The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

“Yes,” Mora replies, smoothing out her dress. She turns to her guards and motions her hand out, letting them know that she wishes to speak with Irving alone. Franklin and Jackson are clearly unhappy with the decision but they obey none the less. Turning back to the man, she says, “Please, Irving, walk with me.”

He is surprised but rises easily to his feet, only hesitating a moment before matching her pace. His stride is naturally confident but his voice is somewhat apprehensive, “I was very sorry to hear about King Nathanial. He was a good man-I owe him a debt I can never repay.”

She glances at him sideways for a moment, walking silently into the forest just beyond his yard before speaking, “Had I known about you, Irving, I would have introduced myself sooner but my father never mentioned you.”

“Oh,” he says, somewhat dejectedly.

Understanding the emotion behind his response, she clarifies, “It wasn’t because he didn’t care about you, Irving,” she sighs. “Tell me about yourself.”

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, his shoulders deflate a little, “There isn’t much to say, my Queen.”

“None the less, please start at the beginning,” she replies.

“I was born in Geofen. My mother never spoke of my father, no matter how much I begged. I have no idea if he died before I was born, or if he lives still, if he was good to her or not. I do know, that she loved me unconditionally. She had no means to support herself and your father, the kind man that he was, took care of us. I felt so comfortable around him when he would visit; I am embarrassed to admit this, Queen Namora, but I always thought of him as my father. I know we have never met before but I used to pretend you were my sister,” his face starts to flush. “It is a ridiculous notion for a bastard like me to believe in such things, but those were the dreams of a foolish youth. As my mother got older I worked in a small school in a coastal village to do the best I could to support us. After she died, it was hard for me to live in Geofen; I had so many memories there of us.”

He turns away from her, stopping to kick at the base of a tree; he thinks that Mora cannot see the tears in his eyes, but she can hear them in his voice, “King Nathanial brought me to Derven. He gave me a home, a life-and now that he is gone I cannot thank him.” Hastily he wipes his eyes before turning back to her, “So I shall do the next best thing and thank you by any means necessary.” Irving lowers down to both knees, his voice shaky, “My life is yours, Queen Namora, to do with as you see fit.”

Her chest tightens at his sorrow, his sincerity; she knows deep within her heart that he is not like his father. Mora reaches a hand out to cup his cheek; her breath catches in her throat when he closes his eyes and leans into her palm. Slowly, his hand raises and encompasses hers; his fingers wrap around it and he brings her hand to his lips, placing a lingering, gentle kiss on the back.

Mora’s eyes grow wide when her heart skips a beat. Tentatively she removes her hand from his, motioning for him to rise before looking away and continuing her walk forward, deeper into the forest; he drifts by her side. She forces her breathing to be even and slow, her mind reeling with the confusion that he evokes in her. “Tell me, what do you know of the events of the past month?”

“Your engagement?” He says tentatively; when she nods for him to continue, he does, “I had heard that you were engaged to be married to King Irron. He came here for a week to court you, then he returned to Alumenia. During your journey there, you were captured by Sceadu,” he shrugs. “I don’t know why, but King Irron plotted your demise and sent an assassin to kill your father. War was declared against them and I learned yesterday that they were defeated.”

She nods, “That’s the gist of it, though there is quite a bit more depth to the story than is made known. You will speak of this to no one, mind you-King Irron threatened to refuse merchants access to his lands if they dealt with Derven, unless I agreed to marry him. That is the sole reason why I accepted-he was a horrific, wicked man. It was a while before I discovered it, but he plotted to have me killed; he had his men chop down a tree to prevent me from making it to Alumenia and as a result my party tried to go around it, unknowingly crossing into Sceadu. That is why I was captured-their policy for trespassers is death, however I made a deal with the Queen and stayed there under false pretenses; she was worried for her country, as an alliance between Alumenia and Derven was a threat to her. My father negotiated with Queen Sheynne and part of that included calling off my engagement with Irron. Once he learned of this and that I knew his initial plot, he declared war on Sceadu and Derven. Irron’s character was made known to Geofen so they sided with us in the battle. And yesterday, I killed him.”

Irving stops in his tracks and looks over Mora; she holds his gaze, unnerved to discover that her heart is beating quickly as she stares into his eyes.

“Why would you tell me all of this, my Queen?” His smooth tenor voice asks, his brows crinkled while his eyes wander over her face.

