The Dragon’s Flight: Gay Paranormal Romance

by Clearwater, Julian

  The fire had been caused by a mechanical malfunction in one of the heating systems. Luckily, Mark had renter’s insurance.

  “No, no, and no,” Jenny said. “Here, you’re at my mercy. Didn’t that fire teach you anything?”

  Only how to have two days of nightmares about smoke and flame. And in each nightmare, a monster looked at him from beyond the smoky shadows. The weirdest part was that the monster didn’t scare him at all; in the nightmares, he was drawn to the monster.

  He shook away the weird thoughts and looked back up at Jenny. “You’ve been super sweet to let me stay here, but—”

  “But you’re tired of me pressuring you to go out,” she finished.

  “Well, yeah.”

  Jenny’s deep brown eyes regarded Mark with a mixture of understanding and determination. “Okay, fine. Let’s make a deal.”

  Mark groaned. “This never works out well for me.”

  “You’ll like this one, I promise. You go out tonight with me and James and a couple of our friends. You’ll see that being social is actually a good thing. If you don’t have a good time, I’ll leave you alone about ‘getting out there.’”

  “Forever?” Mark asked hopefully.

  “For…six months.”

  “Jenny, it doesn’t matter anyway. Nobody’s interested in me.”

  “Ha!” she said, bouncing up and down. “I totally knew you were going to use that argument. Oh, I know you so well, honey. Nobody’s interested?”

  “No?” Mark made it into a question.

  “Then what about this?” She thrust a paper in front of his face.

  “It looks like a bandage wrapper.”

  “And?”

  “There are numbers on it.”

  “Numbers.” She made an unattractive snorting sound. “Not just numbers—this is a series of ten numbers in two groups of three, and a group of four. This, my dear, is a phone number, and it was in your pocket.”

  Mark held up a hand. “Okay, one, I have no idea whose phone number that is, and two, what were you doing looking through my pockets?”

  “I did your laundry, dumbass. After the fire? Your clothes smelled like smoke, so I washed them while James was picking up new things for you.”

  “That number came out of my jeans?”

  “Sweatshirt.”

  “But nobody—oh my god.” Mark groaned. “The fireman.”

  How could he have forgotten Cyrus the fireman? The answer was, he hadn’t forgotten Cyrus. He felt like an idiot for turning down the date, but what Mark had said was true—he wasn’t doing relationships right now. Or possibly ever. He was a shitty match for someone as beautiful and heroic as Cyrus. Compared to Cyrus, Mark was shaky and scared and depressed and really, he was just better off alone and it was better for everyone else.

  “The fireman?” Jenny’s voice went up three octaves. “What fireman? A fireman gave you his phone number? I don’t know which is worse—that you didn’t call him, or that you didn’t tell me.”

  She looked like she was about to throw something at him. Mark held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I didn’t know he gave me his phone number. He must have slipped it in my pocket or something.”

  “Was he hot?” Jenny asked. “Of course he was hot. He’s a freaking firefighter. See, this is what I’m talking about, Mark. You’re a catch.”

  He shook his head.

  Jenny ignored him and walked to the clothes hamper on the other loveseat. She rooted around in it until she pulled out a lightweight sweater. “Here, wear this with your black jeans. You’re coming with us to Hub’s even if I have to drag you there. If nothing else, as a repayment for my kindness of taking you in during your time of need.”

  Mark raised his eyebrows. “And if I go, you won’t hassle me about going out for six months?”

  “When you go,” she said. “There’s no if about this.”

  ***

  Forty minutes later, Mark sat at the bar at Hub’s. Jenny leaned over and poked his arm. “Don’t pretend like you’re not having fun. This place is awesome.”

  Mark glanced around the dim bar. It was crowded, and he could see why the place was popular. Low lighting barely illuminated no-nonsense tables and chairs, as well as some quieter booths tucked along the edge of the large room. Two pool tables stretched out in the center. There were a number of attractive guys around. One, a lumberjack-looking sort of guy wearing a flannel shirt, caught Mark’s eye. He raised his eyebrow at Mark in invitation.

