The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

Sitting still, Namora’s leg doesn’t hurt as much. Though her eyes burn from lack of rest and her body aches from fighting so hard, her ears are as keen as always. At first she thinks it is coming from her chest but she realizes the irregular breathing is coming from Eric. She can hear his rough hands scrape together as he wrings them nervously in his lap. To her relief, she also hears footsteps coming down the hall. A few seconds later, Eric hears them too. He helps Namora to her feet and a few steps away from the bench; she sways painfully, trying to keep off of her injured leg. He makes sure she is balanced before he lets go.

“Remember,” he whispers, “that you are supposed to be a servant, not a Princess. Don’t make eye contact and bow when introduced.”

The door opens. Before she has a chance to look at anyone, Namora balances her weight on her right leg and leans her torso forward. From their feet, she can tell that Wardens John and Dell enter first. Behind them, she sees the flowing hem of the Queen’s skirt, followed by a pair of well worn leather boots. The door slams shut.

She feels Eric nudge her with his elbow; unsure of his signal, it takes her a while to realize that he means for her to stand. She draws her shoulders back first as if a string attached to her neck pulled her up. Her chin remains lowered to her chest and she keeps her eyes on the ground. Though she can’t distinguish much of his face from her periphery, she guesses he is around her age; he is dressed plainly in brown suede pants, tucked into his boots, and a deep green shirt. His clothes appear to be snug on him-not because he is over fed, but because he is too muscular for his own good.

It takes a lot of effort to look at the floor and she only does so with great difficulty. Her father always taught her that she must look people in the eye, so that they know she speaks true. Few of the attendants in the castle ever look her in the eye but they do so out of respect; she wonders if it is as hard for them as it is for her.

She sees Master Rickan’s boots walk in her direction. Eric slowly moves away from her, his place taken by Rickan. When he circles her, looking her over she finds that his step is light and quiet; something she didn’t expect for a man so thick.

He stops in front of her; she can feel his eyes wandering over her face, “What is your name, servant?” The voice that is directed to her is different than what she expected; he speaks firmly but with kindness. She finds that it isn’t at all unpleasant, yet he reminds her of an ominous cloud on an otherwise beautiful day.

She inhales deeply through her mouth, taking care to remove the usual authority from her voice before she speaks, “It is… Mora.” She doesn’t want to use the name a few of her friends call her but it seems inappropriate for someone other than her father to call her Namora without ‘Princess’ in front of it. She can see Eric shifting nervously and she quickly corrects herself, “My name is Mora, Sir.” To her ears, her voice sounds tiny and feeble and it makes her mad.

Master Rickan doesn’t respond right away, as if he was expecting more of an answer from her. After a while with his eyes still burning into her forehead, Namora feels an odd sensation inside-as if her fire is quickly snuffed out-when he speaks with tenderness to her, in a very personal sort of tone, “Very well then, Mora.” He clears his throat, raising the volume of his voice, “It appears that you are indentured to me for-a week, is that right, your Majesty?”

Queen Sheynne’s voice has a smug quality to it that wasn’t there before. It is as if she got something that she wanted, “Yes. In one week, Master Rickan, I will need you to accompany her to the eastern border, near the public road.”

He turns around and walks away from her; his voice is now flat, “Fine. Come along then,” he says to Mora. She can see his boots and the wisp of the Queen’s dress leave the room.

Mora breathes deeply, stretching her neck from side to side. She starts to move forward, trying her best to follow but doesn’t make it more than a few steps before she is forced to stop and lean against the door frame. Eric walks to her; bending at the middle he puts his shoulder into her stomach and lifts her over him like a sack of flour. While she finds herself getting irritated at being treated like property, she knows that he only has the purest intentions so she doesn’t object. She hangs limply over him and tests out her old voice, making sure it still works, “Thank you Warden.” It is firm and strong.

Mora can’t distinguish much of the castle other than the well worn stones beneath Eric’s feet. The rest is all upside-down. Eric’s arm presses against her wound; she must have winced because she hears Dell’s voice behind them, “Careful of her leg, Eric,” he whispers.

