The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

When the Queen fails to act, Mora does. “Father,” she says sternly enough to catch his attention. She steps forward, collar tightening on her neck. Those on Sceadu land stiffen, knowing what will happen if she tries to cross the border.

The King turns angrily at Mora, though he is not upset with her, “I would rather die than to force you to spend another moment with these heathens!”

Her thoughts fly through her head. If her father started war with Sceadu, hundreds would die. She takes another firm step forward. If her father started war with Sceadu, she would have to marry King Irron. The tiny metal teeth from the collar dig into her skin, but do not break through until she steps again. If her father started war with Sceadu, she would never be able to nurture her love of Rick.

The King, seeing blood come from the collar, freezes. It isn’t until Mora defiantly takes yet another step, causing blood to rush freely from her neck and down her chest that he puts his sword away. If her father started war with Sceadu, she might as well be dead. She speaks harshly to him, knowing that it is the only way he will listen, “And I would rather die than to see you waste countless lives from any country on my behalf. That is a foolish notion, most definitely not one worthy of a Derven King.” The blood dripping from her neck seeps into the white fabric of her dress. She feels light headed but refuses to move until her words sink in.

“Namora, please step back,” her father begs. Over her father’s shoulder she can see the stump of the burwood tree; something about it isn’t right. She steps again, the blood now gushing from her neck, to get a better look. Despite feeling faint and knowing that she teeters on the edge of death, her mind frantically grasps at the image of the tree, trying to put the pieces together. She can hear Eric’s loud, impatient steps start for her but he is stopped by the Queen’s voice.

“Shall we negotiate the terms of your daughter’s release, King Nathanial?”

Tears fill his eyes. She can tell that he wants to rush to her, hold her tight; he is proud of his daughter, knowing that she made a selfless decision to force him down the right path. Against his own will, he makes himself walk away from Namora towards the Queen. Only when they begin their discussions does Namora step backwards. She can feel the metal teeth slide back into the collar but her wounds still bleed. She retreats more until she comes to a tree, where she braces herself against the trunk. Unable to focus as the world around her grows hazy, she struggles to put the last pieces in place-then, everything becomes clear–Rick, King Irron, the Sceaduian policy for trespassers and… the burwood tree.

Darkness looms on the edge of her vision; she forces her eyes to remain open. Rick’s quiet, determined footsteps move towards her. She wants to turn to him but it takes all the effort she has just to stand up right. Rick stops when Advisor Laren steps up to the border, bowing deeply in front of the Princess.

“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,” his voice is soft and musical, despite his rough, aged face.

Mora smiles when she hears Laren. His voice shines to her like a torch in the darkness, drawing her back from death’s gate. She doesn’t know how much longer she can stay awake but her well practiced mind quickly arranges the words with the message she wishes to convey. She speaks quietly, finally admitting her love of Rick to her old friend, “In a distant land beyond yonder hill, the hunter returns with his kill. The tiger’s soul, free at last, worries not because the sun casts, over grass and fields turned, broken trees and bridges burned. Her fight was pure and though with pride, the sun rises on mountain top, beams cast undignified. With tiger gone, the tension stirs, between hunter and sun, the fire burns.”Exclusive content from NôvelDrama.Org.

She knows her message is understood when Laren’s face darkens. He opens his mouth to respond but is forced to shut it when the King heads back towards them. Laren kisses his fingers and touches his heart, letting Mora know that he is glad for her happiness. He clenches his hand into a fist over his chest and bows stiffly, saying, without speaking, that he will take care of what needs to be done in Derven.

Upon her father’s approach, she tries to move forward to stand without the aid of the tree but the second she removes her hand, her knees shake and fold beneath her. Gracefully bending her legs, she lets her body sink down to the ground as she is unable to prevent it. She looks towards her father, unable to focus on his face when her eyes blur from the loss of blood. He kneels before her, on the other side of the ribbon. Mora thinks she sees tears stream from his eyes.

“Namora. The wedding is off. To assure your safety, the Queen and I have agreed that you should remain in Sceadu for at least another week to give you a chance to,” he stops before he says fall in love; he covers his words with something else, “to make sure that King Irron won’t do anything reckless. I am afraid that though the Queen and I both feel the same about Irron, you shall have to take another route to end up on the path you must travel down, so we may all rest in peace…” his words confuse Mora. She vaguely recalls their night in the orchard, her father holding on to a box of her mother’s, the anger in his voice; she gets an eerie feeling that her father has been hiding a big secret from her but she can’t focus enough to figure out what. She offers her father one last smile, letting her eyelids droop shut.

She can barely hear King Nathanial’s shaky, panicky voice begging, “Please, don’t let her die.”

Feeling familiar, strong arms wrap around her, Mora goes limp against Rick. Though she is happier than she could have possibly imagined, her heart beat begins to slow. Rick lifts her up, cradling her tight against his chest. Effortlessly, he mounts his horse while holding her. He franticly kicks the beast’s side, spurring it into a swift gallop back towards town.

She drifts in and out of consciousness. Mora can only catch brief flashes of the world as it races by: trees, the horse’s sweat frothing on its neck, Rick’s handsome face wrought with concern, shocked expressions of the townsfolk.

When the movement stops and she feels Rick hold her tight as he leaps off of the horse, she finally forces her eyes to stay open. Though she sees everything, she is slow to comprehend the pictures that come before her. The tavern door is in front of them. He kicks it, walking inside swiftly. His companions rush over to see them, their stunned faces making the other patrons remain seated. They crowd around and follow him up the stairs.

“Is she dead?” Sari gasps.

“No,” Rick says firmly.

“She tried to run?” Daniel asks, not believing the words he speaks.

“No,” he repeats again. Mora’s eyes float down to her dress; the once beautiful, pure white fabric is stained with angry streaks of her blood, so much blood that it surprises her to still be alive.

“Then what happened?” Lucas presses urgently.

Rick makes it to the balcony, walking swiftly towards his bedroom door, the entourage still following. His voice comes out tenderly, “She threatened to kill herself when her father called for war against Sceadu. I have to heal her.”

The group stops when Rick reaches his bedroom door. They seem worried but Mora doesn’t understand why. She thinks it has to do with the story Todd told her but she can’t recall what exactly, through her haziness.

Sari speaks up, “Are you sure you can… stop? What if you get caught up in the hunger? Maybe we should… we could stop you if…”

Rick kicks open his bedroom door, “If I were to get caught up in the hunger, none of you could stop me. If I don’t try, she will be dead.” The door shuts itself behind him.

Even though she can’t process the images from her eyes very well, the sharp smell of the fire and the lingering odor of lavender salve let her know she is now in Rick’s bedroom, a place she thought she wouldn’t ever see again. She feels like she is falling but it is only Rick sitting down on the couch. She feels herself in his lap.

Cradling her head in his arms, he leans in close to her, “Namora,” his voice comes softly into her ears, guiding her away from the edge of darkness.

It takes a while for her understand that she is looking at his face, as the colors of the world have faded to a muted tone. He smiles at her when she does. She can see that his bottom lip is bleeding; he must have bitten it, “I am sorry I acted the way I did when you said you were the Princess.”

He leans forward, pressing his lips against her throat. His touch sends a jolt through her body. Mora can feel his tongue on her skin; her heart starts to quicken back to a normal rate.

He murmurs words into her neck, “I thought you were just another beautiful face until your personality broke through… you began to pluck at the strings of my heart, but… I didn’t think you wanted anything to do with me… when I found out who you were… and engaged to King Irron… I was so wrong for how I treated you.”