Acceptable Risk

by Candace Blevins

  Mac appeared beside her, stroking her cheek as he said, “Take it for us, Cupcake. God, your scent right now.” He reached for her hand and wrapped it around his slick cock, and she gave him the hand job he wanted.

  Jonathan was stretched out beside her, and made sure she saw the nipple clamps heading toward her breasts as Ranger started moving again — slow enough she could handle it, but just barely.

  She moaned as a clamp bit into her nipple, and then squealed as Jonathan placed the second one. Fire at her nipples now, and in her ass, but all she could do was close her eyes and accept what they were doing. They wanted her to hurt, to feel, and she wanted to give it to them.

  Mac still caressed her face, pushed the hair out of her eyes, and occasionally leaned down to kiss her forehead. Now, he went from her forehead to her ear and murmured, “Take it for us. Let them hurt you, let us see how much you belong to us, how much we can do with this beautiful body.”

  Ranger picked up speed and she screamed, but he didn’t slow. It felt as if he’d possibly taken away a few millimeters from the thickness, but she couldn’t be sure, as Jonathan chose this moment to lift the chain between the clamps and stretch her nipples toward the ceiling.

  Mac’s palm landed on her clit as he curled his fingers into her pussy, and Jonathan ordered her to come.

  She met Ranger’s eyes again, almost completely wolf now, as her orgasm swept her under and then catapulted her into the stratosphere. Bethany jerked and writhed under her three men, and then screamed again as the nipple clamps came off and Jonathan’s mouth sealed around one nipple as Mac’s warm mouth enveloped the other.

  Ranger pounded her ass, Mac’s palm pressed into her clit, and the orgasm took on a life of its own. She was helpless to stop the pleasure, even if she’d wanted to, and her vocal cords switched from screaming to issuing a deep, guttural moan as she became the pleasure and bliss.

  As reality began to form around her again, Ranger pulled out of her and came on her stomach, growling and grunting as he did. He rubbed it in as she caught her breath, but then Jonathan was buckling her ankle cuffs on and she remembered the night had only begun.

  Hours later, after Mac had soothed and kissed away the marks from the flogger, cuffs, and rope, Jonathan and Ranger finally completed the ritual.

  This time, the foursome sat in a square and used their right arms to grab the wrist of the person two people to the left, so they each touched both people to their left. They then grabbed the left wrist of the person to the right. Ranger had them weave their right hands under and then over, to better ensure contact, so Bethany was touching Ranger with her right arm, Mac with her right hand, and Jonathan with her left hand. In the same manner, she was also touched by all three.

  Each had another dot of each other’s blood on their chest once again, and Bethany had all three men’s cum both in and on her.

  The group had spent weeks coming up with exactly the right words, and the spoken parts were basically a really long vow to each be true to themselves while also being true to each other. Bethany felt the individual words forming a bond between her and each man, and when they said the last word she saw the essence of her three men, both the good and the bad, and loved them all for it.

  Ranger was strong and protective, rigid in some of his beliefs, but he’d die for her, if it ever came to it. He’d done terrible things to other humans in the name of freedom and right, and while he wasn’t proud of it, he’d never apologize, either.

  Mac, too, had done terrible things in the course of his job, but he saw it as necessary to protect and defend the country he held so dear to his heart. He, too, wouldn’t hesitate to die for her, but his motivation was softer, less rigid. He loved her and would do anything he could for her.

  Jonathan had all the arrogance of a cat who’d decided she belonged to him. In an odd way, he’d decided the wolves were his, as well, and he’d made peace with whatever had bothered him earlier. This man, too, would fight to the death to protect her, if necessary, but she saw the dual loyalties he held to both Bethany and Sophia, the woman he guarded. Bethany had known this already, it wasn’t a surprise, and she held no jealousy for the close relationship he had with the woman he’d known and protected since she was a child. Jonathan also considered Sophia’s children to be amongst his charges, and Bethany smiled at the love Jonathan held in his heart for so many people.

  At first, she couldn’t see what they saw, but then she felt how each of them viewed everyone else, and tears formed in her eyes at the love her little family had for each other. The men might not be physically intimate with each other, but they worked out together, ran, sparred, and built onto their house, together. And most of all, they shared her, took care of her, and seemed to instinctively know what she needed, who she needed, when she was tired or upset.

  As the energy of the ritual faded and the foursome let go, Bethany leaned sideways towards Ranger and he lifted her and walked to the bathroom, saying, “Let’s get you in the tub before we all fall asleep.”

  She wasn’t completely awake while they bathed her and made sure she wouldn’t awaken sticky and gross the next day. She heard them all cycling through the shower, and didn’t know who’d changed the sheets, but someone had, because they were clean and fresh when she slid between them.

  As she drifted off to sleep between Ranger and Jonathan, she was no longer freaked by the knowledge these three men would be with her the rest of her life.

  She didn’t want anyone else.

  The End

  The Dragon King

  By Candace Blevins

  Prologue

  Aaron

  Sophia is the most adorable two year old I’ve ever seen. Fluffy blonde hair, rosy chubby cheeks, and a laugh that makes my heart soar.

