The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

His left hand drifts towards her elbow, cradling it in his palm. The warmth of his skin against hers sends shivers down her spine. Her heart threatens to jump out of her chest when he pulls her arm away from her body, his fingers slide down the back of her forearm. He cups her seemingly tiny hand in his, the size difference makes her feel small and frail. The way her heart beats awkwardly, achingly, makes her feel even smaller and even more frail. She doesn’t understand how he is capable of making her body tremble and weaken with a mere touch. His free hand tickles her palm as he rubs the salve into her raw skin. The heat from her hands withdraws but seeks refuge in her face.

Mora feels ridiculous. She doesn’t know what it is that she wants from Rick. Her mind chastises her heart for being so foolish-if there was one person she most definitely shouldn’t fall in love with, it would be him. She admits to herself that he is handsome, insightful, strong… that he makes her want to give up everything she’s worked hard to accomplish, give up her crown and forsake her people-but for what? A touch? A kiss?

She breathes deeply, her mind struggling to regain control of herself. He is her Master. It is difficult, but she reminds herself that she isn’t here of her own freewill. She is here because she was captured, a man was killed to save her and she committed to being a slave to save another’s life. In one week, her father will negotiate her release with Queen Sheynne and she will be free. She will leave this place and never see Rick again. She will marry King Irron. She will spend the rest of her life in a cold, harsh, stone castle far away from the forests and woods she grew up with. She will spend the rest of her life in sadness and she will not know love. That is the path she chose and she must follow it with grace and dignity to the end.

Her mind regains control of her body, oppressing her desires and locking them away. When Rick finishes with her hands, he sets the bottle of salve down on the pillow next to her. His stillness causes Mora to look up at him-his face is wrought with concern.

“What is wrong?” he asks quietly.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” and she doesn’t. She looks into his beautiful blue eyes and though her body is cold with the sadness that dwells within, she comes to terms with the fact that she will just have to get used to it.

He appraises her, trying to discern if she speaks the truth or not before he answers, “I understand that it is difficult to be… happy… given these circumstances, but… you were smiling. Now, you seem upset. Is it something I did?”

“No,” Mora says, shocked that he would be concerned about how she feels. The revelation of her desolate future must have broke through her desire for Rick’s touch. She fumbles to come up with an explanation, but realizing she can’t tell anyone the truth about how she feels-let alone the one she has the feelings about-she lies, “I just miss my home.”

Rick nods but she knows he doesn’t believe her. When he reaches down to her ankles, Mora knows his only intention is to look at her wound. The moment he touches her skin, her heart skips a beat only to be quickly disciplined by her mind. Struggling against herself, she forces her breathing to be slow and even. She watches him pull her gown up and over her knee to expose the bite; she doesn’t try to jerk her leg away, not just because she is enjoying it but because her mind wants her to suffer knowing that in just a few days he won’t ever touch her again.

Though he stops when he can see what he’s after because of the way she is sitting with her legs tucked to her side, the bare back of her thigh is exposed. Rick runs his hands up her calf, pulling on her ankle and pushing on her knee to extend her leg. His touch is soft and gentle. Mora half wonders if he only treats her as such so that he can gain her trust, like she is a horse. The thought of being treated like an animal reminds her of the cold collar against her neck and the despicable chains that were around her wrists. The warmth she feels inside is no longer desire but anger. Not an uncontrollable, raging anger but a tiny little flicker-yet it is enough for her mind to grasp hold of to try to use against her heart. He rests her foot in his lap so that her wound is stretched out. The salve he rubs in seems to be healing her quicker than anything she has seen.

Thinking that it isn’t fair to be angry at him, she tries to take her mind off of everything by conversing, “Is it normal, in Sceadu, to stay up all night and sleep during the day?”

Rick glances up from her leg, eyes bright again. She thinks it must be a combination of the dim light and her tired mind that is playing tricks on her. He speaks softly, matter-of-factly, “Yes. We sleep until mid afternoon and then conduct business as any other country would, until sunrise.”

“What about breakfast?”

“What is breakfast?” Rick seems to honestly not know what it is.Owned by NôvelDrama.Org.

Mora watches his hands rub her skin. When she starts to wonder if she will enjoy it as much when King Irron touches her, she feels a dark shadow come across her heart. She forces herself to remain in the present. She might as well enjoy his company while she can for soon she probably won’t have anyone to talk to. Staring at his hands, she continues, “You know of breakfast. It is the first meal of the day, when the sun comes up. Then lunch, when the sun is in the middle of the sky and dinner before the sun sets down to rest for the night.”

