by Amanda Boone
The queen cleared her throat as the two of them turned to face the women with the bowls. Two men approached the king and queen from either side of them. For lack of any other option, Margot did not move, choosing instead to watch from the distance at which she stood. The men bore large daggers, which they handed to the royals.
The queen went first, ripping the blade across her wrist. Ruby red blood sprouted out of the break in her flawless skin. It flowed freely into the first woman’s bowl. As the liquid filled the bowl, the woman snapped her head back, her eyelids snapping open to reveal hollow holes where her eyes should have been.
Margot gasped, jumping back.
Everyone in the throne room glanced at her. The king and queen, although refraining from looking at her, froze in their tracks.
Margot gulped, tilting her head away from the woman to avoid looking into her vacant eye sockets.
The king went next, grabbing the dagger out of the man’s grip and ripping it across his own wrist. The same, eerily brilliant blood slipped from his skin and down into the bowl. The woman followed her counterpart, her neck snapping forward and her eyelids flashing back. It remained this way until the king and queen titled their arms up and stepped away from the bowls, each grabbing black cloths from the men that assisted them.
“Drink,” the king ordered as he wrapped his wound with the cloth.
Margot’s gaze shifted from the king to the queen to the two bowls of blood that sat in front of them. “What?” Her stomach lurched at the mere thought of it.
The queen rolled her eyes before stepping behind Margot. She placed her hands on either side of her hips, her soft touch oddly sensual in the light of everything that was happening. Margot saw the king’s cock harden in her peripheral vision. The queen pressed her lips against Margot’s neck, the touch lifting goosebumps to the surface of her skin. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, standing on end. “Kneel,” the queen demanded, her breath washing over Margot’s ear.
She obeyed, kneeling in front of the woman with no eyes who held the bowl full of the dragon-queen’s blood. The queen rubbed her hands across Margot’s chest. Her nipples hardened in spite of herself. She gulped as the queen dipped both of her hands into the bowl of her own blood and lifted it to Margot’s lips. “Drink.” The woman’s voice was soothing, yet authoritative. Margot had a feeling that her only choice was to obey.
So, she dipped her lips into the liquid in the queen’s hands and sucked it in. The metallic liquid had an oddly sweet tinge to it. She gulped it down, trying her best to ignore her gag reflex as the thick substance coated her mouth and throat. The queen spread the rest of it all over her clean body, dipping her hand into the neck of her dress. Margot bit her lip at the way the queen rolled her nipples between her thumb and finger. The king watched them, silently stroking his member.
By the time the queen coaxed her towards the bowl of the king’s blood, she was already starting to feel the effects of whatever it was that she had just consumed. Her cheeks flushed as blood rushed to her face, her muscles tingling with energy. Although she had been shoved in a hole for more time than she could possibly keep count, she oddly felt as if she had just had a full night of sleep.
The queen repeated this whole process, by the end of which, Margot felt impossibly aroused. She stood to her feet, her sex throbbing between her legs as the king took her hand and led her back into the center of the make-shift bed. He slipped the straps of her soiled dress off her shoulders. It slipped down her body, landing in a puddle of blood and cloth on the fur beneath her. He traced his hand across her collar bone, starting at the base of her neck, making it all the way down to her breasts and circling around her nipples.
Margot licked her lips as the queen stepped in behind her. The men who lined the room stomped their staffs on the ground. The queen placed her hands on either side of her hips. Margot’s heart beat in time with the slamming of the staffs.
King Orion coaxed her hand to his member, wrapping her fingers around the hard wood. Margot raised an eyebrow at the sensation of the throbbing organ in her hand. The queen gently pushed her down until her knees pressed into the fur. The king pressed his hand against her forehead, pulling her jaw open with his thumb.
She took his member into her mouth, the large cock bobbing in and out of her mouth. She clutched his thighs just as he dropped down on his own knees, the position much more favorable for the two of them given his tall stature.
The queen moved her knees backwards so that she was on all fours. Margot gasped as she felt the beautiful woman's hands press into that space between her legs, her toes curling at the erotic pressure deep in her gut. Her wetness dripped down her thighs. She kept her eyes shut, the sound of beating of her heart pounding in her ear drums, the beat of the thumping resonating in her bones. She heard no sounds, not even her own thoughts, as this all went on.
As the two of them lowered her onto her back, she felt at ease, her body practically vibrating with desire. When the queen split her knees, Margot opened her eyes just in time to watch her go down on her. She flexed her abdomen, moans of pleasure slipping out of her mouth, mixing the beating of the staffs, the beating of her heart. King Orion knelt down next to his queen and lifted her chin up towards him. He pressed his lips against hers, their moans and sighs of pleasure floating around in the air around them.
Finally, the king turned to face Margot. He crawled towards her, his manhood extending, taut and erect in front of him. Margot’s sex throbbed in anticipation. She bit her lips, waiting for this, needing this. He mounted her, thrusting himself inside of her.
In and out he went, each movement of his hips bringing her closer and closer to the most intense climax of her life. The queen mounted her throne, pleasuring herself as she watched them fuck.
