Eternal Embers

by Tessa Adams

  She stumbled in the dark, something he’d never seen her do before, and he caught her before she could fall. “See?” he said, sweeping her into his arms. “I told you this was a bad idea.”

  “I’m fine.” She struggled against him. “I don’t need your help.”

  “Tough. You’re going to get it.” Her voice was rough and her nose sounded stuffy, as if she had a cold or had been crying. He was betting on the cold, as Caitlyn wasn’t exactly the emotional type. He paused at a fork. “Left or right.”

  “Right. Then go down about a hundred feet and turn left.”

  He did as she instructed, then paused, awestruck as they entered the most mammoth cave room he had ever seen, with high ceilings and gorgeous stalactite and stalagmite formations. At first, he was shocked that he could see so well, and then he realized that the whole room was lit up, though he wasn’t sure how they managed it as he didn’t see any lamps or torches.

  Taking a few steps into the room, he started to let Caitlyn down when he heard an exclamation from across the room. Turning, he found a giant of a man running toward them, his long, dark hair flying behind him. Right behind him was an auburn-haired woman dressed in jeans and a lab coat.

  “Is she all right?” the man asked, his strange silver eyes swirling the same way that Caitlyn’s sometimes did.

  “I’m fine, Dylan,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Put me down, Matthew!”

  “What’s going on?” The woman reached for her, looped a hand around Caitlyn’s wrist. It took him a minute to realize that she was taking Caitlyn’s pulse.

  “Nothing, Phoebe. I tripped and Matthew freaked out. I’m fine.”

  “She got sick,” he said to the room in general, suddenly conscious of eight pairs of eyes staring at him. And most of them belonged to men the general size of a mountain. He was tall, about six-four, and had always considered himself well-built. But these men made him look like a kid. If all dragons looked like this, it was no wonder Caitlyn was so tall.

  “Sick, how?” Another dark haired dragon, this one with green eyes. He was already reaching into a bag, pulling out a stethoscope.

  “Keep that thing away from me, Quinn!” she said fiercely. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure?” Phoebe asked. She put a hand on Caitlyn’s forehead. “You’re not hot.”

  “Because I’m not sick.” She shoved at Matthew. “Now look what you’ve done. Will you please let me down?”

  He slid her to the ground reluctantly, but kept a sheltering arm around her shoulder. He knew these were her people, her clan as she’d called them, but nearly everyone in the room looked more than capable of violence, and he didn’t trust them.

  As soon as Caitlyn was on her feet, all eyes in the room shifted to him. “Who is this?” Dylan asked, his voice filled with menace. Matthew stepped forward, tried to shield Caitlyn with his body. But she wouldn’t budge, simply rolled her eyes again and muttered, “Give me a break. This is Matthew. He’s a friend of mine and I brought him here because I was hoping we could help him.”

  That was news to him. Eyebrows lifted almost to his forehead, he murmured softly, “What are you talking about?”

  “Just listen.” And then she laid out the story to them the same way he had done to her. As she did, he watched the men around him soften a little. Saw them relax as they realized he wasn’t a threat. They didn’t totally drop their guard—part of him wondered if they ever did—but at least they no longer looked like they wanted to kill something. He hadn’t been worried for himself—that whole eternal thing—but the last thing he wanted was for Caitlyn to get caught in the crossfire.

  “So,” she said, wrapping up his story. “I thought maybe we could help. Shawn and you and I. With the magic angle.”

  “What does that mean?” It was his turn to look at her incredulously.

  “It means that if you’re really serious about breaking the curse, I think we can do it for you. Magic is pretty much our specialty.”

  Suddenly he felt dizzy, like the whole room was spinning and he was the only thing standing still. He felt his legs buckle, reached out for the wall to steady himself. But Caitlyn got there first, wrapping a supportive arm around his shoulders. “I don’t think I’m the one you need to be worried about,” she whispered softly in his ear.

  “Are you serious?” he demanded. “You really think you can do this?”

  “I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t. But the choice is yours. If you don’t want to try, we don’t have to.”

  “Are you kidding? I definitely want to try. I’ve waited forever to get rid of this thing.”

  “Okay, then.” She bit her lip, looked away. “Let’s do this then. I’m not sure how it will work, to be honest. If we break the curse, does that mean you’ll die instantly? Or will you live out the rest of your normal life cycle, dying at the age you were originally destined to? Or will it be something in between?”

  “I don’t care. Whatever it is, I want to try it. Let’s go.”

  She nodded. “Sure. Just give me a few minutes to talk to Dylan and Shawn, figure out how they think we should do this.”

  “Yeah, of course. Take your time.”

  She stepped away and he watched as she crossed the room, Dylan and a man he presumed was Shawn trailing in her wake. Was it really possible? he wondered. Could she really break the curse that had haunted him for over a century and a half? He couldn’t imagine what it would be like, what it would mean to be free again. Even if it meant he died right now, it would be worth it to—

  He stopped as Dylan suddenly raised his voice and pointed at him. He couldn’t make out the words—the acoustics in the room were terrible—but he could tell that whatever the dragon shifter was saying was not complimentary to him. But Caitlyn shook her head, he look on her face fierce as she answered him.