  I turned to her father, the Swan King, and chose my words carefully. “Raul, you’re sure this is the best course of action? I know you’re still grieving over Angelique’s death, but can you truly prepare Sophia for a life of leading your people if you keep her a prisoner in your home her entire life?”

  I could only get away with asking this question because I’d helped raise and train Raul, helped prepare him to take the crown when he beat his brothers and won the throne.

  “I did my best to protect my wife from supernaturals, and a damned human hunter took her out. Sophia won’t leave the walls of the castle until she marries, and hopefully whoever wins her will follow my lead and also keep her behind protective walls. She won’t see the same fate as Angelique.” His voice was firm, didn’t waver, and let me know further conversation on the matter would be met with hostility.

  Sophia is the first Swan Princess without at least one brother since before I was born, and by my best guess I’m around nine thousand years old. Give or take a thousand.

  Swan Princesses are usually given to other royalty as a way to unite families and sometimes species, but they never have a hope of the throne. Their brothers are required to fight each other for power, the strongest and most cunning winning the crown.

  Instead of finding another wife to give him sons, Raul is arranging for a contest between the other Swan royalty, with the strongest being allowed to care for her until she turns twenty five, and then marry her and eventually take the crown. Personally, I think Raul wants to step down and find a way to join his dead wife. The grief of her death still holds him.

  I’ve trained the past seven Swan Kings, including Sophia’s father, Raul. I know him well, and I know he loves his daughter. However, he still feels such pain over his wife’s slaughter, and I worry about the decisions he’s making.

  There is precedence amongst some other supernatural species for keeping Sophia in seclusion, finding a suitable King, and not giving her a choice in who she’ll marry. However, watching the toddler play and laugh and flirt, my heart hurts with the knowledge she’ll grow up with no control of her major life choices. Or, likely the minor ones, either.

  She’s such a happy baby, so full of life and adventure
. I hope her life turns out better than most fairy tales.

  * * * *

  Ten years later, my heart aches as the court Herald announces me into the Swan King’s mansion for Sophia’s final unchaperoned lesson. I’ve been coming to the mansion once a week for a four hour session since she was six, but this must stop once she becomes a teenager, which in Swan lore makes her a woman.

  I’ll be allowed to come four times a year for an all-day review session, but will never again be alone with her. After today she’ll have a chaperone or minder with her anytime she’s with a man besides her father — or husband, once she’s married.

  I’m going to miss my time with her. In my busy life, my half-days with the Swan Princess have been the sunshine of my week. Sophia is a special child — so smart, so willing to learn, and a joy to be around. My heart is happy when I’m with her, and we most often go to our spot near a manmade waterfall on their property so we can talk without worrying so much about being overheard. Someone from the house can see us, but our words are drowned out. Sometimes, though, my favorite part of the day is her smile when I arrive and she skips to me for a hug. Today will be the last time she’ll be allowed to hug me for no reason, just because she’s happy I’ve arrived. My heart hurts as I wrap my arms around her and tell her I’m happy to see her.

  We walk to our spot, sit on our rock and I open a few books as I give her another to hold. The rushing waters may provide white noise to block our voices, but we still need to appear as if I’m teaching her.

  “You know this is the last time we’ll be alone, right, Soph?”

  Sophia looks down, takes a breath, and raises her gaze back to mine. “I know. I’ll miss my time with you.”

  “And I’ll miss you, but you’re a Princess and one day you’ll be Queen, so this is the way it has to be. I’ll be back to review the important stuff, but there are some things I’ve taught you that I won’t be able to review with you out loud. I’ll try to write it in a notebook and let you read it, so you’ll remember, but there is some danger in that so I won’t do it every time.”

  “Why take the risk? If I’ll never rule, never make a difference, why put yourself in danger?”

  “Because I’m grooming you for power, Princess. No one knows for sure what the future holds, and to fully do my job I can’t just teach you the palatable parts of your history. I understand your father wishes to shield you and protect you, but I can see the strength in you.”

  Sophia sighed. “I’ll still see you at social occasions? Not just the four times a year you’re allowed to come for review?”

  “Yes, and I may or may not be allowed a dance with you. I will certainly not be able to take you outside for a conversation.”

  She nodded, and I carefully said, “Sophia, if ever you find yourself in need of a protector, get a message to me. Your father and Cyrano will look after you, but if you find yourself without their protection I hope you’ll feel comfortable letting me keep you safe.”

  Shaking her head, Sophia said, “Cyrano scares me. My latest governess tells me when I’m a woman I’ll appreciate him for his strength and resolve, and I must remain meek and quiet around him while I’m a child.”

  I wanted to wring Cyrano’s neck for frightening her, as well as the governess’s for giving crap advice, but I had to walk a fine line. “I’m sorry he scares you, Princess. I would advise you to speak to your father about it, see if he can intercede on your behalf.”

  “You always do that.”

  I tilted my head and let my eyebrows rise, and Sophia explained. “When we’re just talking, I’m Soph or Sophia, but when you’re thinking politically, you call me Princess.”

