The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

Following them across the boardwalk, Lucas laughs. He places his hands on the door knobs to the tavern and smiles regretfully before opening the door, “I don’t think you’ll be able to.”

The tavern doors swing wide open, revealing a bustling crowd. Dozens of people at tables, walking around and on stage stop moving when they see Rick. Collectively, they turn to him and bow. Flabbergasted, Rick leads Mora inside. They walk barely through the doors before the questions start.

“Is it true, Prince Varickan, are we going to war with Alumenia?”

“Will any of the other countries help us?”

“We need to train, will you help us your highness?”

Stunned, Rick lets go of Mora’s hand. He slowly reaches up to touch his head, realizing the crown is still on it. He takes it off, holding it in his hands like it is a magical object he has never seen before. He turns his back to the crowd, coming close to Mora.

“I want you…” he whispers so only she can hear. His voice is full of wanton and regret.

She can’t help but smile. She reaches out, her own hands stroking his before she takes his crown. “You have me.”

She looks at the people waiting eagerly for his help; Sceadu once again has a Prince. Mora swiftly trots up the stairs, a sense of relief washes over her when she walks into Rick’s bedroom. It has become like a second home to her and she feels comfortable there. She changes quickly, grabbing her gloves on the way out, in a hurry to get back to the excitement downstairs. By the time she rejoins her friends, everything is in full swing.

Lucas and Daniel are standing separately, each with clusters of townsfolk around them. Daniel shows an old man how to hold onto a spear, demonstrating where to put your feet before throwing. Lucas wraps a young boy’s hand around a sword, showing him how to stand just like he showed Mora her first night in the tavern.

Rick gives her a small grin; he is up on stage directing a younger man on how to attack James, who waits patiently on the other side.

Near the door, Sari talks to the small handful of women who were brave enough to come into the tavern. All of the women look uneasy and rather small compared to her but they give her their undivided attention. Sari looks annoyed but dignified as if all of her hard work leading up to this day is finally acknowledged and justified.

Mora weaves her way among the crowd. As the tavern is almost full to the brim, she has to take a long indirect route to get to the bar, where Todd struggles to keep glasses full. He spots her and by the time she reaches him, he has a glass of wine waiting for her.

“Would you like something to eat, Mora?” he asks politely, though it is obvious that he is stressed.NôvelDrama.Org holds text © rights.

She smiles, “Your cooking is wonderful Todd but I think that you have more important things to do than to tend to me.” Not only does she not want to be a bother, she doesn’t feel hungry. Mora can’t tell if it is all the excitement or the wine that has caused her lack of appetite; she thinks it must be the excitement.

He nods before he rushes off to the backroom for more beer. Mora turns around, resting her back against the bar while she takes in all of the action, sipping her wine slowly. She has never before been a part of a war, let alone the cause of one. The closest thing she has to compare it to is the Huntress Festival; all of the women who have been through it no longer worry but each year the new girls that join them are excited and terrified all at the same time. Though the people of Sceadu are tough and trained, the air has a smell of apprehension in it.

She looks up when the door opens and sees John, Eric and Dell walk through, all clad in regular clothing. Mora can’t help but smile at how odd they look dressed as normal people; they remind her of the first time she saw Rick and how his clothing seemed too tight. She figures they must have come to help with the training or at least Eric used that as an excuse to come talk to her, knowing he is probably upset that she ignored him in the Meadow. Mora doesn’t really want to talk to him because she’s afraid she will do nothing more than hurt his feelings; after seeing those women fawn over Rick, she knows how Eric must feel about her. Despite her reservations, she finishes her glass and leaves the bar to greet them.

Mora has noticed that her time in Sceadu has caused her inner anger to roam freely in her body. Though she still values the peace that all Derven hold dear, her temper remains unchecked which is dangerous because her anger is the first thing to react before her mind has time to reevaluate the situation.

Weaving her way around the overly full tables, she is forced to pass by one with a particularly loud, drunk group of men. One of them makes the mistake of reaching out and slapping her on the backside, calling rudely to her, “Bring us some more beer, wench!”

Her anger is quick to respond before she has a chance to consider his ignorance is due to his intoxication. Though all in the bar hear his shout, it isn’t until Mora grabs his arm, twists it behind his back and slams his head into the table that everyone stops what they are doing to watch. She can feel her face growing hot, irritated that he would consider treating any woman like that.

Her pleasant voice comes out with a growl, like velvet when rubbed the wrong way, “In Sceadu, a tavern is where you go to get into a fight and happen to get drunk. Since you seem to already be drunk, perhaps you would like a fight instead?”

She waits patiently for an answer but doesn’t get one. Mora looks up at his companions; the whole table looks completely dumbfounded at the idea that a woman like her has their friend pinned. Their shock only deepens her irritation.

She twists his arm a little more causing him to scream in pain, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard your answer?”

“No–no fight. I’m sorry, ma’am, that I touched your… rear,” he cries out, almost in tears.

“Very well then,” she lets go of his arm, feeling slightly bad that she hurt him over something so stupid.

“That’s my Princess!” Sari hoots from across the bar. Her words of encouragement cause Mora to smile, flustered. She turns away from the man and gives Sari a slight bow of thanks. When she rises, she sees that the Wardens have made their way across the room and now stand next to her near the rowdy table. Eric’s sincere smile hits her with a pang of guilt. She freely looks him over, trying to come up with something to say. He is cleanly shaven, freshly groomed hair brushed back. Without his stubble, if one could ignore the sheer massiveness of his body, he appears soft and kind despite the scar on his face.

His green eyes wander over her; sensing her apprehension, he speaks first, “How about a fight? I’m obviously more your type then he is,” he continues to smile as he points over to the injured man. The drunk table bursts out in laughter. Eric, who stands more than a foot over Mora and is probably three times as wide, seems like a formidable foe. He is undoubtedly the largest man in the bar, his size even making Rick seem small.

She smiles at him, thankful for his lighthearted attitude. From the corner of her eye she sees Rick looking over at them from on stage. When she wonders if the expression on his face is concern or jealousy, she drops her head, removing her eyes from Eric’s. She doesn’t ever want to give Rick another reason to doubt her faithfulness.

Speaking to the floor, she says it louder than she intends, “Don’t you know, Warden Eric, you’re only supposed to pick on people your own size?” Despite the fact that the table of men behind her want to see her lose, they laugh at her comment.

He reaches out, lifting her chin gently. She feels malfeasance by the familiarity of his touch, knowing that Rick is watching; but Eric, the first man to touch her in a loving way, ignores the stares, “Yes, but you don’t know that, Princess. Besides, I need to assure myself that I beat you last time because I could, not because you were injured.”

Mora pulls away from his touch, saddened to see the hurt look on Eric’s face. She pulls her gloves from her pocket, rubbing the soft leather between her fingers. Though confused at first, the group of men behind her start to connect the dots; they shift nervously, whispering amongst themselves.