and lips are covered in her blood. His eyes are bright and his teeth seem sharp and now she knows why. She can tell it is difficult for him to restrain himself and not inflict another wound on her. She briefly thinks of Eric… that is how he snuck up on her, how knew her blood was clean, he was a creature of the darkness. She loses herself in his in eyes, now feeling how warm his body is against hers.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, Mora pulls him down to her. She wants him to do more than tend her wounds. His lips trace a path back and forth across her neck, gently kissing each puncture. Her body aches for him, burns with a desire she hasn’t felt before–now that she knows she is allowed to act upon it, her want for him is greater than her need for air.

She can feel his body tense, his breathing deepen. He pulls away from her grasp, groaning as he struggles against himself. He lifts her body up with him, only to set her back down on the couch alone.

“Don’t go,” she pleads. He looks at her longingly, his own eyes burning with such desire that she ceases caring who or what he is, as long as he becomes hers. His lips, chin, neck and shirt are soaked in her blood.

Rick leans down, planting a small kiss on her forehead, before he leans his against hers. His voice shakes with restraint, the tone quiet and tender, “I have to. If I stay, I will do you more harm than good,” he pulls away, gingerly brushing hair off of her face, “If you feel up to it you can join me downstairs, otherwise you should rest. Your wounds are healed but you have lost a lot of blood; your body will need time to replace it.” He drifts out of her grasp, leaving the room.

His absence makes Mora push herself up. She wants to be near him. Determinedly, she stands only to be forced back down to the couch when the room tilts under her. But being of Derven, she tries it again. Mora starts for the door, but when she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she halts in her tracks. The blood on her chest, dress and dried in her hair makes it seem like her throat was ripped out by a wild animal.

Forcing herself to stop, she undresses slowly, taking care not to push her body too hard. The now red fabric seems unnatural to her. They differ from other countries with the idea that the King and Queen of Derven are considered separate ruling entities; each has the authority to override the other but in the name of peace they always come to a compromise. Derven can be ruled by either a King or a Queen but since the pair of them takes precedence, her father only holds the crown until the Princess marries, at which time her and her husband will take over the rule.

Mora doesn’t know much of Sceadu, other than the color of their royalty is black. In Geofen, the crown wears teal and is always run by a King; on the off chance that there isn’t one, they appoint an intermit advisor until a male of the royal bloodline is born. The Alumenian Queen, always dressed in the King’s color of gold, gets even less say than in Geofen, in fact Mora isn’t sure that their Queen is any more than a glorified servant. The Alumenian crown has been held by a King Irron for over a hundred years-the King never seems to have trouble producing an heir and they always keep the same name.

Without any water to wash with, Mora pulls on the clothes she has grown used to: an undershirt, a ruffled over shirt, a vest, slim pants and a pair of high boots. After getting dressed, she is forced by dizziness to sit while attempting to fix her hair. The dried blood has matted into some of it and she is unable to separate it, so she gathers it at the base of her neck and twists it into a large bun. Shorter wisps of hair escape, but she doesn’t care enough to secure them.

She makes her way to the doors and pushes through them, having to brace herself so she doesn’t fall over. She clings to the railing so that she can walk across the balcony; her knees shake and threaten to give way but she forces herself on.

Once Mora makes it to the stairs she is able to get down the first five before she has to stop and lean on the railing to rest, afraid that another step will send her tumbling down to the bottom. Though Rick sees her first, it is Daniel and James who are closer. They quickly bound up the stairs two at a time to reach her. Each one of them slide their arms under hers, bracing her elbows so they can help her down the remaining stairs. Her feet make the motions of walking but the two men carry her weight as they lead her to the table. She feels embarrassed at being so weak but none of them seem to care.

When she is sitting, Mora has to put her elbows on the table with her head in her hands for a few moments to get the room to hold still. Her mind is clear despite the weakness of her body; she yearns to be at Rick’s side but she appreciates the fact that his friends, who are now hers, are worried about her well being. All of them watch her, ready to jump to her aid if she were to fall over.

