The Werewolf Order (Erotica)

“They must regain their strength,” Kelvin snarls at her, until the confusion crosses his face as the creatures of darkness slowly stop fighting, releasing the dead bodies to the ground. As one, they turn and start fighting their kinsmen alongside those in gold.

Mora hears the pounding of hooves behind her, Jackson comes skidding to a halt next to Greystar.

“Subdue any who attack you-do not kill anyone!” She barely manages to shout orders to him before digging her heel into Greystar’s side; the beast leaps forward, ready to get into the thick of it.

“Protect the Queen!” Jackson screams as the Dervens break out into the field after her.

The remaining soldiers in teal and unswayed in black flock towards the sea of red pouring into the Meadow to regroup, but Mora doesn’t look back-she knows the only way to put an end to this is to kill Irron.

Greystar’s large body crashes carelessly into soldiers, their swords doing nothing to his armor as he plows his way across the Meadow in a direct path to the King. The horse is dead set on his purpose, almost oblivious to the noise of the raging war around him just as Mora is-neither of them see the man clad in gold on top of a steed until he darts into their path. Greystar slams into the side of the horse, killing it instantly but sending both beasts crashing to the ground, throwing Mora from his back and forward. She barely has time to tuck her frame inward before she hits the ground hard. The air is violently forced from her lungs and she struggles to gasp in a breath, rolling onto her hands and knees. Pushing through the pain she stumbles to her feet, seeing Irron merely yards away from her within the safety of his surrounding guards, a wicked smile on his cold, handsome face.

She screams in fury, forcing her body forward, knowing she will kill her way to him if she has to; she starts running as fast as she can, drawing her sword when a man steps into her path. Mora skids to a halt, her entire being is instantly frozen, her heart feeling as if it is crushed under the weight of sorrow when she gazes upon the familiar face of Rick-but instead of beautiful, kind blue eyes staring back at her, she sees by the same dark, lifeless eyes of the Alumenian soldiers. Her worst fears have come true.

There is no smile for her, no love, absolutely no recognition on his face. His massive body starts towards her, his sword raised high above his head. She barely has time to plant her feet and bring her sword up in defense when his comes slamming down with brute force. His strike pushes her back as she struggles to get her feet set against his weight. Rick raises his foot and kicks her harshly in the stomach, sending her tumbling to the ground. Mora manages to roll out of the way when his blade swings down and digs into the grass in her wake.

She swings as hard as she can at him, using the flat side of her blade, careful not to cut any flesh but he continues to come at her with all of the strength and malice he can muster. She tries to get away from him, to duck and roll out of the path of his weapon, to get to Irron before Rick can get to her but each time he descends upon her, determined to end her life.

Her fear and anger mix deep within her, burning to the surface so quickly she feels like she is on fire. A sharp hit with the blunt end of her sword hilt manages to disarm Rick but it barely fazes him as he pummels her with fists, punching her stomach and hitting her arms when she protects her head. She fights back but her hits, no matter how well they are placed, do nothing to him. Mora panics, worried that she won’t be able to do anything less than take his life in order to stop him.

Behind her she hears an enraged cry, instantly recognizing the voices of Amyee and Cari approaching her. Determinedly, she starts punching and kicking Rick backward as hard as she can so that she can regroup with her friends. She barely turns away from him to retreat when he rips her mother’s knife off of her and stabs Mora in the leg with it. Mora cries out, the pain fueling her rage; she punches him square in the face, hard enough that she knows she has broken a few of her fingers.

He stumbles back a few steps, dazed. It gives her just enough time to pull the knife out of her thigh but when he comes at her again, she is forced to drop it to defend herself. She feels his fists bruising her skin beneath the armor. Like a skilled fighter, he does the same thing that she would and hits the knife wound-the pain searing through her leg brings her to her knees. Amyee and Cari arrive, viciously descending upon Rick.

“Do not kill him!” Mora screams.

The women don’t hesitate at her command but continue to fight him while she struggles to her feet. Mora hastily pulls her helmet off while the women attack and evade his swings; seeing an opening when Rick’s back is turned to her, holding it in both hands she swings her helmet upward as hard as she can, crashing it into the base of his skull, the metal hitting with a sickening crack as his body almost instantly goes limp and drops to the ground. She spares a glance down at Rick, seeing blood matting his blonde hair but thankful to find his chest still rising and falling.