  As he watched her, it occurred to Matthew for the first time just what he would be giving up if he went through with this. For so long he’d had nothing in his life. Nothing but memories and loss and a never-ending future. But that wasn’t the case anymore, was it? Now he had Caitlyn, and if he went through with this, then he would lose her and anything they might have built together.

  The thought paralyzed him for a moment, as did the realization that she had already figured it out. She wasn’t catching a cold. She’d been crying when she’d stumbled in the cave, crying when he’d carried her the rest of the way.

  Damn, he was a selfish bastard. He told himself to go to her, to tell her to forget the whole thing. But he couldn’t make his feet move, couldn’t get himself to make the offer. Caitlyn had her whole life ahead of her. She didn’t need to saddle herself with someone like him. Someone who carried more baggage than the average 747.

  Suddenly, Dylan shoved away from the wall he was leaning against and strode back across the cave toward him. He didn’t look happy and Matthew braced himself for whatever was to come.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” the other man asked him, somehow managing to look both incredulous and pissed off at the same time.

  No, suddenly he wasn’t sure at all. But Caitlyn looked so sure as she elbowed Dylan out of the way. “You don’t get to intimidate him into your way of thinking, Dylan. Leave him alone.”

  “But finding your mate is a gift! I don’t understand how he can just throw that away. Throw you away!”

  “Damn it, Dylan!” she hissed, burying her face in her hands. “You have to ruin everything.”

  “I ruin everything? He’s the one willing to kill himself even though he has a mate—” He broke off in midsentence.

  “What are you talking about?” Matthew asked, feeling like a child at the big kids’ table. He wanted desperately to know what was going on, but he just couldn’t quite get the inside comments that were flying around. “What mate?”

 
“You didn’t tell him?” Phoebe asked, wrapping an arm around Caitlyn’s waist. “Oh sweetie, why not?”

  “Because this is what he wants. He doesn’t need to know anything else!”

  “Bullshit.” Dylan’s answer was both succinct and vicious.

  “Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” Matthew demanded. “What is it that Caitlyn didn’t tell me?”

  Dylan nodded at the strange tattoos on Matthew’s biceps, then pulled up his own shirt to reveal similar bands, although he had three of them. “Those are mating bands you’re wearing. You’ve bonded with Caitlyn—”

  “Not completely—”

  They both turned and hushed her at the same time. She growled low in her throat, but didn’t say anything else.

  “Bonded?” he asked. “Like . . .”

  “Marriage,” Phoebe supplied.

  “Only deeper,” added Shawn. “Soul mates. It’s part and parcel of the whole dragon thing. Once you find your mate, you’ll never find another one. It’s a once in a lifetime thing.”

  The top of his head felt like it was going to blow off. “And I’m Caitlyn’s mate?” he asked, just to clarify.

  “You’re Caitlyn’s mate,” Dylan agreed. “Now don’t you think it’s time you started acting like one?”

  “Shut up, Dylan!”

  Caitlyn stepped forward then, gently took his face in her hands. “Don’t listen to them, Matthew. This is your decision. No one else gets a vote.”

  “Is it true?” he asked.

  “It’s complicated—”

  “Is. It. True.”

  “Well, technically, yes, but––”

  He didn’t hear any more, the buzzing in his ears drowned out everything else. Suddenly he couldn’t be here, in this room, having this discussion with half a dozen pairs of eyes focused on him. Wrapping his arm around Caitlyn’s wrist, he started dragging her from the room.

  “Hey!” she yelped. “What are you doing? We haven’t broken the spell yet—”

  “Stop!” he said, trying to think despite the myriad emotions racing through him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “It didn’t seem relevant.”

  “Didn’t seem . . .” He paused, thrust a hand through his hair. “Are you kidding me? I’m your mate and you don’t think it’s relevant enough to mention?”

  “Not if you didn’t feel it too. I understand your desire to break the curse, Matthew. There was no way I was going to stand in your way, especially if . . .”

  “Especially if what?”

  She focused on a point over his shoulder. “Especially if you don’t feel the same connection I do.”

  “Connection,” he repeated. “Like a window into your emotions? Is that what you’re talking about?”

  “Yeah, I guess. It’s a bond, where you can see inside the other person, feel what they feel, know things about them that no one else does.”

  He thought back to the panic he’d felt all those years ago, the strange feeling he’d had that she could see every part of him, even the ones he kept hidden from himself. It had sent him running, and since then he’d done nothing but spiral downward. Had that been because of her as well? Because he was missing her?

  He reached for her, pulling her against him so that her cheek rested against his. And he knew. The second he felt her there, her body resting gently, sweetly against his. She was what he’d been searching for all along. Not some key to dissolve the curse, but her. His mate. Caitlyn. And he’d almost ruined everything.

  “I love you,” he whispered, brushing his lips across her forehead.

  “Don’t,” she said, trying to pull away. But he held her tight, refusing to let her go. He wasn’t ever going to let her go again.