Todd sets a bowl of fresh steamed vegetables with shredded meat in front of her, as well as a glass of wine. When she sits up, Mora is forced to rest against the back of the chair, still too weak to hold her own. She finally looks at her friends, the disturbed look on their faces make her realize that she is still covered in blood. Sari pulls up a chair next to her. Mora doesn’t object when she starts wiping her neck off with a warm, wet towel. As her blood, the mark of her loyalty to Rick, washes away from her healed skin, her companions begin to settle down a bit.

“Rick told us everything,” James says quietly, “though it was a foolish risk, I think I can speak for most of Sceadu and say thank you.”

Mora manages a small smile for him. Though her wounds are healed and she no longer looses any blood, she still feels like she could pass out at any moment.

Daniel shakes his head, “I don’t understand why the Queen would make you stay here… not that I’m objecting to your company,” he adds quickly, “but it seems pointless.”

Mora and Rick stare at each other. She knows why the Queen wants her to spend more time in Sceadu and she knows that Rick does too but she doesn’t think he realizes that his mother’s ultimate goal is for him to reclaim his title.

“At least you don’t have to marry King Irron anymore,” Lucas adds, trying to lighten the conversation a little, “no, you are now free to choose whomever you want…” he avoids looking at both of them. Daniel jabs him in the ribs with his elbow for his obvious statement.

Mora, eyes still on Rick, speaks quietly, “Another alliance would ensure that Alumenia thinks twice before threatening again… does the Geofen King have a son?”

Rick smiles at her sarcasm, “Alas, Prince Phillip is already married.”

“Shame,” she tisks, “there seems to be a shortage of available Princes these days…”

Sari finishes wiping off Mora’s chest. She sits back and speaks blankly but gives Mora the feeling she’s concerned for Rick’s welfare, “So what’s this I hear about you being a poet?”

Mora breaks her eyes away from Rick to match Sari’s gaze; Rick must have repeated her and Laren’s conversation to them. She leans herself forward and takes a bite of food and a sip of wine. From the look on Rick’s face, he has concerns about her and Laren as well. Mora continues to eat, pausing after each bite to say a few words and slowly she explains her story.

“Laren-the Advisor of War of Derven-started training me when I was probably four years old. My mother had been dead for a while and though I could not recall her, Laren told me she was quite fond of poetry. He caught me one night in the throne room. I was looking through my mother’s things. I can recall in particular, a beautiful, red wooden box. I knew it held something special inside but no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t figure out how to get it open. I attempted to steal it and take it back to my room but he found me in the hallway. Laren held out his hand and said, ‘Though the kitten wishes to follow its mother’s steps, she must wait, grow and hunt to discover the secrets kept; one night the brush tiger will not return and from another that tiny little kitten must learn. Patience, devotion and love for others may, make the kitten as strong as her mother one day.'” Mora chews her vegetables carefully, waiting for her companions to think over her story.

“Even though Laren’s only responsibility was to teach me to defend myself he has taught me that beauty can be found in anything if you take the time to look for it. I owe a great debt to him for all that I know about the trees, plants and animals in Derven, about the darker but still beautiful side of war and that there are but a few people I can completely trust with my thoughts. Because of that, we code our words to each other in poetry. Unfortunately, it has caused a lot of people to think that he and I… feel for each other more than friendship.”

“So what did he mean, when you talked to him this afternoon?” asks Daniel.

Rick quietly repeats Laren’s words, his memory is perfect, “‘In its quest for the night, the brush tiger foolishly falls into a fight; while the sun does not yet rise, the hunter’s quick knife ends the tiger’s lies. Upon my death, I shall never see, another tiger as beautiful as thee. For if the world would end tomorrow, your sadness shall be my only sorrow.’ If you are the brush tiger, I must be your hunter,” he smiles, already knowing that from before, “but who is your sun?”

Mora finishes her food, shaking her head, “He will never be my sun, just the sun.”

“King Irron,” Sari discovers.