Rick smiles; he must be able to feel her pulse racing through her leg, “Those in Sceadu that do eat, only eat twice a day.”

“Do eat?” It comes out small and weak even though she doesn’t mean for it to.

Her tiny voice draws his attention back to her face; he locks on to her eyes, almost looking through her. He lifts her leg off of his lap, setting it down gently. Slowly leaning forward, his voice is dark and secretive; he draws her in, “Sceaduians are different from most. Since the sun does not shine on our country, our bodies have managed a way to do without common nourishment…”

Like a cat stalking its prey, he places a hand on the pillows next to Mora’s waist. When he puts his weight on it, his arm presses against her side. He continues to shift towards her, “Those whose body has been made to go without food can survive for weeks, even months at a time in the darkness of our land…”

Bringing his other hand up past her face, he braces himself against the wall of the pit, just to the side of Mora’s head. Rick is so close now, Mora thinks she can feel his lips slightly touching hers when he speaks, “… but it is a hard thing to teach the body. It takes years of training to reach such a point.”

He lingers there, looking deep into her soul; she feels for certain that he can see everything she is, all her lies and secrets. She desperately wants to lean forward and press her lips against his, drink in his taste. She doesn’t breathe because she can’t. She is so entirely engulfed by his presence that he could kill her right now and she wouldn’t lift a finger to stop him.

She feels Rick’s arm move near her head and wishes that he will grab her, pull her close and do what he wants. Instead he leans back away from her, returning to his former position. Rick’s fist opens, revealing a fresh bandage. As he unrolls it, Mora feels her heart crack. He isn’t interested in me, he’s just toying with me, her mind taunts. When her heart finally breaks in half and her mind wins she doesn’t feel any better about her situation. She wants to escape. She wants to go to the border and she wants to cross it. Right now, it doesn’t really matter if it will kill her or not.

She lets her eyes blur and fill with the fuzzy deep green of the pillow she is staring at. Rick wraps her wound; when he is finished, he ties off the ends. He pauses before lightly touching her cheek, “Have a peaceful rest, Mora.”

She doesn’t look at him. She couldn’t even if she wanted to. He waits for a response but she stares at the pillow; when her eyes begin to burn, she knows that she will cry but she tries to hold off long enough for him to go. Finally, he rises and leaves her alone in the pit. She can hear him snuff the lights and crawl into his bed. In the darkness, she remains staring at the pillow, even though she can’t see it. Hot tears stream down her face before she lays back and wishes for a quick, dreamless sleep. CHAPTER 16: THE BRUSH TIGER OF DERVEN

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.

The aching in her stomach threatens to consume her; Mora is desperately hungry, but in her attempt to capture some prey, she herself has been spotted by something. Now, she runs. She is not sure from what but her instincts tell her that if she is caught it will be the end of her. She spots an opening in a thicket of brush and she dives for it, wiggling her body into the tight space. Her chest rises and falls rapidly; she forces herself to slow her panting and breathe through her nose. Soon, a dark figure floats into sight. At first she cannot make out anything but its vertical shape, then menacing blue eyes glow in the darkness, reaching out to her very soul.

Mora sinks down, tensing her slender frame. Adrenaline courses through her veins; she is ready to attack or run, whichever happens first. As the eyes drift closer, her pursuer takes a familiar shape; the eyes are set in a tall, muscular frame. Golden blonde hair shimmers in the moon light. He calls to her-Rickan-her savior. Mora untangles her slender body from the brush, slinking out into the shadows. She desperately yearns for his touch, wanting to feel his hands on her skin, his lips on her lips. Slowly she creeps into his view.

When he tenses, Mora stops; something is wrong. She looks down at her hands but instead of the small, narrow fingers she possesses she sees large, dark brown paws with wicked looking claws. Before she can stop herself, she instinctively feels her brush tiger body crouch and unwind in the air, fully stretched out. She tries to pounce on him to reassure him that it is okay.

Rickan’s hands come up, wrapping tightly around her furry throat. He slams her down, pinning her to the ground, his full weight holding her tight. She kicks and growls, biting at him while he constricts her air. She tries to cry out. Inside she weeps. Rickan cannot see past her false appearance, only the lies that she has shown him. As the darkness of death creeps into her vision she sees Rickan one last time; her savior but now her Hunter.

Mora tears at the hands around her throat. She can’t breathe, her body trembling with panic. No matter how hard she tries she can’t get them off. Someone grabs her arms, pinning her wrists down by her ears. She chokes in air, desperately gulping down as much as she can. When her vision starts to come back into focus, she can see blue eyes hovering over her.