The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

LOSS

“You’re the Princess?”Content © NôvelDrama.Org.

“It’s your fault we’re at war!”

“Shut it, Steven, I heard she stabbed King Irron!”

“What?! Stabbed him?”

“Where did you learn to fight like that?”

“Is Derven going to help us?”

Mora holds out her hands for them to stop. She takes a deep breath, calming herself as they grow quiet. When she speaks, she speaks softly so that they are forced to pay attention in order to hear her, “Good people of Sceadu, it is true, I am Princess Namora. While it has been an unfortunate chain of events that has led up to this war, believe me in saying that I was not the catalyst but a mere pawn in King Irron’s game. I wish for no harm to come to anyone. As I am a… refugee… in your country, I have limited knowledge of what goes on in my homeland. Whether or not Derven will join you I do not know but you have my word that I will fight alongside of you.”

“Did you really stab King Irron?”

“No,” she smiles, picking up her wine glass and taking another sip, “I didn’t stab him. I threw a knife at him. It was only fair, after all.”

“Why is that?”

“He tried to kill me first.”

The crowd’s growing faith in the Princess allows them to chuckle a bit. After a few more murmurs, a woman speaks up, “Can all of the Derven fight like you? I don’t think we stand a chance alone.”

“Yes, all of the Derven citizens can fight like me but there isn’t any reason to worry,” Mora raises her voice, “Each and every one of you-both men and women-are completely capable of defending yourselves. You just have to believe, deep down, that you will prevail.”

Thinking that she is just trying to flatter them, she sees a few rolled eyes and hands thrown up in disbelief. Carefully, she sets her glass down before she hops off of the stool. As she trots to the stage, she keeps the crowd’s attention by feeding their curiosity. Once there, she looks at Rick and points to a stuffed dummy, motioning for him to bring it to her. Mora is forced to raise her voice over the loud crowd, “I will prove it to you. Who is the worst fighter in this bar?”

After some negotiation, someone shoves a man up to the stage. Mora instantly recognizes it as the man whose head she slammed into a table earlier. Still drunk, he climbs up the steps, defensively yelling at the crowd, “Back off now, I’m not that bad!”

Mora curses her luck, hoping that she can be as good of a teacher as Laren was to her. She hands the man a dagger, “What’s your name?”

“Bryan,” he spits out, taking the dagger.

“Right, Bryan, show us what you’ve got. Kill that man,” she points over to the dummy.

He pulls up his pants a little, swaying confidently. Standing up straight, he faces the dummy; with a great grunt throws the dagger with all of his strength, almost toppling over in the process. It sticks, somewhat crookedly, in the dummy’s forehead. Bryan throws up his arms in celebration and the men from his table start shouting praise.

Mora waits, arms crossed over chest, for the group to calm down. When they do, she looks at Bryan, “That was impressive. I’m sure when we come across an army made of linen and straw, you will be a great benefit. Until then, maybe you should remember that a man’s head,” she raps his knuckles on his forehead, “is made from bone and most likely covered with a metal helmet.”

He shrinks a little at her insult. She looks at the dummy, thinking carefully as to what she could do to it to mimic the actual consistency of flesh. Seeing Rick watching her, she walks to him and takes his hand. He looks at her apprehensively, not wanting to replace the dummy but reluctantly he lets her lead him over to the wall. She stands him there, pressing her hands into his chest to push him up against a bare spot.

He can’t help himself and grins at her. She rolls her eyes, wandering off to find something else. Finally, she grabs some of the chalk the men use to dry their hands with. Mora drags over a stool so she can trace around Rick’s head and shoulders. He speaks softly to her while she is at work, “You could own your own tavern and train men to fight.”

She pauses, blushing as she leans her forehead against his, smiling slyly, “I’d rather just be a tavern owner’s wife.”

Rick leans forward and gives her a quick peck on the lips. She takes her time tracing around his arms and legs, letting her face return to its normal color. When she is done, she lets Rick go. Focusing on the task at hand, she grabs the knife out of the dummy’s head and shoves it aside before returning to Bryan.

When he looks at her like she is dumb, she slaps the hilt of the knife back into his hand, pointing to the Rick outline, “That wall is closer to the hardness of bone, make it stick-preferably not in his head.”