When she opens her mouth to speak, her hesitation lingers, her breathing quick. Closing her mouth, she turns her head away, removing her gaze from his so that she can concentrate. Her eyes drift shut and she forces a slow, deep breath into her lungs, her mind willing her heart to stop its foolishness. She has only felt this way around one other man before and she believed he was the only one capable of making heart swoon.

The rustling of leaves causes her eyes to snap open and her head to automatically turn towards the sound; a low, guttural growl comes from the darkness of a brush thicket a little ways off. Hearing it too, Irving doesn’t hesitate when he steps in front of the Queen, his back pressed against her, his arms out wide to block as much of her body as he can. The gesture shocks Mora, surprised primarily that he would consider himself in a better position to fight the animal and secondarily at his close proximity.

The loud, frantic crinkle of dead leaves signals the attack of the brush tiger. Unarmed, Irving takes up a stance to return the attack. Mora quickly lifts her dress, pulling her hunting knife free of her boot before she steps around Irving. The tiger’s body uncurls into a leap, its massive paws with menacing claws spread wide to capture its prey. She barely has time to shove Irving out of the path of the tiger before leaning to the right to avoid it’s claws; swinging her arm quickly she slams her knife into the tiger’s passing chest, sending the beast crashing to the ground.Content is property of NôvelDrama.Org.

Before it can get up, Mora leaps on top of it, withdrawing her knife to reposition it, sending it piercing into the animal’s heart. Though the animal draws its last breath and remains still, she kneels on its body, her own breathing ragged. Pulling the whistle out from under her collar, she blows on it hard, the almost silent sound calls through the trees for Greystar.

Trying to quell her racing heart, Mora tilts her head back, letting her body drift backwards towards the earth, the soft ground cushioning her fall. She stares up at the dark blue sky just beyond the rust colored leaves, until her view is cut off by Irving; he falls to his knees by her side, his body leaning over to hers when his trembling hand reaches for her face. His large fingers apprehensively touch her cheek, his voice unsteady, face wrought with concern, “Queen Namora are you injured?”

Having almost forgotten about him, she startles slightly, “No, I am fine.”

Abruptly she sits up; Irving’s proximity is so close that she crashes into his chest, her face hovering mere inches from his. Forgetting or ignoring his station, his hands clasp her biceps and he peers into her eyes, genuinely worried about her, “Are-are you sure?”

Mora tears her eyes from his, shaking her head slightly to clear it; though her breathing has slowed, her heart still pounds fiercely in her chest, “Do you have many problems with brush tigers in these woods?”

“They’ve been more prevalent recently, though I’ve never been attacked,” he replies, letting his hands drop from her body while he leans back a little, putting space between them as he recalls the unspoken of distance left between the men and women of Derven.

“We shall host the next Festival here then. It is very odd that one would attack during the day.” To get further away from him, she shifts to her knees and pulls her knife from the tiger’s body, wiping the blood off on the bottom of her skirt before sheathing it back into her boot. She rises to her feet just as Greystar comes crashing into the forest, skidding to a stop, “Would you mind helping me get the tiger over my horse’s back?”

“Please, allow me,” he says before picking up the massive animal. She is surprised that he is able to lift it alone, his slender frame doesn’t appear to house the necessary muscle. He heaves the beast over the saddle while Mora pulls some rope from the saddle bag, securing the paws to the stirrups. She doesn’t bother to hold his reins but heads out of the forest, horse following behind her. Irving quickly catches up to her side.

Without hesitation, the words flow from her mouth, “He was your father.”

Irving stops, startled, “I’m sorry?”

Halting to turn to him, she meets his gaze, “King Irron was your father. After your mother discovered she was pregnant with you, she fled Alumenia because your conception was a death sentence.”

“I-I don’t understand,” he says, struggling to take the information in; his face appears slightly angry, “Why would you tell me this?”

“You are the only living heir to the Alumenian throne, Irving. The country is your birthright.”

He stares blankly at the ground; they stand in silence. It is a long while before he speaks, “I’m not a ruler, Queen Namora. I don’t want the throne or the country of a man who raped my mother.”

Without a reply, she starts forward again. She doesn’t look back, though she is relieved when Irving’s soft footsteps start up behind her, he soon appearing at her side. “Did you mean it, when you pledged your life to me?”

“Whole heartedly, my Queen.”

“Then I shall consider your debt repaid if you take the throne,” she says softly as the open land just beyond the forest comes into view.