  Mark felt his heartrate pick up. Did he really want to do this? Have a conversation with an attractive stranger at the bar? He turned back around to take a sip of his beer. No—he didn’t want to do this.

  Jenny didn’t know it, but he had Cyrus’s phone number in his pocket. What Jenny also didn’t know was that Mark was considering calling him. He could feel himself blushing just at the thought. What would he say?

  Around him, people played pool and talked and drank, immersed in their own little dramas. Mark, however, was in his own head, wondering how the conversation would go.

  Lumberjack, across the room, was already chatting up some other guy. Jenny and James were deep in a conversation about DNA testing.

  The air in the bar changed all of a sudden. Nobody seemed to notice except Mark, but the room felt fuller, somehow, yet in a good way. Mark couldn’t figure it out. What had changed? He looked around. There, coming through the open door, was a couple of guys. They wore black t-shirts with the fire station logo across the front, and their muscles were prominent beneath the fabric.

  Mark’s breath caught in his throat. One of the firemen was Cyrus.

  Cyrus

  Punching Zane in the arm, Cyrus made his way to the bar. The place was crowded, but it was Friday and Cyrus really shouldn’t be surprised. Still, he liked quieter get-togethers. Zane really wanted to play pool, though, and had guilted Cyrus into coming with him.

  Cyrus wondered which room of his house would fit a pool table, so he wouldn’t have to make trips to the bar anymore. He’d just make Zane come to his place. He wondered if Zane would read the invitation wrong. Zane seemed pretty tolerant, but Cyrus still hadn’t come out to him. Their friendship felt pretty solid, but Cyrus had experienced rejection before from people who didn’t want to be associated with a gay guy. It wasn’t fair, but at least then he knew where they really stood. With Zane, though, it would be tough because they also worked together. How would things change on the job if it turned out Zane was a closet homophobic? Would he still watch Cyrus’s back when they were putting out fires?

  These thoughts were way too heavy for a night meant to unwind. Cyrus had a couple of days off, and dammit, he planned to relax.

  But then a familiar scent hit his nose. Smoke and apples. It was the scent of Mark Rollens, the attractive human Cyrus had rescued at the apartment fire. Try as he might, Cyrus hadn’t been able to forget about Mark. He’d checked his phone often during his downtime at the station. Every time, he’d been disappointed. Maybe Mark hadn’t found Cyrus’s number, or worse, Mark had found it but he wasn’t going to call.

  Mark was here, though, at Hub’s. Instantly alert, Cyrus raised his gaze to the people around the large room. It didn’t take him long to find Mark sitting at the bar, talking with an attractive brunette and a handsome man who looked to be her date. Had Mark seen Cyrus yet, though?

  It didn’t matter, Cyrus decided. Mark had blown him off the night of the fire, and he hadn’t called, and maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.

  Zane set down some quarters on the edge of the pool table—the practice in Hub’s to signal someone was waiting for a table—and Cyrus got them each a pint. He returned to the table where Zane waited.

  “You seem wound up,” Zane said.

  “Nah.” Cyrus took a long swig of his beer.

  “You know, forgetting your mask, at that barn fire—that’s not like you. I’m worried, man. Celia said we should have you over for dinner, maybe try to hook you up with her friend Marth
a.”

  Cyrus inwardly winced. Here it was. He didn’t want to lie to Zane, and he didn’t want to get by on lies of omission anymore, either. It’s what had driven him and Jonas apart as a couple. Friendship should be as solid as possible. If he couldn’t tell Zane that he was a dragon shifter, he should at least be able to tell Zane he was gay.

  “I told Celia it wasn’t a good idea,” Zane continued. “She was pretty pissed at me after that, wanted to know why I thought Martha wasn’t your type. A bunch of, ‘What, my best friend isn’t good enough for your best friend’ bullshit.”

  “Oh, I’m sure that’s not the case,” Cyrus said, clearing his throat. Damn, when would that pool table be ready? This conversation was traveling on that path that was as imminent as it was dangerous. Everything would change.

  “Course not,” Zane said. “I mean, Martha’s not a dude. She’s not your type at all.”

