by TJ Cross
"Gurney, huh?" Zara asked. "Wow, sounds like a huge fucking prep."
He rolled his eyes in response, unsure if he was playfully irritated at her or genuinely irritated. That's Zara for you. Everyone either has to be a too-cool-for-school alternative scenester or you were a square, a prep, automatically dismissed by the queen of cool.
It wasn't like him at all, but he actually felt a fire inside him telling him not to take that sort of comment lying down. Pride swelled in him until he opened his mouth to speak, with surprising venom. "You know, not everyone I date or am interested in has to be a hipster. Guys like that, I leave for you."
They were both equally surprised by those words. Zara raised her perfectly-drawn eyebrows even further, blinking at Brandon. He thought about shrugging in embarrassment and backing down, but the thought of Gurney stayed in the forefront of his mind, and just thinking about him made him want to stay his course.
"You know what? You're right," Zara said, doing quick nods of her head. "I'm supportive. I swear I am! So, young doctor, huh? Sounds hot."
"Definitely hot. We're talking... male model hot. Tall guy, taller than me, but... built. Hunky is the right word. I mean, without a doubt, the most attractive person I've ever met. You know in Twilight the movie they introduce the whole Cullen family and they're all otherworldly, ethereally beautiful? Kinda like that. Except there was nothing angelic about this man. He was... just real. Solid."
Zara considered what he was saying, and Brandon watched her build an image of the man he was describing to her. "Seeing that you mentioned Twilight and all, wasn't the vampire dad a doctor too? So you're saying this Gurney of yours is like that, essentially?"
"Nope," Brandon laughed. He shook his head, closing his eyes to let his mind repopulate with visions of Gurney. There was a word he was looking for, one that would allow him to describe the doctor as accurately as possible.
It wasn't just handsome, nor did gorgeous do the job. He was sharp. But that wasn't enough. He was...
"Dashing."
Zara nodded, letting Brandon continue.
"Dashing like an old-fashioned movie star. A man's man, that sort of ultra-masculine deal... but not in the modern way. Maybe he's the kind of guy you think is naturally arrogant, but he's also extremely generous and compassionate. I imagine you'd have to be if you're a doctor, saving lives every day and all," Brandon said, his words becoming pure stream-of-consciousness as he sketched out his image of Gurney. "An alpha male."
"You know, in my circles, that sort of alpha ultra-masculine man-on-top thing isn't necessarily something we find hot. Or welcome," Zara pointed out. "It's the 21st century. Chivalry is just the patriarchy, babe."
"Ugh, not now," Brandon shook his head again, not wanting his little effusive praise on Gurney to turn into yet another discussion of Zara's activist politics.
"I'm just saying! You don't fit in that sort of hole, either, Brandon, but that doesn't make you any less hot. You don't have to be a dashing, dapper, ultra-cool, James Bond, Mr Man's Man kinda deal to be sexy. You're sexy the way you are," Zara explained.
It was a nice boost to his self-esteem, which had been taking a serious beating in the last few weeks. Hell, Brandon had even viewed the accident as a culmination of all his bad luck in love and in life. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it. Anyway, you're absolutely 100% good enough for your gorgeous doctor guy, so if you really like him, you should definitely go for it. Like, fake an injury with your nurse, say your stitches burst open or something, make sure your doctor man comes running to the rescue," Zara said, grinning.
"I won't even have to resort to that," Brandon said, reaching for the card on his bedside table. He had to turn his body around, reaching across awkwardly with his left hand. "Check this out."
He slipped the business card into Zara's hands, and she was immediately impressed. "Dr Gurney Keller, hmmm... and would you look at that, a personal phone number, too."
"Doc did say I should call him if I had any questions," Brandon grinned.
Zara matched the smile. "I don't suppose 'do you want to take me out on a date' counts as a question, does it?"
"Who knows? He said any questions, so I'll try my luck," Brandon said excitedly.
"You've got to do it!"
Brandon turned his head, trying to figure out where his phone was. It came to him that he didn't know; like Gurney had told him, his belongings were probably with Zara. "Do you have my phone?"
"Oh shit, yes I do!" she said, immediately going through her bag to pull his Samsung smartphone out. She tossed it over to Brandon's lap, holding the card up to read the number aloud to him as he typed with one hand.
"Ringing..." Brandon said, waiting as he pressed the phone to his ear.
"Yeah? Yeah?" Zara said, leaning forward and dropping her elbows on the bed, sliding them right by his side.
The call rang and rang and rang, but nobody picked up. "I guess he's not by his phone right now?" Brandon said, a little dismayed. He had been missing that authoritative, deep voice. It was sexy.
