Hidden Embers

by Tessa Adams

  Shock ricocheted through him as he stared at the band, telling himself that it couldn’t exist. It couldn’t have happened that quickly, that easily. It just wasn’t possible. And it sure as hell couldn’t have happened with Jasmine. She was human, for God’s sake.

  And yet, there it was, no mistake about it. He’d seen enough of these through the years to recognize exactly what it was. His own father had had one in gold, and now, after years of searching for a mate, Dylan finally had one in the same bright blue-violet as Phoebe’s eyes.

  It was a mating band—magical, pure and completely irreversible. Even death didn’t make it fade. He and Jazz were now joined for eternity.

  Inside him, his dragon screamed in triumph, its claws raking at him in a way that told him it had recognized her all along. That’s why it had tried so hard to get out and get to her in the bar the night before, why it had been there right under the surface while the two of them had been making love. The dragon had wanted to make sure that Jazz was claimed—not just as Quinn’s mate, but as its own as well.

  Why the hell hadn’t he recognized it? Why hadn’t he figured things out before they’d ended up tied together like this?

  His legs went a little gummy underneath him, and Quinn sat down on the bed, hard. What was he going to do? How was he going to explain this to Jazz without coming across like some crazy, fucked-up stalker?

  He thought of the pepper spray attached to Jazz’s keychain and the hard-ass look in her eyes when she’d talked about the assholes who had hassled her the night before. Yeah, he could totally see this thing going over really well, especially when he mentioned how uncomfortable it was for mates to be separated for longer than a few days.

  Oh yeah, she was going to love this—probably about as much as he did. The question was, how would he tell her? He couldn’t exactly blurt out the truth. She’d be gone so fast, her tires would probably smoke as she shouted over her shoulder that he needed to check himself into the nearest mental institution. And he wouldn’t even blame her. It was exactly what he would do if someone came to him with the fantastical story he was about to tell her—at least, if he didn’t already know the truth about the things that went bump in the night.

  His heart started to beat double time, even as he told himself not to panic. He could take this slowly, not spring it on her. He could buy her breakfast, get her cell phone number, maybe date for a while before hitting her with the whole “by the way, we’re bound for eternity” thing. “Sorry, I might have been able to stop it when it first started, but I didn’t even see it coming. My bad.”

  That was going to go over really well. But he had to think of something—and quickly—because he didn’t relish being the guy who lost his mate before he ever really had her. Not to mention the fact that eventually it would destroy them both if she walked away. While he was almost self-destructive enough to relish that, he couldn’t stand the idea of Jasmine suffering because of him. He wasn’t sure how he felt about her being his mate, but he did know he would do anything to keep her from being hurt.

  It was his self-absorption that had gotten them into this mess. He was just going to have to figure out a way to get them through it.

  He was so caught up in his thoughts that it didn’t occur to him for another five minutes that Jasmine still wasn’t back. Worried that something had happened to her, he crossed the room in a flash, throwing the door open. He stepped onto the landing in front of the room, stared at the empty expanse of the Lone Star’s parking lot and instantly knew the truth.

  Jazz had found someone else to fix her flat tire and, in doing so, had completely screwed them both.

  Jasmine glanced in her rearview mirror just in time to see Fort Stockton disappear into the West Texas desert behind her. Her conscience dinged her, reminding her that she should have at least had the courtesy to say good-bye to Quinn. It wasn’t as if he’d done anything to warrant her sneaking away as soon as dawn broke over the horizon.

  But when she’d woken up that morning tucked against his chest—her arms and legs tangled with his—she’d had a moment of intense, blinding panic. Okay, a lot of moments of panic, all strung together, until it was all she could do not to bang her head against the fake wooden headboard until everything that had happened between them in the middle of the night was nothing more than a distant memory.

  It wasn’t the one-night stand that had freaked her out, although she’d never actually indulged in one before. Nor was it Quinn himself who had her stomach churning with acid. He’d been wonderful—caring and considerate and so sexy she’d nearly spontaneously combusted at numerous times throughout the night.