When she lifts her head up to see him, he quickly wipes the worry off of his face and tries to sneer at her. She suppresses a smile; he must have gotten over her trying to kill him. Walking quickly next to him she sees John also has a faint look of concern. “You should tell Master Rickan about it, maybe he could give her something for the pain?” he quietly joins in.

The walk is long and though Eric tries to be careful, he bumps her knee a few more times. She can’t hear the Queen and Rickan talking anymore; Sheynne must have separated from their group to go back to her normal life. The air begins to warm slightly as they ascend in the castle and she can faintly see the halls getting brighter. Before long, they are at a set of huge wooden doors just outside the castle walls. There is a pair of horses waiting, tethered to posts. When Eric sets her down, she is able to breathe easier without his shoulder in her gut but he doesn’t wait for her to take a full breath before his large hands clasp around her waist and he lifts her up onto the horse. Caught off guard, she feels her cheeks grow red; she has been touched more times by a man in the past day than she has in her whole life. He tenderly helps her get her injured leg onto the other side of the saddle; the whole time Mora takes care to not let the pain show in her face and to keep her eyes down.

Even so, she can see Master Rickan looking at Eric. His voice comes out harsher than before, but she wonders if it is because of the way Eric handled her, “She isn’t useless, is she, Warden?”Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

Mora can see Eric’s jaw tense with anger at the comment. She, too, doesn’t appreciate the idea of someone considering her useless but for some reason she isn’t boiling over with fury. Eric turns to Rickan, restraining his voice well, “No, Master Rickan. During her capture she was bitten by a borderwolf. I drained her of the poison, but she has quite a wound on her leg,” he says somewhat smugly, as if to take credit for saving her life.

“A borderwolf?” Rickan’s eyes are now on her, but she keeps hers focused on the coarse, black mane of the animal beneath her, “However did she manage that? They don’t normally bite anything.”

“Well, let me tell you, she killed that wolf,” John boasts on her behalf; she sees him sway almost proudly when he says it, as if he had a part invested in Mora.

“And she almost killed me,” Dell adds, voice growly but none the less he shows off his wound as if he got it in war.

Mora doesn’t feed into their conversation but instead continues to keep her gaze down. Almost as if he is touching her, she knows Rickan is reevaluating her carefully. She sees Eric lock the end of her chains onto a metal ring that is attached to the saddle. He turns away from her and hands the reins of her horse to Rickan.

“She sounds like a handful,” his voice says, somewhat excitedly, like she will be a challenge for him.

“She was, until we beat it out of her,” Eric all but growls. He turns to Mora and catches her eyes, “Isn’t that right, darling?” One of his green orbs winks at her.

“Yes, sir,” she mumbles, catching his hint.

AT FIRST SIGHT

With the reins of her horse in his hands, Master Rickan rides a few paces in front of her, allowing her to carefully look at her surroundings. The Queen’s castle sits on top of a hill with its back to the northern mountains. From its mouth is a wide cobblestone road that leads down the hill towards a small and dreary town off in the distance.

Though the brightness of the sky would suggest it is only early morning, Mora guesses that it must be near noon. She looks up to see the sun lying hidden behind menacing looking clouds. When her gaze drops to the bleak, wilted conditions of the plant life surrounding the road, she has a feeling that it has been a long, long time since sunlight directly touched the depressing country.

When they are about half way between the castle and the town, Master Rickan slows his horse down so that it trots next to hers. Mora’s eyes snap back from the surrounding landscape to the animal’s mane. Her back is rigid with proper posture but she isn’t able to slouch because it puts tension on her knee. Even with her chin down to her chest, she can feel that he is watching her.

Their horses walk on, the pair remaining in the awkward position for several moments. Mora can feel her heart start to quicken and her cheeks begin to blush when his stare never waivers; no one other than King Irron has ever spent so much time blatantly looking at her.

“I hope they didn’t hurt you too badly. Wardens tend to be a rough bunch,” his voice is soft, with that same tender, personal note in it.