"You can try again soon."
"I will," Brandon pledged. "Oh, speaking of which... do you know what's the situation with the rest of my stuff? My cameras?"
Zara froze, the color immediately draining from her face. "I collected the cameras but... they're totally wrecked, B. Not just the camera bodies, but the lenses too. I think at least one lens element, like, flung off when you landed on the road after being hit. I'm so sorry. Do you have insurance or anything that covers this?"
"Of course not," Brandon said, hollow again. He closed his eyes again.
No luck whatsoever.
CHAPTER FIVE
Gurney
The whole room would go quiet when they saw Firestarter. There was no way anyone could miss that distinctive dark grey helmet, looking more like a battle helm than a racecar driver's with the two intimidating horns jutting out from the sides. Everyone knew to take the man seriously when he appeared, never mingling before a race, instead only emerging minutes before the start -- just in time for the organizers to bump someone off the list to make way for Seattle's most notorious drag and street racer.
He rarely spoke, but when he did people always scrambled to attention. Intimidating, yes, that was him -- not menacing, not evil... but strong. The kind of strong nobody dared mess with. Even with the helmet on, the hefty glass visor blocking the sight of his face, anyone who saw Firestarter would know that he was possessed by an incredible fire that drove him to excel at everything he did.
The race hadn't even begun but already Firestarter was on what seemed like a victory lap around the crowd that had gathered to watch the illegal race tonight. Hipsters, tough guys, ordinary people chasing a rumor... this was industrial north Kent, the hub for Seattle's dangerous street racing.
Try as the cops might, but people flocked to these races, electrified by the prospect of high speed just as much as by the risk of death.
And death was very, very real. Firestarter remembered when he had first started, maybe four years ago, and every month there seemed to be a fatal collision. He honored his lost rivals by etching their names onto the engine of his cars.
They were still at a parking lot in front of a Chow Palace late night Chinese restaurant, cars lined up with drivers bragging, flirting and touting that this night would be theirs. Firestarter's Nissan was parked by modified BMWs, Hyundais, Dodges, Subarus and Fords.
Most drivers treated the lot as if only their car was worth anything. Firestarter was an exception. He never made it look like he was openly admiring other peoples' cars, but when he saw a thing of beauty, he made sure to stop to get a proper look.
It just so happened that he saw an open-top Mercedes convertible, a dad car looking out of place among the racers, and he glanced around, turning his helmet exaggeratedly as he looked to find the driver.
"Hey," a young black guy nodded, stepping up and almost stiffening as the notorious racer stood in front of his car.
"Nice car," spoke Firestarter, his voice sounding deeper, more dangerous than his normal speaking voice -- both out of a need to adhere to the persona of the deadly illegal racing veteran as well as to mask his normal identity.
It helped that his custom helmet was specially-designed so that his voice would distort, making him seem like a movie villain. Darth Vader in a GT-R.
"Bought it with money from my startup exit," the Merc's owner beamed. "People don't associate the SL600 with racing, but it's a beast."
"I know," Firestarter responded. Ignore the associations of the Mercedes melded round front bulbs and the preppy slick shape of this luxury car, and you had a truly great racing machine. "5.5L twin-turbo V12 engines. 493 horsepower and 590 pounds-feet of torque," he recited. "11.9 seconds to the quarter mile. You've got a great eye... even if you're a startup guy."
"With this car, either I'd be a startup guy, or my daddy's a retired stockbroker. I earned it, man. And you might not believe me, but I might beat you."
The laugh that came from the helmeted driver was a strange and cutting thing, sounding almost sadistic. The guy with the Mercedes shrunk a little, nodding to Firestarter and going back to his car.
Alone, Firestarter was able to enjoy the crisp air of the night, knowing that it was midnight and he had shed his skin -- the respectable Dr Gurney Keller was nowhere to be seen.
Everybody needed to unwind and this was how Gurney did it. It had started almost as a joke for him but that running joke had taken on a life of its own, spinning out of proportion as Gurney won race after race, his dragon instincts and overall natural affinity for speed giving him an incredible edge over everyone else.
Flying was too dangerous for dragons these days. This was the closest thing to it, he reasoned, enjoying the exhilaration of high-octane risk.
Blowing red lights, stop signs and crossing oncoming traffic at a hundred miles an hour? That was all too easy for the dragon. His roar matched his engine's, and he was the very best at what he did.
He needed this. All day he had been... burdened. Burdened by the thought of the handsome young man whose face and presence kept haunting him. His body ached for him, even though they had barely spoken.
