The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

Mora gets a few peaceful, uninterrupted hours before something wakes her; she takes care to remain still, though her heart is pounding. Peaking from behind her eyelids, she scans the tree line beyond the meadow, the hair on the back of her neck standing up as if she can feel someone watching her. Deep within the shadows, she can barely make out the glowing of green eyes focused on her being. Before she can respond, she hears the quiet rustling of paws crunching through dead leaves. The green eyes disappear and light, almost silent footsteps carry the large frame through the dark forest.

Slowly, she turns her head and gazes out into the trees until she spots the familiar shimmer of moonlight on the almost blonde fur of the tiger that followed her all those nights ago. Swiftly, she rises to her feet, drawing her hunting knife from her boot before she flies down the hill and into the forest. A smirk crosses her face as she comes up silently behind his large, crouched form; Eric is too focused on the tiger to notice her until she carefully places her cold blade under his chin.

“It is not a man’s place to kill a brush tiger, Warden,” she whispers into his ear. He huffs, holding up his hands in surrender. Mora chuckles and withdraws her knife, “May I ask why you are hiding in the woods in the middle of the night?”

Nervously, Eric glances back at the disappearing form of the tiger, “You aren’t frightened for your own safety, Mora? It seems unnecessarily risky for the Queen of Derven to sleep under the stars while wild animals lurk in the woods beyond.”

She sighs and turns, slowly walking with him at her side, “That tiger will not harm me. In fact, none of them will, I don’t know what it is but they do not wish me dead.”

“On the contrary, Franklin mentioned you were attacked in the woods when you went to retrieve Irving,” he replies, begrudgingly sheathing his knife when she does the same.

“No, I was not,” she says as they exit into the meadow and start the trek to her sleeping horse, “the tiger made a move on Irving, not me.”

Mora settles her back against Greystar, nodding to the ground. Eric lowers his large frame before stretching out onto his back to stare up at the stars, “It is a bit unnerving to know that,” he admits. He stares off into the night for a while before he clears his throat slightly, “Prince Varickan is sorry, you know.”NôvelDrama.Org owns © this.

She eyes him, “Of all people, I never imagined you to come to his defense, Warden.”

He snorts, “I’m just as surprised as you are, Mora. Honestly, part of me always hoped he would fail, so that I would be there to take his place. But I know that you are not destined to be mine,” he says with a tinge of sadness to his voice. “You deserve a great man, Mora. I am not entirely positive if Rick is a great man, but I do know that he is a much better one than me.”

Drawing in a deep breath, Mora contemplates his sentiments, “It is not that simple, Eric. It never is. What I want, what is right for Derven and what will happen are not always the same thing.”

“Spoken like a true ruler,” he says. After a brief pause, he adds, “I see the way he looks at you. Irving. An alliance with Alumenia would be a huge strategic advantage, way more so than Sceadu.”

“I am not looking for an advantage, Warden,” she snips quietly, “I am simply trying to prevent the downfall of our society-short of marrying myself off to the bigger threat I feel like I am not in control of a single situation in my life.” Her voice is bitter.

“I cannot imagine the weight on your shoulders, Mora,” Eric replies. “I will be here for you, whatever you need.”

“Thank you, Eric,” she says softly. As the silence sinks in around them, she feels her eyelids grow heavy and she gives in to her urge to sleep.

The woods are dark. There are no stars in the sky, just the moon sulking in its loneliness. She knows, deep in her bones, that there are but a few more hours until the sun rises with its tentacles reaching rudely through the tree tops to touch every blade of grass, every particle of dirt, every fiber of her being.

Her body remains low to the ground as she runs almost silently through the forest, knowing the place she is searching for as it is the place she was born, the place they were all born, the place that gives life to the land and in turn life to all creatures. Her slender frame tenses and she uncoils her form, leaping high off of the ground and into a tree before bounding again up to the steep stone mountain that encases the land. She is barely able to catch the ledge, her muscles straining to pull her large body upwards, her back claws scratching into the stone for purchase.