Margot dug her nails into the king’s perfect skin, her body lifting off of the bed as he sat upright, tilting his head upright. The thrusts came harder and faster. Margot screamed out. It felt as if her entire body had collapsed into that small space in between her legs. Spasms started in her sex and radiated throughout her legs and abdomen.
The king let out a terrifying roar, smoke and fire erupting from his lips. Dense, dark fog surrounded Margot as she felt it, Orion’s seed inside of her. The hot liquid seeped through her womb as she collapsed onto the bed of fur, exhausted yet impossibly satisfied.
***
Ezra had soaked through his third bandage by the time he made it back to the sight of the ancient dragon king’s tomb. He heaved himself over the ledge of rock, panting as he glanced all around him, looking for a way in that didn’t involve going through the mouth of the cave and being captured.
Once he had caught his breath, he rounded the side of the brush, following the faded dirt path until he reached a patch of elevated land. His eyes went to the lush vegetation that covered the raised platform. He slipped his sunglass up out of his face, peering at the small form, draped in black velvet sitting on top of it. His heart started racing as he scurried up the stone steps. “Margot!” he called, his voice catching in his throat.
There was a pause.
Then, “Ezra?”
Her quivering voice barely reached him through the early afternoon wind, but it was her.
It was her.
As Ezra helped her back down to the village, he felt as if he had been reunited with a part of himself. It wasn’t until they were staring at their small lodgings that she spoke for the first time.
“What happened to your leg?” she asked, staring at his calve with a furrowed brow.
Ezra opened her mouth to tell her, but then caught sight of the open, abandoned house before them. That strange creature who looked like Margot was nowhere to be found. He figured it was best not to worry her, so he said, “It was an accident.”
She nodded. “This whole thing was an accident, a terrible, terrible accident.”
Ezra wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Are you ever gonna tell me what happened to you?”
She shook her head. “I think I’ll have to figure that out myself first.”
Ezra nodded, then followed her inside, shutting the door behind him.
THE END
Rescuing a Werewolf
A Werewolf Romance
Rescuing a Werewolf
Chapter One
"Okay, boys. Tell me what we've got."
Erin Rivers stood with the doctor just inside the ER doors where the ambulance made its deliveries, the shifting red and blue illumination of the emergency lights rolling over them both. The EMTs wheeled the stretcher up from the vehicle and into the ER. Erin, who wasn’t exactly tall, moved quickly to keep up.
"John Doe. Found by a couple of cyclists out for a night ride on the edge of town. Pretty beat up. Some bad lacerations. Bruises. Cracked or broken ribs. Broken fingers.”
Erin spun on her heel to follow them as they started down the hall, headed for one of the treatment rooms.
The man on the stretcher was big—tall and broad-shouldered with brown hair and a tan that said he spent a lot of time outdoors. His shirt had been cut off him, and she could see the gauze that had been taped over his chest, already spotted with blood, the pressure bandage wrapped around his rib cage. The guy was out of it, totally unconscious.
"Was he awake when you picked him up?"
The nearest EMT shook his head.
"Nope. He's been out since we arrived. Guys who found him said he was down for the count when they got there. Don't know how long he's been unconscious."
That could be bad. Erin nodded.
"Get him on the bed and we'll take a look at him."
Between the two of them, the ambulance techs laid the guy out on his side, and the doctor stepped forward to look him over while Erin set up the IV. She watched as the doctor removed the gauze that had been hiding the wounds on the men’s chest.
He had four lacerations that cut from sternum to navel, all running parallel to each other, ragged along their edges like they’d been opened with something sharp only at its tip. Deep, but they didn’t look life-threatening. They hadn’t cut through to any vital organs.
The bruising was pretty bad. There were huge purple black marks along his ribcage. Looked like boot marks, and she wouldn't be surprised to find they were. The injuries had the air of something done deliberately.
"Any identification on him?" Erin asked the EMT, who was standing to the side filling out the paperwork on the new arrival.
"Nope. And no name from the callers, of course."
A John Doe, then. They'd find out who he was when he woke up.
When the doctor took the gauze off his back, they found similar wounds to the ones on his chest. A double set of long cuts, raked down the length of his back.
"What happened here?" she asked the EMT. "Any ideas?"
He stepped around to stand with her, looking at the wounds.
"Our best guess?" he said, looking at her sideways. "They look like something with claws took a pretty strong disliking to him. Except that those are definitely boot prints. So, we really have no idea.”
“Wolverine?” the intern who’d just walked in to observe suggested.
"Claws," the doctor said flatly, ignoring the attempt at humor.
The EMT nodded.
That was, Erin decided, what they looked like. Four parallel marks, opened by something with a pointed tip. But there were the bruises, which were definitely boot imprints.
The lacerations needed to be cleaned and sutured, and bloodwork sent to the lab. When that was done, the doctor and the intern left, and Erin was alone with the patient. She checked the IV levels, made sure he was resting peacefully, and stood for a moment, silently studying him.
He was a good looking guy, even bandaged up and laying in a hospital bed—strong cheekbones, a straight Grecian nose, a thick head of curling brown hair. Erin turned away. She had other patients to see to, after all.
