The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

“All of the women wear hunting dresses to the Festival,” Irving says, easily picking up their train of thought, “it would only be proper for you to have one as well. Do you still intend on hosting the next Festival in the woods near the western village?” He asks Mora.

“Yes,” she says, sipping her wine, “we will have to find Sari a hunting party.”

“Perhaps she can join ours,” Amyee says softly, “I think that Talia will probably want to hunt with her mother and sisters next time.”

Mora nods, “All right. Sari, would you like to join our hunting party at the next Festival?”

Sari’s brow crinkles, “You want me to hunt with you?”

Glancing at Franklin, Mora raises a brow. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, before speaking softly, “Women cannot entertain proposals of marriage before killing their first brush tiger.”

Her eyes grow wide, her face snapping to him, “Marriage! Now wait just a damn minute-”

Franklin cuts her off, “If you remain in Derven, perhaps sometime in the future you will want to find yourself a husband. An invitation to hunt with the Head Huntress is rare-not to mention that she is also the Queen. You could not ask for a better mentor in such a fashion.”

Clenching her jaw tight, she stares down at her plate.

Mora speaks softly, drawing the woman’s eyes, “It is merely an offer, Sari-you can choose to decline and there will be no hard feelings. I know that you never felt accepted in Sceadu but here you would fit in better. You are more than welcome to live here, should you choose.” She pauses a moment, before continuing, meeting the gaze of Lucas, Eric and finally Rick, “All of you are welcome to live here.”

Tearing her eyes off of Rick, she reaches forward and plucks a roll from the platter. Bringing it up to her lips she bites it carefully and chews. Amyee lets out a startled cry, quickly muffling it; she reaches out and her hand finds Mora’s, fingers wrapping around it. They exchange a solemn glance. Though those from Sceadu glance at each other confused, Franklin and Irving understand the gesture fully.

“What are your plans for this afternoon, my Lady?” Franklin asks after she finishes the roll.

“Irving and I will be training, in Laren’s office.”

“Oh,” he says, his brows crinkling, “really?”

She nods, Irving looking at her questioningly, “Training-to fight? Laren taught me when he arrived.”

“Well, he believes you need a refresher course,” her gaze briefly flickers at Rick, “in case you are attacked in the future.”

“We would be glad to help you,” Eric offers; Sari and Lucas nod eagerly. Rick glances up from his plate and catches Mora’s eyes; he slowly inclines his head in agreement.

“That would hardly be proper,” she starts, “in Derven combat training is a very private affair. Generally it only involves a trainer and the trainee.”

“Except for the guards, we train together regularly,” Franklin points out, “twice a week.”

“I think it would be an excellent idea,” Irving says, flashing a wry smile at Mora when she gives him a perturbed look. He continues, “If I may be honest, Namora?”Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

“Because you haven’t been so far?” She quips.

He laughs, “I would think it to be beneficial to get some pointers from those in Sceadu-their fighting style is substantially different, from my understanding; while I have the utmost confidence in your abilities, my Lady, I believe that they are more used to close, personal fights. I think that it could only improve your teachings if you show me how to adapt to a technique I might not know.”

“He makes a very good point,” Franklin says. “My afternoon is clear-I would like to learn as well. Anything new we could teach our guards could only enhance their abilities.”

A soft frown mars Mora’s lips; she glances to Amyee who only offers a shrug. “Fine,” she replies, “best eat up, you’ll need your energy.”

Laren’s office is comprised of two rooms; the first is a smaller actual office containing a desk, chairs, several cabinets and bookshelves holding various materials dedicated to the art of war, espionage, fighting techniques, accounts of past battles and the like. The second room is far larger; instead of the dark wooden floor that is spread throughout the castle, it is covered in a grey padded carpet, offering some give but still firm. Along one wall is a small rack containing a few weapons-swords, both long and short, spears and several bamboo staffs. Unlike Rick’s tavern, there isn’t an abundance of choice in weapon.

Those from Sceadu examine the weapons curiously, taking the swords into their hands and commenting on how light they are; Lucas is the one who points out the lack of variety, “I would have thought the Advisor of War would have more weapons to teach with.”

Franklin stands against the far wall with his arms crossed over his chest, “We are taught to fight with whatever is on hand, though we train with these ones because they are what the guard usually carries.”

When Mora grabs a bamboo staff, Sari eyes her, “You are going to fight-in a dress?”