She makes it, the cold autumn air burning in her lungs as she pants, yet her tiredness does not slow her down. Leaping, jumping from ledge to ledge she climbs higher and higher until she has almost reached the top of the cliff; hidden by a thicket of brush is an opening. She wiggles her lithe form into it, sliding past the vegetation to the large vast cavern just as the sun rises into the sky. Through holes in the stone high above, light trickles in, falling upon dark blue, almost black leaves that adorn the twisting and gnarled braches of a large, vast tree, revealing the richly colored red wood of its trunk. Surrounded by a dense thicket, hundreds of glowing eyes peer out to evaluate the newcomer.

Mora startles awake when Greystar shifts behind her and rises. Eric, tense, sits up quickly to look her over, “What is wrong, Mora?”

Her heart is racing in her chest; she shakes her head, trying to clear her scattered thoughts. It was just a dream, she tries to assure herself. When she realizes that she is shaking, she briskly rubs her arms, “Nothing, Warden. I am fine.”

Eric isn’t easily dissuaded, “Something is off… perhaps we should get you back to the castle.”

Relenting, she nods and rises. They walk side by side in the silence of the early morning; no one has stirred yet, not even the sun. Eric accompanies her as she puts Greystar away, not satisfied until he walks her to her chamber doors.

As Mora pushes them open, she turns to Eric, her brow knitting together, “Eric, would you come in for a bit?”

He hesitates before tentatively replying, “If you wish it, yes.”

She frowns, knowing that it is all untoward but cannot get her mind off of her dream, “There is something I need your help with.”

Shutting the door behind him, she motions for him to follow her to the desk in the antechamber. Opening the wooden box upon it, she pulls out the large book of her mother’s, turning it to the first page, “Advisor Laren thought this might be in ancient Sceaduian.”

Eric’s fingertips trace the parchment as his eyes skim over the words, “It is not,” he says. He pauses for a moment, still examining it, “I don’t think it is a language from any land but rather a cipher. If it was something of value that the owner meant to keep secret, that would be the most logical conclusion.”

Mora sighs, “Of course, because there aren’t enough mysteries as it is.”

He snorts, a smirk on his face, “I am sorry I couldn’t be of more help-” Immediately stopping, his eyes are glued on the open box, “Where did you get this?” He turns his furrowed, confused gaze to Mora.

She looks inside to see what has affected him so; pulling out the black wooden cylinder she turns to him, “Do you know what this is?”

“I don’t know what it is, but I know what it is made out of,” he gingerly takes it when she places it in his hands. “I can’t imagine how this ended up in your possession but I have never seen this wood outside of the cave in which the tree that it comes from grows. That tree is viciously dangerous and nothing can cut through it.”

“The cave of darkness,” she whispers, looking at the object with new found wonderment once he gives it back, “you are certain?”

“Oh yes,” he says. “Not many are allowed entry into that cave, only the royal family determines who has the privilege. I am one of five wardens who accompany the men to harvest the sap. It is a frightening place, even to the most steadfast.” He shudders slightly at the memory of it. Mora looks at him curiously, knowing the place must truly be frightening if Eric has fear of it.

Silently, she looks at the cylinder in her hand and begins to piece the mysteries together, “Thank you for your help, Warden. Perhaps you would like to get some rest before midday meal?”

“Of course,” he says, offering her a short bow before he turns to leave.

“Eric?”

“Yes?” He pauses at the door looking back at her.

“Please don’t mention this to anyone,” she feels her heart beating a shade faster, worried about the thoughts in her head.

“That goes without saying, Mora,” he replies softly before leaving.

Alone again, she stares down at the cylinder in her hands. A fleeting thought crosses her mind; she leans down and draws her hunting knife from her boot. Carefully, she pricks her thumb with the tip of the knife, watching the bright red blood rush to the surface of her skin and collect into a large drop. Mora rotates the cylinder until she feels the intricate carving of a tree in the middle of it, then, she presses her thumb into the engraving, her blood smearing onto the wood.