Chapter Two
Back in high school, Erin had a friend who'd confessed a secret to her.
She remembered the day all too clearly. They'd been sitting outside on the swings behind her house, swaying gently back and forth in the slanted golden light of late afternoon. The day was warm, but not hot, one of the last good spring days before summer would set in and fry everything to a crisp. It had rained in the morning, and everything felt fresh and new and clean. The flowers were blooming in the flower beds, and the trees were in blossom.
"I have to tell you something," Jenna said very quietly.
Erin turned to look at her past the chains of the swings, her hands curled around the plastic-covered part of them. They were really getting too big for these things, and the seat wasn't exactly comfortable. The edges cut into her hips.
"Tell me. You know you can."
Jenna was looking down at her lap, where her fingers were twisting together, her dark hair, a contrast to Erin’s blonde, pulled forward over one shoulder. She tugged at her lower lip with her teeth.
"Yeah. I know I can, or I wouldn't have said it."
She took a breath and let it out again slowly. In the little copse of trees to their left, birds called back and forth. Erin waited for her to speak.
"You know how I'm always missing school for a few days every month?"
Erin knew. She'd asked about it before, and Jenna always had an excuse, but she'd never given her a straight answer. Erin felt her heart beat pick up a little, and at the time she hadn't been sure why.
"Well, there's a reason."
"What?"
Jenna was silent again for a long moment, swaying restlessly.
"I…" She seemed to have trouble getting the words out, stopping and clearing her throat. Cleared it again. "I'm not sure I know how to say this," she confessed after a moment.
"Just tell me, Jen. I won't tell anyone. I promise."
Erin lifted her hand and drew an X over her heart. They hadn't done that since they were ten, but she hoped it would let Jenna know that she was telling the truth. Jenna could tell her anything. They'd been friends since kindergarten, and she didn't like the distance that had been growing between them over the last couple years, since Jenna had been in that accident while she was camping.
"It's hard," Jenna said, hardly more than a whisper. "I mean, I've never told anyone this, Er. And telling you could get me in a lot of trouble."
"Only if someone knows you told," Erin argued gently. "And I'm not going to tell them. Really. I promise."
What could be so big that Jenna couldn't tell her?
"This is going to sound stupid."
"I don't care how it sounds."
Jenna nodded, the motion of her head abrupt and jerky. Nervous. Erin was growing nervous too, watching Jenna's hands twist in her lap, listening to the too-quick sound of her breathing.
"So. Um. The days I'm gone. They're always the full moon."
Erin blinked. She looked at Jenna.
"The full moon?" she echoed, to be sure she was hearing it right.
Jenna nodded.
"Is that… What exactly are you trying to say?"
Jenna opened her mouth to answer, but the honk of a car horn stopped her. She looked up at Erin, apology drawing her eyebrows down and twisting her mouth.
"I'm sorry. That's my mom. I have to go."
"Wait. Jen—"
But she was already up from the swing and running across the yard, her ponytail swinging.
Erin never had found out what Jenna was going to say. She hadn't come back to school after that. But she'd turned the words over and over in her mind, trying to see the conclusion they came to, wondering what they could mean that wasn't totally out of the realm of possibility. It always came back to one idea, though. An idea that couldn't possibly be right.
It was a strange thing to be thinking about, that day in her backyard, as Erin went about her rounds. She hadn't thought of Jenna in a long time. But for some reason the memory was teasing at her, pricking her thoughts. She shrugged and continued on to the next patient.
-------
When Erin returned, the recent John Doe arrival was awake, sitting slightly up in bed. She was on her way out for the night, but she’d wanted to check in on him and see how he was doing. He looked groggy, and it took a moment for his eyes to focus on her. When they did, he frowned.
"What happened?"
"A couple of bikers called in a finding of an unconscious man on the side of the rode. You're in the hospital."
His expression shifted from confusion to alarm.
"The hospital?"
Erin’s eyebrows lifted. "Yes."
He moved to rise from the bed, and she hurried across the room to stand over it.
"You shouldn't get up yet," she chided. "You have broken ribs, and there were some pretty bad lacerations on your torso."
The expression on his face said he'd discovered the broken ribs when he moved, but he shook his head.
"I really can't be here."
"You want to explain just what you mean by that?" she asked.
The John Doe took a sharp breath, like he was trying not to say something angry.
"I'm checking myself out," he said, voice even.
She couldn't stop him. It wasn't as though he was dying in the bed. But when he stood, she saw him sway, clutch at the railing of the bed for support. For all his size, he looked almost fragile in the paper hospital gown, with his hair ruffled and his face sheened with sweat. The faint flush in his cheeks concerned her.
"I really can't advise that," Erin said firmly. "You're not well. You look like you have a fever, and you're only going to make yourself worse if you go running off right now."
"Where are my clothes?"
Erin huffed, but he didn't seem to hear it. She turned and pulled his bagged effects from the cabinet next to the bed. His shirt, of course, was gone. They’d cut it off of him to check his injuries. There had been a wallet in his pocket, but no ID. No credit cards. She handed the bag to him.