Omega For The Dragon: 3 Book Bundle (M/M Gay Shifter Mpreg Paranormal Romance)

by TJ Cross

  "Nah," Brandon said, his eyes lighting up. "I mean, there's two of us. Plus, I'll scare anyone who wants trouble off."

  He knew Zara was looking at him, examining to see if she could feel safe going under the bridge with him. Physically, he was the right man for the job. He was tall, built large in a way that was almost burly, making him look like a friendly bear rather than a martial artist. He was a little rough around the edges, handsome in a queer hipster way -- facial hair unkempt on a day-to-day basis but groomed once or twice a month enough to look like it was manageably stylish. His wide, barrel chest made him look like a tougher guy than he was, hiding the gentleness of his nature under the guise of his strong, muscular definition.

  "Okay, but first a drink," Zara conceded, reaching over to rummage through her bag in her bike basket. She reached for a flask, removing the cap before taking a long sip from it.

  "What's in it?" Brandon said, considering the shiny silver flask.

  Zara grinned. "Didn't know you drank, boy."

  "I don't... most of the time. But it's a cold night. Could do with getting warm. What's in it?"

  She walked over to her friend and handed him the flask, cap teetering right at the edge. "One of my friends with benefits has a bourbon fetish, so he knows all the good stuff. You'd love this one."

  Brandon sniffed at the drink, immediately laughing as he caught a whiff of the strong, potent fumes from the flask. "That's really fucking strong, babe."

  "You said you were a strong guy, so I'm offering you a strong drink," Zara grinned. Moments like this when they brushed into an almost flirtation had Brandon questioning himself.

  He liked Zara, but did he like her in that way? He identified himself as bisexual but he didn't have the benefit of having had many relationships in the past. None with guys, either, although he had always been interested. It just didn't seem to work that way when he was in art school, where most girls or guys he met were just interested in hookup after mediocre hookup.

  That wasn't Brandon's style. He always considered himself fiercely loyal, cherishing that part of his personality above everything. He was willing to sacrifice being in a romance if it meant waiting for the right person.

  Zara?

  As if on a dare, he took a big swig from the flask, instantly feeling the alcohol choke him. It was true that he didn't drink often -- not because he was afraid of it, but because it wasn't really in his nature to be much of a party boy. A sip of wine while binge-watching TV shows on Netflix, sure; a beer with his dad when they hung out to watch a baseball game... yeah.

  Social drinking, though, implied he had more of a social life than he did. He had always appreciated that Zara was a borderline alcoholic, although she masked that in the guise of her being an enthusiast who knew her various liquors.

  "That's good, huh?" Zara grinned. "You can finish it."

  "Okay..." Brandon said, nodding and tapping his feet on the ground as he finished the bourbon. It was good, he could tell. But he lacked the same level of expert knowledge that someone like Zara would have, so separating what was good and what was great was not something meant for him to accomplish.

  "Whoa, whoa, chill out," Zara said, patting him by his shoulders. "Let's just hang out here, okay?"

  "Sure," Brandon said, licking his lips as he swallowed all that was left of the drink. He handed the flask right back to Zara as they both turned towards the railing, looking out over the city.

  "So I'm thinking my relationship with Kitty's not working out the way I want. I think it's time to end it. But how?" Zara immediately said, practically blurting out her thoughts.

  Already? Brandon wanted to say. In all the time he had known Zara he knew she was the sort of girl who was indecisive, hopping from partner to partner and finding the smallest fault in each of them to bail out on the relationship. Brandon didn't even think he had met Kitty beyond a few group dinners he had attended. There hadn't been enough of a time for him to form an opinion on her, all he knew of her was that she saw herself as a burlesque performer and an activist who fought against fat discrimination, despite being the skinniest person he knew.

  "Well, I guess... you've been maintaining your things, your flings I mean, with the other guys too. Like the bourbon guy," Brandon said, nodding in the direction of the flask. "So maybe you just really aren't looking for a relationship right now. Maybe that you never really saw anything real in Kitty either."

  "I guess so," she said, considering his ideas. "I mean, I identify as poly first and foremost, so if Kitty has a problem with me spending the night at Frank's or Moe's or Casey's, then... it's all about communication, you know? She really should be telling me if she's not okay with that. If it's hurting the relationship."

  "Poly?"

  "Jeez, Brandon, you've got to get with the program! Poly, you know, polyamorous? I've always been polyamorous," Zara laughed, the high pitch of it directed primarily at her clueless friend.

  Brandon shook his head. "Like... the opposite of monogamy? Like, dating multiple people?"

  "You should try it sometime," Zara nodded.