  Cyrus choked on his beer. “Wait, what?”

  Zane laughed and slapped him on the back. “I’m not an idiot, I can tell. It’s cool, man. My little brother is gay. It’s not a big deal at all, but I could also tell you were building it up in your head.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Cyrus said.

  “Just say cheers to friendship.”

  Zane held his pint up for a clink, and Cyrus obliged him.

  “Cheers,” Cyrus said. “Wow, I feel better. Thanks for helping with that.”

  “No problem. Greg, my brother, told me how hard it can be sometimes, especially with coworkers. So we’re cool, right?”

  “Yeah, we’re cool.”

  The pool table became available and they got up to play. Between each shot, Cyrus was aware of Mark’s gaze on him. He tried to ignore the heat he felt zinging straight to his groin at every glance, but Mark was impossible to ignore. The dim bar lights shone on Mark’s blond hair, and something about the angle made the soft cleft in Mark’s chin stand out more. It made Cyrus want to bite him there, just a little nip of affection.

  Cyrus missed his next shot entirely, and Zane laughed.

  “Either I’m really improving,” Zane said, “or you’re off your game tonight.”

  “I’m off my game,” Cyrus said. Then, realizing he sounded like an ass, he added, “But you’re also improving.”

  “Ha.” Zane cleared his throat. “Incoming.”

  “Incoming?” Cyrus turned, and there was Mark, right behind him.

  “So I owe you a thank-you,” Mark said.

  Cyrus stared at him.

  “And maybe a phone call,” Mark added.

  Cyrus couldn’t help his grin. “Well, there’s that whole line from Speed about relationships being based on intense experiences, how they never work.”

  Mark smirked. “You remember the rest, right?”

  Cyrus spared a quick glance at Zane, who was studiously looking away from them, busy with the last gulp from his pint glass.

  “We just have to base it on sex,” Cyrus said.

  The way Mark was looking at him, those bright blue eyes full of promise, had every part of Cyrus heating up. It felt good—it felt damn good. His eyes, even, he could feel them shifting, narrowing in on Mark and everything that Mark promised.

  “You okay?” Mark asked. “Your expression is just…”

  He looked predatory, he was sure. Cyrus did his best to straighten his features to a blander expression.

  “Sorry,” Cyrus said. “I’m fine, really, just had a thought.”

  “You looked wicked,” Mark said, but he was smiling.

  “Annnnd that’s my cue to go,” Zane said, pushing in to shake Mark’s hand. “I’m his buddy Zane, but I’m sure my wife is missing me. And if she’s not, too damn bad because I’m going home.”

  Mark shook Zane’s hand. Cyrus said goodbye to Zane. “Thanks, man, for bringing me out tonight.”

  Zane smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “You just didn’t know what was good for you.”

  “It means a lot.” Cyrus wasn’t just talking about Mark—although that was a good portion of his gratitude. He was also talking about Zane’s acceptance. The world had a long way to go to really be a fair place, but with more people like Zane, life was easier.

  Cyrus turned back to the table he’d been sharing with Zane. Mark was sitting there now, an expectant look on his face.

  “Where do we go from here?” Mark asked.

  “Can I buy you a drink?”

  “I’d like that.”

  Cyrus grinned. “Don’t go anywhere—I’ll be right back.”

  He couldn’t believe his luck as he made his way over to the bar. Mark, here. Mark, interested in him! Mark, waiting at a table with his blue eyes all swoony and giving off lustful scents.

  Cyrus got their drinks quickly and rushed back to the table. “So, you know I’m a firefighter for the Prospect station. Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself?”

  Mark clinked his glass to Cyrus’s. “First, cheers. To new prospects in Prospect.”

  Cyrus couldn’t help the laughter that came forward. When was the last time he’d felt so at ease with someone?

  Mark shook his head. “Too cheesy?”

  “Not at all. It was perfect. You’re perfect. How’d you end up in a little place like Prospect, Colorado?”