The guards around Irron flock to the three women, though the men in gold merely separate Amyee and Cari away from Mora, fighting them off to the side as they clear a path for the King to approach. He walks confidently forward, an amused, satisfied smirk on his face, his left hand on his right shoulder as he rolls it around, continuing to stretch the soreness out of it.

Mora forces herself to turn away from him, scrambling painfully with her injured leg to frantically search the ground for the knife, spotting it only a few feet away. She wraps her shaking hands around the hilt, forcing Rick from her thoughts, forcing her father from her thoughts, closing out the sounds and images of the battle around her. She gathers up her anger, shaping it into a cohesive ball in her chest, planting her legs under her while she rises and turns around. She draws in a deep breath, staring Irron in the eyes. He never stops moving towards her, only paces away from the unconscious body of Rick.Property © NôvelDrama.Org.

Drawing the knife behind her, every fiber of every muscle tenses when she winds up to swing her arm forward, forcing all of her strength into one throw because she knows she will not need another one. Her arm glides past her head when the horror unfolds before her eyes but as she is already mid-swing, she is unable to stop the blade, slick with her blood, from sliding easily past her finger tips while Rick rises to his feet, his body blocking the path to Irron’s heart.

She feels the whoosh of air rush into her lungs, her mouth opens, her throat constricting to scream but nothing comes out. Each second lasts a lifetime in her anguish as she watches the knife spin forward through the air before it slams into Rick’s chest. She watches the black voids of his eyes turn to that impossible blue as the knife pierces him through his heart and buries itself up to the hilt. He staggers forward a few steps, reaching out to her.

“No,” she tries to yell but it only comes out as a whisper.

Rick falls forward and by the time he hits the ground, the light is gone from his eyes. The sounds, the smells and the reality of battle crashes down on her, overwhelming her. She scrambles towards him, thrashing wildly to reach him before it is too late. She slaps his face, she calls his name, she screams at him but he doesn’t respond. Mora pulls the dagger out of his chest and shakes him again. There is no movement other than the blood pouring from his wound. Her eyes cloud over with tears. She can’t think, she can’t move, she can’t feel anything other than loss.

The air is forced out of her lungs and she can feel several of her ribs crack under the drastic force of Irron’s steel boot when he kicks her in the side, her body tumbling down to the ground. She wheezes, struggling to breathe, trying to focus through her blurry vision. Mora attempts to get up but the ground keeps tilting under her. She claws at the now sticky, red grass, trying to make everything hold still. Her hand touches the knife-she wraps it around the hilt, feeling the still warm mixture of her and Rick’s blood ooze between her fingers. Managing to force herself up on her knees, she has to keep her hands on the ground in front of her so she doesn’t fall over.

Irron’s heel pushes against her, throwing her balance off again; as she crashes onto her back, her right elbow buckles and is pinned down behind her but still she clutches the knife tightly in her hand. The world swimming in her vision begins to slow down and focus. Mora looks up, seeing King Irron standing over her. The sneer on his face makes her blood boil, which only makes her head pound more.

“Now, that’s poetic justice if you ask me,” he kneels over her, one leg on either side of her waist, a proud smug smile on his face when he crosses his arms over his chest, “This isn’t quite how I imagined this battle going, but honestly this is far better. Not only did I get the pleasure of witnessing Varicken’s death, you’re still alive. I must say, Namora, you are far, far more than I ever thought you would be. Your constant fighting against me, your stubbornness, your spirit, mmm,” he clicks his tongue against his teeth, his eyes wandering over the hate in her face, “At first I was merely going to kill you and now, oh, how I would love to break you old fashioned way instead… but it is probably best to do this quickly,” he pulls the burwood knife from his belt, raising it to his left forearm. “I’d hate for the strength of Derven to die on this field before I take you as my wife and our countries are united under me.”

He slices a short but deep gash into his skin. Sheathing the knife, he roughly grabs Mora’s chin to force her mouth open before pressing the wound to her lips. Though she struggles, he keeps a crushing grip on her, his arms tight against his side, his weight forcing her body into the ground. It takes all she has to stop fighting him, choking down the warm blood that fills her mouth, opening it wider so that he can see she takes it willingly. As his grip loosens and his body relaxes, she leans up into him. He smiles approvingly down at her, not realizing that she lifts herself up enough to free her arm. She doesn’t have much strength left, but she knows that it won’t take a lot of effort; stretching her arm out wide she swings it towards him, her mother’s knife slams into his chest, easily piercing through his ribs and straight into his heart. His smile fades while his mind tries to process what just happen.