  “Yes, because this is the way an elder speaks to someone of royalty. I’m your teacher, I know more than you, but I must also show respect. It’s a balance, Sophia.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know what you are, and my father either doesn’t know or won’t tell me, but I’m positive you’re royalty, too. I’ve learned to tell the difference between someone with their own power who addresses me and my father as an equal while using all the right words, and someone with no power who addresses us with the same words but a completely different energy.”

  I hoped my smile showed how pleased I was with her insight. “You make me proud, Sophia. I hope you’ll keep your suppositions to yourself, though.”

  She nodded. “Of course, and I hope someday you’ll trust me enough to tell me what and who you really are.”

  I needed to be sure she understood my offer, so I repeated it. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Soph? If you ever need help, a protector, a friend, an advisor…If you’re ever in trouble I hope you’ll find a way to get a message to me.”

  Chapter One

  Sophia

  I’d been planning my escape for eleven years, and tonight I’d either fly to my freedom or die trying.

  I was to be married to Cyrano on my twenty-fifth birthday, in seventeen days. However, I was determined it was never going to happen.

  Tomorrow, my governess was meeting with people in Charleston on my behalf to assure the wedding would go off without a hitch. Since I was never allowed off my father’s property, if someone couldn’t come to me then I had to send my people to them, and the caterers had decided they couldn’t make yet another trip to go over last minute details.

  I knew they wouldn’t, it was part of my plan.

  I’d sent my governess away earlier this evening so she could stay in a hotel and be present for the seven o’clock meeting tomorrow morning, and then make surprise visits to check in with the florist and a few other vendors.

  I’d brought books up from the library to my bedroom, asked for my tea service a little early, and told everyone I wasn’t to be disturbed.

  I’d been nervous and anxious for months, so no one paid any attention to my scent anymore. I was perpetually on edge.

  It was eight fifteen, and I figured I’d have until the guard shift change at three in the morning before anyone realized I was gone. My current guard wasn’t likely to decide he needed to put eyeballs on me, but I knew they’d look in on me at shift change. They always did.

  Swan shifters need to change a minimum of four times a year, at both equinoxes and both solstices. However, since my father didn’t want me leaving the property, when I changed they immediately turned me back human. I’d never been allowed to even try to fly. The rest of the time I wore an anklet my father had brought someone in to create especially for me — it kept me from turning into a swan any other time of year.

  I’d spent years combing through the books in our extensive library, and was convinced I’d found a way to defeat the anklet. Years ago, I’d also learned from one of our servants that it was possible for a virgin to change without the normal flogging to rip enough skin away so we could shift into our swan form.

  She said one could use a knife to cut a seam from one foot, up the outside of the body, from armpit to fingers on the bottom of the arm, and then fingers to shoulder on the top of the arm, over the head and scalp, skip the right arm and go down the body to the right foot, and then as the left foot comes out and forms, use the claws to rip a seam in the skin from the right arm so it can pull free.

  I had a very sharp crafting knife and hoped it would do the job.

  Meanwhile, I’d long ago figured out how to defeat the alarm system at my window so I could at least open it and get fresh air. I used a screwdriver to carefully remove the contact from the window’s hardware, taped it to the stationary contact on the window frame, and then slowly opened the window, making sure everything stayed put.

  Taking a breath, I poured the hot water from my tea service into the plastic bin that normally held items in the storage area of my closet.

  It’d taken me years to assemble the herbs and roots without arousing anyone’s curiosity, and I now dumped them into the bin and stepped into the scalding water. Trusting the concoction would do its job, I bent with the knife, stuck it into my foot just
under my ankle bone, and began the excruciating task of literally skinning myself.

  I’d known it would hurt, but this was worse than the traditional flogging a virgin must undergo in order to change. I was more than determined, though, so I did it fast and didn’t make a sound, even though I wanted to scream and cry.

  Halfway through the process I knew I’d been wrong about having hours until my escape was discovered. They were used to smelling fear on me, but not pain, and certainly not blood. I was going to have to fly for my life and hope they couldn’t keep up. I cut faster, and my blood flowed into the hot water at my feet.

  As the knife finally reached the outer edge of my right foot, I stood and imagined myself a swan, thought of how it felt to change after I was flogged, and breathed in relief as I felt the transformation happening. The herbal concoction worked, and the anklet would end up in the water once I turned into a swan and it could come off my foot. As I changed, it only took a few slices with my claw to rip the skin on top of my right arm enough for it to come free of the skin and turn into a wing, thank goodness.

  I made it onto the window sill, looked out at the Waccamaw River, and knew if I couldn’t figure out how to fly within a few minutes, and the crash landing didn’t kill me, I needed to find an alligator and hope he was hungry. I was going to either escape or die — I couldn’t live the rest of my life trapped in this house, and being forced to marry Cyrano was the final straw. People might make fun of the Princess trapped in the mansion with anything her heart desired at her fingertips, but this Princess preferred freedom to riches.

  I jumped from the ledge, stretched my wings, and breathed in relief as the wind caught them and I soared instead of plummeting. I beat my unfamiliar wings, pointed my head the direction I wanted to go, and it just somehow worked.