by Amanda Boone
“Oh my God,” Margot whispered, at the sight of the Dragon King himself. It was Orion. She knew those sapphire eyes anywhere. The elders had story after story of the fabled ancient king’s son. It was during his reign that the dragons first receded into hiding. The native humans had turned their backs on the king, preferring instead to depend on each other for the elements: fire, water… weather. They didn’t want to worship anything.
Margot had always thought that this was them coming to their senses… but that was when the dragon king couldn’t have been anything more than a myth. But now she was staring right at him. His dark skin glistened in the candlelight, as if it were composed of tiny, almost microscopic black diamonds. His massive frame towered almost seven feet and was adorned with a red velvet cape and a thick leather belt across his waist. Aside from that, he was completely naked. Margot’s eyes widened at his manhood, dangling in between his legs.
Next to him stood his queen. She was a stark contrast, her pale skin the polar opposite of his dark hue. Her forest-green eyes, glimmering in the light, were a beautiful contrast with her stark blonde hair, which hung around her face and down her back, the locks fashioned into loose curls.
The king raised his massive arm, beckoning for her to approach him.
Margot gulped, slowly making her way across the room. Her feet sunk into the deep layers of fur that made up the bed, but as soon as she had reached the center of the structure, the king spread his fingers, gesturing for her to stop.
The queen moved first, entering the circle and extending a hand towards her. Margot took it, surprised at how warm her thin fingers were. She then led her back out of the circle and towards the king. At this short range, Margot tilted her head up, gazing right into his eyes. She could not deny that star-struck feeling that made her stomach roll and her heart flutter in her chest. He gazed down at her, the stoic expression on his face commanding respect and admiration, both of which Margot did not have a problem giving. Goosebumps rose on her skin as she found herself leaning into him, a little voice in the back of her mind wishing for him to just take her right then and there. One glance below her at his manhood told her that the feeling was at least a little mutual. His rod wavered in a state of half-arousal as he pierced her with his gaze.
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 thro
ne, 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
Enchanted by the Bear
Bear Shifter Romance
Enchanted by the Bear
My name, for what that is worth, is Aurelius. I am, at this moment, sitting at my writing-desk in a far-flung corner of the Russian empire. Just last century, it was the governorship of Smolensk. Kingdoms crumble, empires tear themselves apart. Somehow, I still persist.
I suppose I should clarify this for you, the reader. My life is almost infinitely-long, because I live between two worlds. I spend half the year in the form of a bear.
Well, yes. Once you have recovered from the shock of that, perhaps we can proceed? Very well.
It is an ancient curse set upon my family in the mists of time. The reason for the curse long-forgotten, my ancestors have finally passed on after perhaps a thousand years. That brings me to the other problem: indefinitely-long life. As I am the only man living to experience such a thing, I cannot make a study of it, but it seems shape-shifting as I know it makes you close to immortal. Not quite immortal, as my ancestors are dead, but problematically close. That is the central problem of my life. We will come to that.
You may ask why I write this account. It is so I do not forget. After the hibernation and transition between shapes, the memory is cloudy, almost gone. Even one's own appearance is forgotten.
To this end, I should describe myself. Last time I looked (for mirrors are a rare commodity), the glass showed me a tall man with muscled shoulders and a fine-boned, patrician face. Long pale hair, which I have never tonsured and large golden eyes. I must admit I am rather pleased with the image I saw, although in all piety I should not admit that.
Now that you (and I) have a record of my looks, let us address the matter at hand.
Hibernation.
I would tell you of it if I could. The thought of hibernation occurs to me now, as it is linked inextricably to the essence of my story. Kyrila.
It was winter when I saw her.
Golden. She outshone the russet and oranges of the deepest autumn. Her hair, her eyes. Such eyes. You are not as I am, and would only dimly appreciate the intensity of feeling, as you are without the clarity of perception of a bear. Still, you may imagine it.
It all began with her. I did not know then where it would end. I do not know, even now.
