The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

Dell signs a groan of relief. The man continues to tighten his fist, squeezing her wrist close to the point of breaking. When she can’t stand it any longer, she is forced to let the dagger go. It falls to the ground, sticking up right in the dirt. He then twists her arm behind her back and in between her shoulder blades, successfully disabling her one free hand. The smaller man snickers as he walks up to her, untangling the chain from Dell’s throat.

The man she can’t see takes the free end of the shackle; pulling her other arm behind her back he snaps it down on her right wrist. Holding onto the chains he pushes her forward so suddenly she falls easily to her knees, grimacing at the pain her left one sends through her body. She leans backwards to rest her weight on her heels, now sitting behind Dell and the skinny man. Namora can see the slow rise and fall of Franklin’s back just beyond them.

Dell manages to get up with the skinny man’s help. She knows that he will live; despite her forcefulness, at the most she just cut his skin and maybe fractured a rib. His throat will be sore in the morning. When he is finally on his feet, the first thing he does is pull his arm back and swing forcefully, punching the other man right in the face.

“That wasn’t even funny, John, that wench could have killed me!” He yells hoarsely.

John grabs his nose in pain, howling, “Eric was there the whole time! Besides, are you saying you’re afraid of a little girl?! Coward!”

“Enough!” roars the one called Eric. He walks from behind Namora and in between the other two, shoving them off of each other. She can see that he is older than them; a wicked looking scar mars what would otherwise be a handsome face. With his unshaven, dark stubble speckled with white hair matching that on his head, he reminds her of a cross between Franklin and King Irron but his eyes aren’t a dark void. She thinks they might be green but it is hard to tell in the moonlight.

He looks over Namora, his face isn’t angry and he doesn’t smile. When he speaks, his voice comes out flatly, simply stating the facts, “Whether or not you knew it, you are trespassing in the land of Sceadu. We do not allow anyone to cross our borders without permission.” She gets the distinct impression that he is unhappy about the information he delivers.

Still, she glares at him, “So you just plan to kill us off without even bothering to ask who we are?”

John sneers at her, “You’re not Sceaduian, so yea, pretty much. The punishment for any man caught trespassing in Sceadu is death.” He lets go of his bleeding nose and steps over the almost dead fire; he picks up his sword and repositions it on the back of the unconscious Franklin’s neck.

“And the punishment for a woman?” Namora says quickly, trying to stall him while she figures out a way to keep Franklin from being killed.

“You will be sold into slavery in town.” John clears his throat, fake pounding on his chest as if something is stuck there, “Excuse me, I meant to say you will be sold as an ‘indentured servant’ to pay off your fines for trespassing.” He smiles somewhat evilly, picking up his sword. He enjoys his job too much.

“I just might have to bid on you myself, I do like your spirit.” Eric mumbles. When Namora pulls her eyes away from Franklin, she finds him looking her over. She finds herself enraged at the wanton look in his eyes; it is disrespectful to any woman, especially a Princess. That is when it dawns on her that they don’t realize what they walked into.

As John lifts his sword up with both hands, Namora shouts sternly to catch his attention, “And this is how the country of Sceadu honors its royal guests?” When she knows they all heard her, she lets her voice settle down to a talking level, “A very unwise decision, if you ask me.”

John’s arms continue to hover, sword in hand, at shoulder level. He rips his eyes off of Franklin’s neck and turns them to Namora. Her face, the blank face of a Princess, hides the relief that she might have staved off her friend’s death. His eyes quickly turn from her to Dell and then to Eric.

She waits patiently until she can see all three of them looking at her with their full attention, before she continues speaking. “If you would have even bothered to stop and think before you acted, you wouldn’t find yourselves in such a precarious position right now. If you had taken the time to even notice whom you were attacking, you would have seen the royal crest of Derven on the side of my carriage.”