  "Not for me," he said, immediately shrugging. "Nope." It was something Brandon instantly rejected, even if something lustful in him raised the thought of him being pursued by multiple partners... Even if he held the interest of more than one person, he would probably still have to choose.

  Was I judging Zara over this? He thought as hard as he could, trying to determine how he was feeling over it. Maybe this was an overture from her, maybe she was suggesting that she could still accommodate him in the little poly circle she had. If Frank was okay with sleeping with her while she was in a relationship with Kitty, while she also slept with Moe and Casey... maybe she was trying to suggest that there was still room for one more?

  "Seems a bit complicated," he immediately said, laughing. Zara caught the laugh too, the mix of their peals of laughter giving the atmosphere at the bridge a light, friendly zest.

  "Well... don't knock it 'til you try it, my friend. What's your situation anyway? Are you anti being poly because you've got your possessive little eyes set on someone? Who is she? I'm tremendously jealous already," Zara said, her hands going through her dyed hair in an attempt to restyle it for the next photoshoot.

  "There's nobody," Brandon said, immediately struck by how hollow he sounded when he said that. He hadn't been with someone in... a long time. Probably since he graduated, and that was a year plus ago. A few months back there was something promising with someone online when he had been adventurously joining as many online communities he could, on a Zara dare (how else?!) but nothing had come out of it.

  "That is such a shame, Brandon."

  "Doesn't take you to tell me too," he grinned sheepishly, hugging his hoodie against himself. The initial flame from the alcohol was subsiding now, and now he felt a little colder. "Anyway, let's head off to the next spot. Under the bridge still cool with you?"

  Zara leaned forward, popping her head out as she glanced towards the bottom. There wasn't much of a beach below but what little coast there was was clean, at least. He could tell she was already formulating photo ideas. So was he.

  "I'll even do something nude..." Zara grinned. "Gotta put some excitement in your life."

  He was still wrangling with the idea of possibly being attracted to Zara -- but what was most curious was that Brandon noticed zero sexual response to the idea of seeing the alt model naked. It was as if he just didn't want that, that his body shut down, not out of revulsion or anything... but rather an entire lack of interest.

  He had noticed that he had been feeling the same way over most women he knew. Maybe I'm actually feeling more gay lately, he wondered.

  But even if his sexual side seemed to not be stoked by the idea of shooting photos of Zara naked, his creative side immediately was thrilled. He could envision a dozen possible shots from other, greater portrait photographers he wanted to emulate. In fact, depending on the bottom of the bridge, he was even ready to go edgier, more dar
ing than he had ever previously shot.

  "Let's do this," he said, getting on his bike again. He placed his foot down to balance himself as he mounted, wobbling slightly from the handle as he struggled to sit just right. He lifted his heel so only the tip of his Converse sneakers pressed down to the ground, ready to launch off.

  "Careful," Zara said, narrowing her eyes at him. "You don't look balanced."

  "Me? Unbalanced? Brandon laughed, hearing himself laugh louder than normal -- the bourbon, surely. He started pedalling and laughed along as he sped off, letting Zara follow him.

  But there was something wrong with his balance. His legs seemed to respond with some delay, his mind suddenly quickly panicking as he started to swerve unsteadily out of the straight line path he was going for.

  "Brandon!" Zara shrieked and he actually took this to turn his head backwards, the periphery of his sight taken up by a bright light -- and only too late did he realize he was right in the path of an oncoming car, ignorant of how close they were until the very last moment.

  The crash flung him across two lanes, and he immediately tried picking himself up, smelling the strange, ghastly smell of an accident before he collapsed down again.

  My arm, he groaned, as his right arm failed repeatedly to help him push up to a sitting position. His entire right side was alternately numb and in jets of agonizing pain. In the back of his mind, he could vaguely perceive Zara and the driver of the car that hit him racing to him.

  But he closed his eyes first, and tried to ignore the pain.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Gurney

  The good doctor washed and wiped his hands clean after a successful surgery, proud of how smoothly the operation had gone. He slipped his stainless steel Audemars Piguet watch back on his left wrist once his hands were clean, glancing at the clock on the wall.

  Of course he had stayed on an extra two hours to volunteer to do the latest emergency room arrival. The kid had gotten hit by a car while he was cycling under the influence, an unfortunate event Gurney immediately attributed to bad luck and youthful indiscretion.

  Youth. When had the dragon last considered himself young? He was only a hundred and ninety years old; there were other dragons out there in the world who were much older. The fact that he had fewer than two centuries to his life probably set him at the very bottom of the dragon totem pole in the world. Millennia was the average here.

  "So I guess I am young after all," he boasted to himself, glancing over at the mirror. In his human form he could scarcely be called older than thirty, although even that was the result of his naturally masculine features avoiding him having a babyface of any sort. His strong jaw had always set him looking perpetually twenty-eight. Gurney avoided keeping a beard, but he knew if he needed to start ageing more visibly for the benefit of his oblivious coworkers, that would be what he would go for.