I only know that I must set it down, for she is the most precious thing. My story, once so secondary to me, now bears a primary importance. It is also her story.
***
“Brother Luca?”
I turn slowly, my mind returning to the present. The prior of the monastery is standing at the door. I smile at him. He is a friend.
He walks in wearily, and sits by me, lays his hand on mine. I can see he has not been sleeping well; his eyes are set in deep wrinkles, his face rumpled.
“Prior?” I ask.
“I am concerned about you, my brother.”
“About me?” My voice rises in mild surprise.
“You are not yourself. All day you spend writing. I have not seen you for weeks.”
It is true. I have been elsewhere. Sometimes here in the library writing. Sometimes in truth I have been in the woods with her. That is another story. We will come to that.
Now, I smile at the prior. I believe he sees the signs of sadness in my face. He pats my hand.
“Tell me. Whatever it is. You can trust me, brother,” he says.
“Thank you.” I mean it.
He is the closest thing I have to a friend, always opening the monastery door with no questions asked about my absences. And he is learned. We have spent hours in lively debate. Like me, he has been to the East, to the Holy Land. We have much to discuss.
“I miss our talks.” He seems to read my thoughts.
“I too, Prior.” I smile, my eyes still weary.
“My door is always open.”
“Thank you.” I bow my head. “There is much I would like to tell you.”
“My ears are open, whenever you wish to speak.”
With that, his hand pats mine, and he is standing, wincing as he settled a hand against his back. He throws a last smile to me and leaves.
I watch the door after he has gone. So much I would like to tell him. And it is all of her. Kiryla.
***
As I sit here, musing and writing, my mind takes me back to the first day I saw her…
Her hair hung loose, and spread out around her pale shoulders like cloth of gold, her eyes golden mirrors, brighter than all the coins of Byzantium. A rounded body with full breasts, soft as Oriental silk. She was then, and is still, profoundly beautiful. I feel a stab of desire, a physical ache, even as I think of her. And my heart aches worse.
I stood in bear form when I saw her, engaged in collecting nuts and readying myself for hibernation.
I heard singing.
Music truly comes to life for a creature. The senses mix and you can see a song. This song danced purple, like the night skies above Damascus. It wove its way through the forest like a spell. I sat up on my legs, and listened closer. The song stopped.
I waited for a moment, then shrugged. Even as a bear, I am essentially Epicurean. I turned back to the nut-tree and sampled more of its goods.
Another huge advantage of a creature-form is that you can feel a presence without needing to turn round. I felt that. Turned to face it.
She appeared tiny in form, standing below the nut tree. Why is she not afraid? People fear bears, especially tall male bears, when alone in the forest.
She remained unafraid. In fact, she stood perfectly still.
Her eyes finally met mine. The blank surprise in my head became a throbbing buzz, and I heard her voice.
Hello, it said, pleasantly. I'm Kyrila. Who are you? What are you doing today?
I can tell you, nothing can describe what I felt. I sat down on my haunches, astounded. I had never experienced such a thing. And I have lived, perhaps, four hundred years.
I...I stammered.
I was profoundly in shock. And I do believe the word is shy. My dealings with women have been distant, entirely non-instructive.
I...It's winter. I managed.
What did I say that for? Ludicrous.
She smiled. A silvery laugh echoed back to me.
It is, isn't it? She said with her mind. Well, Mr. Bear, have a good winter. I hope to see you in springtime next year.
Then she turned away.
Goodbye, I managed.
Goodbye.
She disappeared into the forest.
I was left, alone.
What happened?
I still do not know, even now. That question has instead birthed more questions. Now that whatever had happened has changed my life, unutterably and unalterably. What will I do? Sometimes, it seems, there are no answers.
However, I know more now than I had then.
***
Evening settled darkness over the cottage, the constant flames in the grate perseverant in the winter air.
Mother sat by the fire. Kiryla had never noticed before how old and weary she had become.
“Mother?”
The older woman looked up, blinking.