She inclines her head towards the door; singed in the beautiful wood is her family’s crest, a genderless body with its hands folded in front of it and instead of feet, the torso branches out into roots. She exhales somewhat relieved when John sheathes his sword and leaves Franklin to go to her carriage. The other two join him; Dell pulls open the door. Even in the dim fire light, Namora can see her crown perched delicately on its pillow.

“Oh hell,” Dell says for the three of them.

“We could just kill them both… pretend that Alumenians did it…” John whispers to Eric. He doesn’t sound convinced but offers up the idea anyways.

Namora twists her body until she is in a standing position, clenching her teeth together against the pain. She forces herself to limp quietly towards them; when she is a foot away, she breathes out slowly, drawing up her posture to be straight and commanding despite her wound and her shackled arms. “That is quite a clever idea, John,” her voice rings out calmly. The three of them jump at the nearness of her; they turn, John drawing his sword back out and pointing it at her. She pauses, letting their nerves sink in before she continues, “And it would, perhaps, be a successful plan… if I weren’t due to be married to the King of Alumenia in four days.”

“Horseshit,” spits out Dell.

Eric jams an elbow in his ribs as repercussion for his foulness. Namora raises an eyebrow at the two. She turns her shoulders away from them. She has to lean down, almost bowing, so that they can see her hands, “No, I am afraid that it is not ‘horseshit.'”

Eric roughly grabs her hands, pulling them up slightly. When his calloused fingers touch her skin, she feels her anger start to boil again. She knows when his face appears slightly paler than before, he has seen her wedding ring. He looks at John and Dell, nodding solemnly.

John sheathes his sword once more, his frame deflating a little. When Eric lets her hands go she draws herself upright again, tilting her chin up so that she has to look down at them. She can tell that she now makes them uncomfortable.

“Well we can’t just let you go,” John says to her, crossing his arms over his chest, “the Queen would kill us.”

An odd thought crosses her mind; under no normal circumstances, would she be in the woods with four men and shackled. Her life has taken an unexpected turn but this road leads her away from both Derven and Alumenia. Keeping her voice even, she speaks quietly, “Then I demand that you take both me and my escort-alive-to your Queen,” when no one objects, she continues, “You shall also bring my carriage and the body of the guard that you murdered as well.”

The three look at each other, confused, “Why do you want a dead man’s body?”

She gets a brief vision of Tamera at home, crying her eyes out. In her grief, she will have nothing to mourn over, no grave to visit. Selfishly, she wishes there was someone who would cry over her grave; her voice comes out small, “He needs a proper burial.”

John reluctantly sulks off into the night to collect the remains of Officer Gregory. Dell walks away from Namora and Eric. He kicks some dirt over the remaining coals in the fire, then grabs the back part of Franklin’s pants, lifting up his lifeless body like a heavy bag. He heaves her guard over the back of a horse, stomach down, strapping his hands and feet to the stirrups.

She looks from Franklin to Eric and does not recognize the expression on his face. Regret? Want? Desire? Her eyes narrow, angry at him for thinking about her in such a disregard. His expression quickly fades. She wonders how he thinks she would act. He reaches forward, hand between her shoulder blades and shoves her towards another of the horses. Not expecting it, she throws her left foot out in front of her to catch herself from falling. When Namora puts weight on her injured leg, the pain rips through her body. She cries out in agony. Her knee gives way and she crashes into the ground.

Dell looks at Eric, “What the hell did you do?”

Eric looks down at Namora, just as confused as Dell, “You are injured?”

She forces herself to open her eyes. Shards of white creep in on her vision. She tries to fight them off; through clenched teeth she manages to answer him, “One of your filthy, mongrel dogs bit me.” The words spit out of her mouth as she breathes in and out quickly, trying to control the pain.

Eric crouches down next to her. Without hesitation, he starts pulling up the edge of her skirt, “Where?”

Namora’s anger flares, pushing back the white from her eyes. His uninvited hand reminds her of King Irron. She swings her good leg, kicking his out from under him, knocking him onto his ass. She screams, “Do not touch me!”