Bryan takes the knife, drawing out his preparation as before. He pulls his arm back and heaves it as hard as he can. With a loud pang, the knife bounces off of the wall. The whole tavern erupts in laughter. Seeing his shoulders slump in disappointment, Mora drags over a crate with dozens of daggers. Before she can give him any instruction he hastily grabs five out of the box. Now angry, he tries, one after another, to stick them into the wall without a single success. Each failure makes the bar roar louder. Bryan grows redder and redder, now sweating from exertion. He looks at her, furious that she has succeeded in making a fool out of him twice in the same night.

He turns around trying to yell at those laughing at him. He points at Mora and shouts, “Shut it! I bet this woman couldn’t even do it if she tried!”

“I could do it blindfolded Bryan, but trying to knock me down isn’t going to help you any,” she reaches out and touches his shoulder, trying to calm him down. He pulls back, her words having the opposite effect.

“Prove it then!” Leaning over the edge of the stage, he pulls a scarf off of a nearby woman’s shoulders. With some effort he scrambles back to his feet, shoving it at Mora. The crowd, now rowdy and unfocused calls for her to try. Looking out over them, she sees Dell, John and Eric egging them on. Though she gives them a scolding look, Dell just shrugs and keeps shouting with the rest of the people.

Mora looks at Rick for help. He walks over to her, smiling. Taking the scarf out of her hands, he replaces it with half a dozen daggers, reaching up to squeeze her shoulder as encouragement, “They aren’t going to pay attention to you until you recapture their interest,” he says quietly. Walking behind her, he ties the scarf over her eyes. Mora feels herself grow irritated that she is trying to help these people but they are too caught up in the spectacle to pay attention.

“Fine,” she huffs to Rick, “Move the dummy back in front of the wall.”

Though her feet, she feels his soft footsteps walk away before he drags the dummy across the stage. She can tell where he stops with it through the vibrations in the wood. She turns herself around, ready to throw when she feels Rick’s hands on her shoulder, stopping her.

“Listen up!” He shouts to the crowd, instantly quieting them, “While this beautiful, slender, young woman-” the men hoot in agreement but stop when he scowls at them, “while she might not seem like much, I have seen firsthand what she can do. It would be wise for you to mind her, lest you end up like that dummy.” He leans in, lips brushing her cheek before he whispers into her ear, “Hold on.”

She has no idea what he means until he spins her in a circle several times, catching her off guard. He stops when she starts swaying, unsure of her footing and now completely confused as to which direction she faces. The crowd falls silent; her heart pounds so hard, she can’t even hear them breathing. She has no clue what she is facing; tense with alertness, she waits patiently for a sign, hoping that Rick will move away from her or someone will shout out so that she knows which way to turn.

Bryan’s arrogant voice gives it to her, “What did I tell you, this stupid-”

As soon as the words leave his mouth Mora turns quickly until he is on her right side, letting loose the first dagger. When she hears a thunk and no one scream, she knows she is pointed in the right direction. Exhaling all of the air from her lungs, she repeats her movement over and over, willing each dagger to find its mark without her guidance. All six are finally gone. The room remains quiet. She feels Rick move on her left; he unties her blindfold. Giving her eyes a moment to adjust to the light, she sees that not only did she successfully hit the dummy six times in the chest but her knives tore through him only to stop when they buried the blades into the wall. Satisfied, she secretly thanks Laren for patiently teaching her day after day. She turns to Bryan.

“Now that I’ve got your full attention, perhaps you’ll listen to me. Never face your foe square on, instead you must turn so that your dominant arm is the furthest away from him.”

Bryan closes his mouth. He nods with understanding and does as she says.

“Good. Your feet need to be shoulder width apart so that you can balance your body,” she slaps a dagger into his hand, “and never, ever give all that you have to one throw.”

“Why?” he asks curiously, taking the dagger.

“Because if you do, you won’t have enough for the next. Relax and throw hard, but like you are throwing a rock through glass.”

Bryan relaxes his shoulders, rolling them backwards. He looks at the silhouette, body turned away. Drawing up his arm, he throws the knife like a ball. It bounces off of the wall. He throws his arms up in anger.

“Are you married?”

“Why, are you offering?” He replies snidely.

Mora steps closer so that no one but Bryan can hear her, “Do you love her?”

“Yes,” he’s offended by her comment.