  And those moments, when he had simply held her, when they had held each other, would probably always be special to her. It had been a long time—maybe forever—since she’d been held like that, or had the opportunity to hold someone like that.

  No, the problem wasn’t with Quinn. He’d been great. The problem was with her.

  It had felt entirely too good—too natural—to be wrapped in Quinn’s arms, and that had completely freaked her out. She’d had lovers through the years—not a ton, but more than a couple. And while she’d respected and liked all of them, she’d never felt the sense of rightness that she’d felt with Quinn after just one night.

  How could that not scare the hell out of her?

  She was a doctor, a scientist, definitely not one of those people who believed in things like connections or soul mates or any of those other weird, indefinable things people liked to ramble on about. And she wasn’t going to start now, just because she’d had the best sex of her life with a truly incredible man.

  He probably wasn’t all that incredible, after all, she tried to convince herself. He just seemed that way because he’d given her a string of amazing orgasms. In the light of day, he probably was completely normal.

  Not that she would know. She’d snuck out not long after sunrise.

  Her side ached a lot, and she ran a cautious hand over it. The pain was an unpleasant surprise when, for most of the night, she’d felt so good that she’d all but forgotten the injuries were even there. But she’d aggravated her side when she’d been changing her tire, exactly what she’d hoped to avoid by calling the tow truck the night before.

  She’d almost called and scheduled another one, but by the time she’d gotten dressed and snuck out of the motel room, she’d been so frantic she probably would have chewed off her own arm if it had meant freedom. A flat tire was nothing in comparison. Except that her body ached a little more with each mile she put between Quinn and herself.

  Thoughts of Quinn had her glancing at her watch. It was seven thirty. Had he woken up yet? Had he figured out that she’d bailed on him? And if he had, was he upset? She hadn’t wanted to hurt him, but she—

  Jasmine stopped herself cold. She wasn’t doing this. Not now, and not in the future. She wasn’t one of those women who sat around and worried about how her guy was feeling. It was ridiculous. Besides, Quinn was a big boy—and a far cry from meaning anything to her. He could take care of himself.

  Still, she was afraid her absence would hurt him, or at least give him the idea that he’d done something wrong. And she hated that. This was one of those times when “It’s not you, it’s me” was the truth.

  But sitting here worrying about him wasn’t going to change anything. No, she’d made her choice when she’d snuck out of that motel room at five thirty in the morning.

  Forcing him from her mind, she focused on what lay ahead for her outside of Las Cruces. She kept driving, despite the little voice in the back of her head that told her it wasn’t too late to turn around. If she was lucky, he’d still be asleep. She could crawl back into bed and—

  Jasmine refused to give herself the satisfaction of finishing that thought. God only knew what might happen if she did.

  Three and a half hours later, she pulled into a Starbucks in Las Cruces. Stepping out of the car, she stretched her aching muscles and ignored all the little
jolts and pains that came with the movement and wondered when her body was going to get back to normal, or if it ever would.

  Probably when she stopped pushing it so damn hard and actually gave it time to rest, to mend, like her doctors had ordered.

  Too bad she wasn’t any good at following orders, even those she knew were obviously important to her well-being. Besides, the sexual marathon she and Quinn had engaged in had been totally worth the ensuing pain this morning.

  After heading inside and buying a huge coffee and a cup of fruit, she strolled back into the early morning heat and surveyed the city outskirts where she was going to be living for the next few weeks—or months.

  It was a far cry from Atlanta. The buildings here were new, and the Southwestern architecture couldn’t be more different from the antebellum and urban South. Most of the houses had flat roofs and light-colored stucco, meant—she was sure—to reflect the powerful rays of the desert sun.

  While there were a few modern-looking buildings in the distance, which she assumed belonged to the University of New Mexico at Las Cruces, even those evoked a Native American Pueblo feeling.

  At the same time, there was none of the high-society airs put on by Atlanta, or at least none that she could see. There was no historical society here preserving huge sections of the city, no business district that pretended to be more sophisticated and urbane than it really was. No huge medical complexes promising the most sophisticated version of anything…

  Not that she was complaining. Quite the contrary. Besides, as long as there was running water, electricity, a decent hotel with air-conditioning and enough food, she was golden. Any way she cut it, it was a huge step up from the locations where she usually set up shop.