  He thought back about the poor kid who had gotten into the accident. Brandon Holland. 24 years old. He was struck by how handsome the young man was, and immediately felt a strange sort of survivor's guilt. At no point was Brandon seriously at risk of losing his life, but Gurney had brought a solemness to his performance as surgeon that made it seem like it was a life-or-death struggle.

  It was this full dedication that had all the other doctors and nurses whistling with admiration, as Gurney worked with maximum efficiency despite the late hour, despite this operation dragging the end of his shift on.

  By the time Gurney was done, Brandon's arm was now fully set and properly reconstructed. He had suffered fractures on multiple parts of his arm, the worst of it coming by his wrist. The X-rays looked fairly grim, and the more pessimistic colleagues in the room were even suggesting the possibility of amputation, or nerve damage leading up to significant lifelong paralysis.

  "That's not how it's going to end tonight," Gurney said. He had full confidence in his skills as a surgeon, but he also knew that he was considering a second option... one that wasn't strictly speaking legal by the hospital's rules...

  Dragon magic was an option all the same. The supernatural forces surrounding the use of draconic fire and blood would not be something the hospital's human instruments could possibly detect, and Gurney rarely tried to save a patient this way, for fear of setting a precedent where he would expend too much of his powers to save lives that could otherwise be saved with human medicine.

  But there was something special about this boy...

  Maybe it was just the lust of the lonely, and that Gurney was drawn to the patient because he resembled the exact sort of guy he could be interested by. Younger, fun, creative. Not thin and slender, Gurney preferred more meat on guys he eyed.

  Either way, letting attraction govern his medical decisions was hardly the most ethical thing to do for Seattle's top doctor. He knew he was losing his objectivity by doing so, but he thought back about the last time he had used his dragon powers to save someone.

  A pregnant woman in a car crash that killed her infant child in the back seat; her husband bled out in the ICU, just minutes before Gurney could have gotten to him. The pregnant woman would have suffered the same fate if not for Gurney's intervention. He snuck the scalpel out of the room and breathed black flames onto it, imbuing it with heat and healing magic. She survived, but explaining how he managed to pull off what appeared to be a medical miracle was something he barely managed.

  "Just lucky, I guess," Gurney said, shrugging. He pocketed the scalpel, afraid that the overwhelming supernatural energy surrounding it might lead a human doctor to accidentally hurt someone instead.

  Do no harm.

  The way he saw it, saving Brandon was entirely in line with the Hippocratic oath. He bit the inside of his lip as subtly as he could, wiping the gloved lower thumb of his left hand with the spitting blood before he started surreptitiously rubbing his the glove against the gaping wounds they were operating on. He glanced suspiciously from doctor to doctor, worried they would find his behavior strange.

  But everybody was so fixated on the surgery that nobody seemed to notice anything amiss. Now that his blood, even a tiny dose of it, had mixed with the patient's, Gurney knew Brandon would heal quickly... once he got some rest.

  Blood magic was the dragon's most powerful force, a strange and living energy that worked best when the blood was fresh and extracted under the auspices of his own emotions. He felt his paternal, protective needs bleed out onto his lip, commanding the most of the blood. Gurney tried to suppress the lust and desire that spiked no matter how inappropriate it was, but when he used his blood to heal Brandon, he knew it was the right decision.

  "He's stabilizing," one of the other doctors announced, giving Gurney as much room as he needed.

  Lust and desire. Those were integral elements of a dragon's needs, what his inner beast had demanded from him and chastised him for leaving himself unfulfilled for so long. Gurney took a better look at Brandon, noticing that a serenity had fallen over his features since his secret method of saving him.

  That was one extremely handsome young man.

  Omega, his inner dragon corrected.

  Gurney rejected the idea, knowing that a human like Brandon, this innocent, this young, was not the typical omega mate taken by other alphas. Alphas tended to go for omegas who were shifter fanboys, who dreamt for years about coupling with a strong, dominant alpha. He caught nothing about that in Brandon. Besides, given that Brandon was under serious anaesthesia, he had no way of determining if the young man was interested in shifters at all.

  He shook his head and mumbled something, as the other doctors watched him.

  "Is there something wrong, Dr Keller?" his chief assistant, David Lourdes, asked.

  "No, just struck by how many distractions keep threatening to break into my mind right now," Gurney answered, an amusement breaking into his voice.

  "Right," Lourdes quickly responded.

  Afterwards, when the surgery was over, Gurney had a quick word with the head of the emergency room and offered to sta
y on the shift for a few hours longer.