Even if it didn't sit right with him that he was lusting after a patient.
But Firestarter knew nothing about patients, about the ethics of medicine.
As he circled around the row of cars ready to join the night's race, with all eyes on him, nobody knew that Gurney's mind was fully distracted by the thought of Brandon.
Saving his arm, risking his license by employing blood magic to heal him supernaturally... that came naturally to Gurney. Because it was the right thing to do. Because a youthful indiscretion fuelled by a little drink and a lot of stupidity didn't deserve him being paralyzed for life.
"Stop it," Firestarter growled, needing his head back in the game. Some doctors did yoga; this was Firestarter's ultimate form of meditation, the clarity in his head after the heart-thumping thrill of a race filling him with the sort of freedom he needed to gather his thoughts and move with the considered, composed pace that had marked his two centuries of life.
But it wasn't working now.
Instead of thinking about the scream of his car leaving the rest of the opposition in his dust, he had been thinking about Brandon.
I'm obsessed, he thought. This was more than a crush, this was a need to delve deeper into the interesting young man. It was a perplexing urge that his body throbbed, wanting him to decipher everything about him.
Jessica had been right. He had gone far too long ignoring his most primal, most personal desires -- and that was the most lethal thing a dragon could do.
Humans deprived of romance often broke down. Dragons... well, they erupted.
He understood now why he wanted Brandon so much. It was a physical reflex to seeing someone so handsome, compounded by Gurney's own dominant nature in wanting to protect someone under his control. The tension from having gone too long without mating magnified both concerns.
Brandon.
Firestarter was surprised to discover he was shaking. It wasn't the cold, of course. He had been so affected by their chance meeting, by his hope that he had some sort of future with anyone... especially Brandon.
His favorite pastime of street racing now seemed almost trivial compared to his desire to make an omega out of Brandon, to explore the possibilities of true, unbridled passion between them.
It felt automatic: he had been so distracted by it that he found himself confused momentarily when he was brought back into the moment, realizing he was in his car, waiting as a scantily-clad woman walked up and down the row of cars, ready to flag the race off.
"Get out of my head," Firestarter growled at the ghost of Brandon, giving his car a last check before the race.
Flat straightaway streets welcomed him as he sped down them, his red Nissan screaming like the flame decals painted over the doors. He gripped his steering wheel tight as he weaved through the other drivers, expertly maintaining control over the wheel and the gear stick as he sped straight down, drifting in precise, measured slides when their designated track took a route through the repetitive loading docks that peppered the area.
Now he was in his element.
Gurney treated the moment dispassionately, managing his unleashed dragon's rage that motivated his fast drive just as he balanced his thoughts of Brandon. Even as his shifter needs went unmet, he retained the coolness under pressure that set him so far ahead all the other people he worked with -- and raced against.
To his surprise, the Mercedes was actually catching up, taking advantage of a flat portion down an empty, abandoned factory to scream ahead of the competition until he was at Firestarter's heels.
"11.9," Firestarter growled, criticizing his own earlier praise of the convertible. There'd be no end to the mockery in the racing scene if a newcomer in an entitled corporate lawyer's vehicle beat the Dragon of Seattle.
The now-unwelcome thought of Brandon continued to distract him, his heart beating fast as he mentally compared the similarities in thrills between the idea of winning this race versus seducing the young patient just the way he wanted...
He brought his foot down on the pedal with the exact amount of pressure the race demanded. Firestarter was not about to lose control, even if the Mercedes now entered his blindspot, closing in with impressive speed.
The dragon's car swerved out of the way of a lamppost, losing a split second's momentum allowing the Mercedes to squeeze ahead!
Gurney didn't just feel his dragon rage at that moment, he felt himself practically burst into flames. If he didn't control his anger, he might even be liable to start involuntarily shifting into dragon form...
"Wings and claws can't win car races," he reminded himself, the distortion from the helmet making it seem like it was someone else speaking to him instead.
He looked down the track. They would have to jink and take an extremely sharp turn left back onto the street, and Gurney knew that this was where he could retake the lead.
Can this guy drift the way I can?
His hunch proved right when he threatened his car with more power than it was prepared to handle, short of a blast of NOS, and he felt himself hurtle forward as the Nissan sprinted down to the very last inch, just before he had to swing the wheel and pull on all the brakes so he could slide aggressively into position and overtake the stumbling Mercedes.
It worked! He left the Mercedes in the dust while the distant roar of all the others remained far too behind to distract him. Recovering from the shrieking skid of tires, he raced on, instantly spotting the crowd waiting at the finish line.
