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She sat forward, allowing her shifter vision to slide over her already perfect human vision. Now she could see every single detail of the track. She could see each individual car and all the logos plastered on them.
She could also see each one of the drivers, the pit crews, the mechanics, and the fans that had arrived early.
“The racetrack is all about passion…”Violet recalled Gerri’s words, and she shivered with pleasurable excitement.
She would be meeting her fated mate in a few hours, and the anticipation was almost overwhelming. What would he look like? Would he like her? Would they get along right away like Abby had with her fated mate?
Would they have anything in common? Would he be a shifter too? And if yes, what kind of shifter would he be?
The tiger inside her growled angrily and started pacing.
Violet laughed. “Fine, I’ll stop obsessing about him. However, It’s hard not to,” she said, and the tiger growled again.
She sat in that chair for several hours and only stood when she was completely relaxed. Then she headed for the bathroom, so she could prepare for the night ahead.
She only hoped that her experience would be as magical as Abby had described. Because she wasn’t sure what she would do if it wasn’t.
TWO
FRANCO
NO TIME TO STOP.
Faster…Faster…Faster.
The words resounded through Franco’s head as he sped down Dupont Highway, passing a small town called Camden on his way to Dover. He could already hear cars speeding around the track at Eden International Speedway.
They were doing a practice run, he deduced, and the roaring cars added a nice undertone to the rock music he was listening to. The windows of his McLaren Artura were open, and the music blasted as he swung his car around a twist in the highway and flew into Dover. The city was awake, alive with excitement for the coming race weekend.
Franco had driven this speedway before, and about eighty percent of the fans would be his. The grandstands would be packed, and the noise from the crowd and commentators would rival the sounds of the cars, and Franco would love every minute of it.
His lion was listening because the beast inside him arched its spine and roared, throwing its magnificent head back. The road ahead of him was packed with cars, but he simply put his foot on the gas. And the cars steadily gave way.
People in the street cheered as he sped past, and drivers leaned on their car horns. He put an arm out of the window and gave a wave. Franco grinned when he heard one solitary scream from a female fan.
And then the racetrack came into view.
No one at the racetrack administration asked him to stop to check for ID as they did with everyone else. He was Franco Zellar. Everyone in Dover knew who he was.
He came to a stop in his assigned parking bay and jumped out of the car. He patted her for luck and then headed in to meet his crew.
Franco had planned on heading to the hotel first, but he changed his mind halfway through Georgetown. There was no time to wait.
He had to prepare for the race. It didn’t matter that he held the record for the most wins at Eden International Speedway. Records were there to be broken.
And he would be the one breaking his own record. No one else would have that pleasure.
This weekend he had to get a workout in and see his physiotherapist in preparation for the qualifying lap. It didn’t matter that he knew the track like the back of his hand. Every race was different regardless of location, and any number of different problems could arise. A stiff wind could cause failure at the exact same track that had resulted in a previous win.
And anyway, the Eden track was a bit of a bitch. The oval shapes weren’t always pleasant,especiallythe Eden one. He might not have to shift gears more than twice throughout the one-mile run, but he had to negotiate the shape of the track and the fact that there was virtually no leverage for the car.
Franco jogged to the track and sat on the edge of the concrete. He barely looked at the other drivers or their crews. Franco sat there until he could practically feel the track beneath his fingers.
It was hot outside, and the smell of asphalt was mixed with gas and motor oil. The heady fragrance hung heavily in the air, and Franco inhaled it, indulging in it. The lion inside him roared again, satisfied that they were in their version of the savannah.
They were the predator here, and every other driver was the prey.
After he felt in sync with the track, Franco went to inspect his car, which had been flown in the night before. She was another McLaren… the McLaren MP4/4 … and she was beautiful.