Mora glances at Amyee and the pair laugh; Irving joins Franklin against the wall and the two chuckle. Mora tosses Amyee a staff, much to her friend’s surprise, before she replies, “The women of Derven only wear pants when we are hunting in the woods during the Festival, otherwise we wear dresses. We were trained to fight in a dress. Perhaps next time someone attacks me, I should try to ask them to wait while I change into pants.”

She motions Franklin over; everyone else gives them the floor. Franklin scowls and reluctantly follows, unsure what Mora’s intentions are. Mora makes a few hand signals to Amyee, who gets a huge smile on her face in understanding. The two casually start to circle Franklin; he keeps his eyes trained on Mora but it is Amyee who makes the first swing. He barely notices it in time and ducks to roll out of the way. Out of empathy, Irving tosses a staff to him and he catches it, barely able to block a blow from Mora.

The two women alternate their attacks while continuing to circle them. Franklin fights back whole heartedly but when his feet are swept out from under him by Mora, Amyee dives and tackles him into the ground.

“I yield,” he yips before she can do much more than that.

Laughing, she rises; Mora is glad to see a smile on Amyee’s face.

Franklin grumbles to himself.

Irving looks over Mora, fully surprised. She catches his gaze and gives him a look, “What?”

“It is one thing to understand that women can fight, but another thing entirely to see it,” he says.

Lucas snorts, “I will honestly admit that seeing Derven women fight at the battle scared the shit out of me. They moved in groups and fought in tandem just like Mora and Amyee-never in my life did I think women such as them existed.”

Sari punches him in the shoulder with a scowl.

“They don’t exist in Geofen, that is for sure,” Irving adds.

“Are there any women trainers?” Sari wonders.

“No,” Mora says, “all of the trainers are men.”

“But,” Franklin adds, “they teach women differently. The trainers understand that women have different skills about them and they show them other techniques. Add into it that women learn to hunt in groups during the Festival and they become a terrifying force.” He hands the staff to Irving.

Mora nods for Amyee to join the others and she takes up a stance in front of Irving. He looks at her with a frown, “One on one?”

Glancing around, she quips, “Well if you want to ask one of the other men for help you are welcome to.”

Everyone laughs but Irving, who continues, “I don’t mean any offense, Namora, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

With a swift swing low to the ground, she knocks his feet out from under him before speaking, “Irving, you are the only man in this room that I haven’t fought and beaten.”

He lets out a surprised groan when he hits the mat, before glancing at the other men.

“She beat my ass into the ground with a staff the first night I met her-and I had a sword,” Lucas says.

With a wince, Eric recalls, “I thought I had her pinned but she took me down with one swift kick.”

Rick’s eyes lock on Mora’s, the bright blue orbs sending a chill down her spine when he speaks, “She killed me.”

When everyone gasps, their eyes dart between the pair. The revelation is even a surprise to those from Sceadu; Eric’s gaze falls on Rick, “Then how are you still standing here?”

“Mora’s mother was one of us,” Rick says, his attention never leaving her.

All eyes now fall on her; she can sense their tension, their apprehension, their awe at the creature that she is. Even if Franklin, Amyee and Irving don’t fully comprehend what she is capable of, they can glean enough from the Sceaduians to know that she is an anomaly.

Ignoring their looks, she tilts her head to the side, staring at Irving, “Well, shall we see what you can do?”

The rest of the afternoon is spent in various stages of training; Mora takes on Lucas, Sari, Eric and even Rick briefly before turning each of them on to Irving while she shouts out suggestions from the side of the mat. He is quick to pick everything up and even in his tired state, he is able to best everyone but Rick. Mora watches the two soon to be Kings attack and evade, circling each other like predators, almost as if they are attempting to fight for her hand. After about an hour she calls them off, declaring their match a dead heat.

The tired group drag themselves back to the small dining room for supper, all of them too exhausted to bother with the pomp and circumstance of sitting according to peerage. As Mora leans back in her chair, slowly chewing on a mouthful of squash, she realizes the odd pairings that have occurred; Eric sits beside Amyee. He gazes on her with curiosity as she speaks, his eyes never wandering away from hers, a soft smile on his ruggedly handsome face. Amyee seems to be making more of an attempt than simply being polite, in fact Mora has never seen her talk as much to a man other than her brother.