  “Bad luck?” Mark laughed. “Just kidding. I really like it here. My brother, Eli, he always wanted to live in a small town when he settled down. First he had to be a hero, but he always said that when it was time to find a wife and settle down to raise kids, he was going to point his finger at a random spot in the middle of a United States map. Wherever his finger came down, he’d make sure the town was at least fifty miles from a large city. And that’s where he’d go.” Mark shook his head, as if remembering. “There were other ridiculous things, too. He wanted to be near the mountains or a lake. He wanted the town to have at least one decent Chinese restaurant. And if at all possible, he wanted the town to have a name that sounded promising.”

  Cyrus took a sip of his beer. “That sounds like Prospect. We’re in the mountains. Chiang’s has great Chinese cuisine. And then there’s the name, Prospect.”

  Mark nodded. “It’s perfect, right?”

  “It is. But all this is about Eli. What about you?”

  “Eli died too soon,” Mark said.

  Shit, Cyrus hated seeing Mark sad. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I mean, it’s really not, but I’m learning to deal with it. One of the things I did was choose a new place to live, and I decided to use Eli’s search method.”

  “A good way to honor your brother.”

  “It’s not enough,” Mark said, “but it’s something.”

  He looked so sad, there, his bright blue eyes swimming in unshed tears. He held his glass with both hands, as if trying to anchor himself to the table.

  “Is it okay to ask—how he died?” Cyrus asked.

  “The Dragon Floods.” Mark’s voice turned bitter. “We were both living in California, but we were up in the Sierras, far from any flooding. But Eli couldn’t stand it that people were getting swept out to sea in tsunamis and floods. He couldn’t stand it that people were drowning. So he traveled to the coast to help out. He was a helicopter pilot. While on one of his rescue missions, a sudden wave came up. It was dark—they couldn’t see it—and the chopper went down. Once the water receded, they found Eli’s helicopter. They flew the body back for me to identify.”

  “It sounds horrible,” Cyrus said. His kin had done this to the humans. While he’d missed flying with his dragon kin every day since he’d left, he had disagreed with them on the floods. The strike had been preemptive and, in Cyrus’s opinion, uncalled-for.

  But nobody had asked Cyrus’s opinion. He was one of the lesser dragons—when he’d left their new home on the northern ice cap, he hadn’t even been missed.

  “I hate those dragons,” Mark said. His blue eyes were full of hatred. “They took my brother away from me. I’m glad we nuked the lot of t
hem.”

  So there it was. Cyrus had thought Mark was perfect. And in fact, Mark was perfect. It was Cyrus and his dragon blood that were the problem.

  Mark

  Mark gulped a small sip of his beer, more for something to do than for any actual thirst. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get so intense.”

  “No problem.”

  But something was wrong—Cyrus didn’t look as open or happy as he’d looked when they first started talking. Mark groaned inwardly. He was always getting too intense. He was too hung up on Eli’s death, even five years later, to be in a relationship. Wasn’t this what he kept telling Jenny?

  “Really,” Cyrus said, putting a warm hand on Mark’s arm. “You have every right to get intense about your brother’s death. The Dragon Floods were a hard time for everyone.”

  “True.” Mark took a shaky breath. “Jenny—that’s the curly-haired woman over there—says I need to work harder at getting over it. The acceptable brooding period has ended, she’s always saying.”

  “Me, I don’t think there’s an end date on grief,” Cyrus said.

  “You’ve lost someone, too.” Mark stared at the dark-haired, gray-eyed man before him. This muscular fireman oozed sensuality and made Mark’s cock spring to life, and even better, Cyrus understood Mark on a basic level. “You really get me.”

  “I do,” Cyrus said. “At least, I want to.”

  Mark stared at him. If Cyrus was even half as sincere as he looked, he could be the perfect guy. His gray eyes were mesmerizing, and the heat he exuded made Mark want to get sweaty and naked.

  “I’m not usually so forward,” Mark said, “but I want to sleep with you tonight.”

  A slow smile spread across Cyrus’s face. “Your place or mine?”

  “Well, seeing as how mine is currently being fixed after the fire…”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s right,” Cyrus said. “Where’ve you been staying?”

  “Jenny’s townhouse. And while she doesn’t mind me taking up her living room couch, and she probably wouldn’t mind you there, either…”