“So this Laren said that he doesn’t want you to be with King Irron because he knows you won’t be happy?” James asks.

Mora nods, looking at Rick. She thinks he realizes that the hunter is the only one who could truly break her heart.

“And your response?” presses Lucas.

She breathes deeply, hoping that her instincts to trust Rick’s friends are correct, “King Irron means to kill Rick. My death was supposed to be used as a justifiable reason to rally the other countries against Sceadu.”

Everyone freezes, mouths open. Mora’s comment even catches Rick off guard. No one speaks, they all just wait for her to explain.

“I stepped towards my father four times to get his attention and force him to take the peaceful route. I stepped a fifth time to get a look at the tree that started this whole debacle. That tree didn’t just happen to fall across the path, it was cut down by an axe and poorly I might add.”

“Who cut it down?”

She has to pause to catch her breath; though they are eager to know more, they wait patiently for her to resume speaking, “It was a burwood tree. No Derven in their right mind would have killed a living one, yet alone tried to take an axe to a burwood tree; the bark is thick and brittle and when struck it shatters like glass. Not to mention that it would almost destroy the back of whoever tried to hit it with an axe. The only way to harvest a burwood tree is to saw it down.”

“But you don’t think someone from Sceadu did it,” Rick states more than asks.

She breathes deeply, drinking the glass of wine Todd fills for her. Though she knows what it is now, it helps her feel better, “There aren’t many types of wood that are native strictly to Sceadu. I can only think of maybe three, but of those there is one in particular that Dervens buy off of the peddlers-ebony tree. It is very water resistant and we use it to build our bath tubs with. The ebony tree trunks that I have seen have always been chopped down by an axe but each cut, each swing is made with purpose and placed precisely. That burwood tree trunk looked as if the person who cut it down had never wielded an axe… or seen many trees, for that matter.”

The realization that someone from Alumenia cut down the tree is almost palpable. She realizes now why Irron was so interested in the processing of the trees in Derven. Mora continues, “King Irron was counting on us camping off the road in Sceadu. He knew I would fight back but he thought it would lead to my death. The death of his future wife would be an honorable reason to attack Sceadu; not to mention he would also be backed up by the Derven army. My poem told Laren as much; I am sure that by now he has figured out a way to tell my father and they are readying the army in case of an attack on Derven.”

Rick looks to his friends; he doesn’t have to speak for them to understand. Daniel, James and Sari get up, she speaks for them “We’ll double check the tree and then warn the Wardens.”

Lucas gets up, “I will tell the Queen.”

As they leave the tavern, Mora notices that even though it is early in the night, her, Rick and Todd are the only occupants. Todd refills their glasses once more and takes Mora’s plate. He only stops briefly to squeeze her shoulder before he wanders off into the storeroom to busy himself. Rick gets up slowly, pulling a chair over so that he can sit near her. He takes Mora’s hand into his, gently running his fingers over her palm. “You are a better ruler than I could ever hope to be. Perhaps when this is all said and done, we could spend some time together… to get to know each other properly.”

Mora pulls his hand up to her face, pressing his open fingers against her cheek. Her heart aches, desiring to fill the void in her life. She closes her eyes, comforted by his touch, “I didn’t think you liked me.”Content is property of NôvelDrama.Org.

She is surprised when his lips meet hers; the warmth and passion they transmit fills the emptiness in her heart. Pressing their foreheads together, he sighs, truly smiling at her for the first time. “On the contrary, you were the one who tried to kill me…” Rick gathers her up in his arms, lifting her out of the chair and onto his lap, “Why did the hunter kill the tiger, in your poems?”

As Mora rests her head on his chest and Rick wraps his arms around her, holding her tight. She freely buries her face into his neck, breathing his skin in, letting herself enjoy all that he is, “It was the only way the tiger could be free; you have slain my heart.”

His arms constrict around her, shielding her from the world. He leans his chin down, resting his cheek against her forehead. Finally, at peace, she closes her eyes; listening to the steady beating of his heart and knowing that it pulses for her, she drifts off to sleep.