Dell kneels down, putting his hands on her waist and pushing her body into the ground. She squirms despite the pain, trying to get away from him. Eric sits up quickly; he pins her ankles by putting his knee on them while he slowly slides her dress up.Content © NôvelDrama.Org 2024.

He speaks firmly, devoid of emotion to assure her that he doesn’t mean to violate her privacy, “Those dogs are borderwolves. Their bite is poisonous. If their venom has not yet spread, I must suck it out of your wound.”

Namora stops fighting when she hears him. Her legs twitch at his touch. She continues to throb with rage, not liking the control they exert over her body. She responds with a tiny but angry voice, “Or what?”

“Or you will die.” He slides her dress up just past her knee. When he spots the wound he pulls his hands away from her, taking his weight back off her ankles. Dell lets go of her waist. She feels bare, somewhat embarrassed lying there with her calves exposed but she doesn’t kick or scream or move. The pain pulsing in her leg makes her believe Eric’s words. He looks to Dell and nods. Dell sits down and grabs her shoulders, pulling her towards him. She clenches her teeth, coping with the weird feeling of her back against a man’s chest. He wraps one arm around her waist, the other around her shoulders and holds her tight, almost hugging her.

She sees John, dragging the body of Gregory behind him. When he sees them, he quickly lets go and runs over. His eyes scan Namora’s bare legs-she feels her cheeks blush. He drops down to his knees to get a closer look; she tries hard not to kick him.

He leans back on his heels, looking at Eric. “That is not good,” he says in a panicky tone.

Eric nods and points at Namora’s ankles. John scoots down to her feet, facing her; he wraps a hand around each one of her ankles. She can’t feel his touch through her boots but her heart thumps faster as she is immobilized. Even though she knows they are trying to help her, it takes a lot of effort for her to not fight against them; never before Irron has a man touched her bare skin, let alone three men at the same time. She wonders if this is what an injured animal feels like.

Eric looks her in the eyes. His face is full of worry that he won’t be able to save her; misguided worry, she thinks, since he was the one who chained her in the first place. “This will hurt,” he says.

Her heart pounds, the anger boiling in her stomach. She doesn’t respond to him, she just clenches her eyes shut.

The flaring pain in her leg is nothing compared to the pain of Eric sucking the venom from her wound. At first she is thankful for the pain because it draws her attention away from the feel of his hands on her exposed skin. His rough stubble scratches her leg. Soon she can feel his teeth biting down on her wound, around the punctures to make them bleed. Though she tries at first not to scream, after a while she cannot help it. Behind her closed teeth, the growl that grows in her throat escapes into a wail. She feels Eric withdraw. Through her throbbing head she hears him spit. She breathes raggedly, throat hoarse from crying out. When his lips come into contact with her skin again, her second scream is so violent and sudden that it makes Dell jump. She can feel the pressure of her restrainers relax when Eric withdraws a second time.

“Is it done?” John asks quietly.

“Yes, her blood tastes clean,” Eric replies. Her eyes flutter open. She doesn’t want to know how he would know the difference between clean and poisoned blood. Eric quickly licks the blood off of her lips; she can see that his eyes are green now, they almost shine bright in the moon light.

Dell and John let her go. She slumps to her side, laying in agony on the ground. She doesn’t move or even try to talk. The burning in her leg is gone but in its wake it left a horrible throbbing pulse through her body. She feels weak, drained and helpless. When Eric lifts her up and throws her over his shoulder, she doesn’t resist.

They try to put her on a horse but she doesn’t have the strength to hold herself up. They don’t trust her to ride in the carriage despite her completely lack of energy; they have finally learned not to underestimate her. She can hear them banter hastily, deciding that tying her to a horse like they did to Franklin is un-lady like. In the end, despite her objections, she sits with her back against Eric’s chest, his arms wrapped around her. Though she disapproves of his close proximity and the casual way he rests his chin on her head, the warmth of his body penetrates into hers, keeping her warm while they make their way to the Sceaduian castle.