  “Don’t what? Don’t hold you? Don’t tell you how I feel?”

  “Don’t feel like you have to give up everything for me!”

  He laughed. “Give up everything? Are you kidding me? Without you, I don’t have anything!”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I want to be with you, Caitlyn. Forever.”

  She looked up at him, her gorgeous turquoise eyes searching his face for something. He didn’t know what she wanted, didn’t know what to give her, so he just looked at her with all the love he’d had pent up for her for far too long.

  It must have been enough, because she smiled, really smiled, for the first time since they’d been making love. “I don’t actually have forever,” she said.

  He grinned. “How long do you have?”

  “About six hundred more years, give or take.”

  “Six hundred years, huh?” he asked. “Then I guess we’ll revisit this whole breaking the curse thing, in say, five hundred and fifty years or so?”

  She laughed. “Sounds good to me.”

  And then she kissed him.

  And for the first time in his very, very, long life, he didn’t dread the future. In fact, suddenly, he couldn’t wait to see what was coming next.

  * * *

  Read on for a peek at the next full-length book in the Dragon’s Heat series by Tessa Adams,

  FORBIDDEN EMBERS

  Available in print and e-book from Heat in October 2011.

  * * *

  He was dreaming. He knew it, understood it, yet could do nothing to wake himself up.

  In the world of his mind’s creation, it was already too late. But then it always was. Part and parcel of his gift, these little trips into dreamland were his psyche’s way of foretelling the future. His future. And as the dreams were never wrong, he knew within a few minutes of falling asleep exactly what he had to do.

  Even as the idea came to him—even as he continued to sleep—Logan Kelly searched for a way around it.

  But there was none, as he’d known all along that there wouldn’t be. Better minds than his had been working on this for months now. Years. All to no avail. The thought that had snuck into his dreams, and expanded until it already felt like reality, really was the only rational solution.

  That didn’t mean he had to like it.

  As he slept, the walls and ceiling of the cave seemed to be closing in on him, the stalagmites closer and sharper than they had ever been before. Without conscious thought, he reached up and broke one of the very sharp ones off and shoved it into his pocket before using a burst of preternatural speed to get him outside.

  Under the stars.

  Amidst the sand and cacti.

  In the middle of the desert that had become more of a home to him than the rolling green hills of Ireland had ever been.

  The thought destroyed him, made him dizzy. Nauseous. Not the knowledge that he’d forsaken Ireland, but the sudden recognition that he would soon be forsaking the endless caves and deserts of New Mexico as well. And with it the only men and women he’d ever considered friends. Family.

  Bending over, he braced his hands on his knees and sucked huge, gulping breaths of air deep into his lungs. One after the other, until the world around him stopped spinning. One after the other, until the burst of short-lived panic receded.

  He would do this for them, he told himself, because he was the only one who could. That realization was enough to steady him, when just moments before he’d been certain that nothing would ever be able to do so again.

  Unable to bear his thoughts—his own stillness—for one more second, he began to walk. Around him, the desert teemed with life. Night predators searching out prey. Prey searching out new and better hiding spots. In the distance, an owl swept down toward the still warm sand at amazing speeds. Seconds later, a small animal squealed in pain.

  He refused to let it get to him. Predator, prey. It was the way of the world. Certainly, the way of his world, and after a decade of watching his clan mates
living in fear, he was sick of being the quarry. Sick to death of hanging around and waiting for the next attack, the next wave of sickness, the next horrifying death of someone he loved and was sworn to protect.

  He was ready to strike. It was the nature of the beast, after all. The nature of his beast, and those of his closest friends. He would find his enemy’s weak spot, hit fast and hard. Whatever damage he sustained—whether it be fleeting or absolute—would be more than worth it if he could finally find a way to neutralize the enemy.

  He snarled at the thought of the Wyvernmoons, his long legs eating up the miles as he walked off his frustration, his pain. Inside, his beast thrashed and snarled in an effort to get out, but Logan kept him on a very short leash. One slip-up and the dragon would burst free. He couldn’t afford that, not now, when logic and reason had to be everything.

  Not now, when the hot-tempered screams of the animal would do nothing to advance the case he knew he had to make.

  As he walked, he memorized the feel of the desert at night. After more than two hundred years, he should be able to call it up at will, but he wasn’t taking any chances. South Dakota in the winter time was as different from New Mexico as one could get and still be in America. And God only knew how many winters he would have to endure in that hellhole compound before he would once again find his way back here.

  If he ever did.

  The pragmatist in him knew that there was more than a passing chance that he would die on this latest quest, knew that after he left here in a few days he might never see his beloved stretch of desert again. And while he didn’t fear death—at three hundred and ninety-seven years old he had faced that enemy many times before—he did regret that he might never again enjoy the peaceful solitude of a walk over the land, his land, while a blanket of stars stretched as far as the eye could see.

  He broke into a run then, all but flying in human form across the forty or so miles that separated him from the small house he kept in town. But that was the thing about dreams—fiction and reality could mix until it was impossible to tell one from the other.