  But standing here studying the city that was to be her temporary home wasn’t going to get things done. With a sigh, she climbed back into the car and pulled up her GPS, programming in the address to the lab that Phoebe had given her. It was in a small town a few miles on the other side of Las Cruces, and she was more than ready to get out of this car for a while.

  More than ready to get to work on this mysterious virus, whatever it was.

  More than ready to forget Quinn.

  The drive was short—another thirty-five minutes or so—and then she was pulling up to an ultra-modern building that was as different from what she’d seen in Las Cruces as the New Mexico desert was from the lush greenery surrounding her apartment in Atlanta.

  She pulled her Mustang into the nearest parking space, then took a minute to look at the place she would be calling home for the next few weeks. If the inside was anything like the outside, she was in for a treat.

  Since she spent most of her time out in the field, it was rare she got to work in the CDC facilities for any length of time. This lab might be a nice change of pace while she finished recovering. She could probably even handle having her wings clipped for a while—as long as she told herself it wasn’t forever. As long as she knew the escape date was some time in the not-so-distant future.

  For a second, Quinn’s face floated in front of her eyes, his head tossed back, his eyes glowing a lush, verdant green as she bent her head and took him in her mouth. He’d tasted incredible, like—

  She grabbed her purse and slammed the car door with a firm snap. Then headed for the laboratory’s door at a fast clip in an effort to leave her memories—and Quinn—far behind.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “So, you’re really not going to tell me where you went?” Phoebe asked, as she settled herself next to him at the lab table.

  “I’m really not.”

  “I was worried about you. I don’t know what it is about you guys that makes you take off like that when you’re hurting. It’s really nerve-wracking for the people who care about you to be left behind.”

  “I keep telling you not to care about me. It would solve a lot of your problems.”

  “Sorry, but it’s too late for that. You’re my closest friend here, Quinn, and if anything happened to you, I’m not sure I would recover.”

  Despite the fact that he was in the mother of all bad moods—losing a brother, finding a mate and losing that mate all within forty-eight hours could do that to a guy—Quinn felt the ice wall he’d built around his heart melt a little at Phoebe’s words.

  He’d been suspicious as hell of her when she’d first shown up three months before, but working with her—getting to know her—had changed all that. She was an incredible doctor and a hell of a woman. Dylan was lucky to have her.

  As was any dragon who found his mate. For some, it was pretty easy; they grew up within a few blocks of each other and figured things out before they were even out of high school.

  But for many of the really powerful dragons, mating was a lot harder to work out. Maybe the universe figured if it gifted someone with all that power they didn’t deserve to have it easy when it came to finding a mate.

  God knew, Dylan had spent almost four centuries looking before he’d found Phoebe completely by accident. And as for his sentries, to date, the only one to have actually found a mate was Gabe. He had fallen completely in love with Dylan’s younger sister, Marta, more than two centuries before, mated her and had a child with her.

  Now Dylan’s sister and niece were dead, victims of the same damned virus Quinn couldn’t stop, and Gabe…Gabe was a complete and total disaster. When Marta died three months before—right before Phoebe had come to work on the virus—Gabe had gone completely insane. When their daughter, Lana, died a few weeks later, it was like the Gabe they knew disappeared.

  He had eventually come back to the clan, but he was an automaton, completely devastated and barely able to get out of bed most mornings. He was an empty shell of a man, who lived only for the chance to avenge the deaths of his mate and daughter. Quinn was afraid—as was Dylan—that once they finally stopped the Wyvernmoons, Gabe would simply die of grief.

  That kind of bonding and dependence was just one of the many reasons Quinn hadn’t been in a hurry to find his own mate. His job hollowed him out enough without also having to worry about a mate. He’d seen his father—who had been a great healer—suffer for years, caught between his powers and his mate. Quinn’s mother, Veronica, had never understood her husband’s compulsion to heal, had never been able to deal with the consequences of using his gift. She’d been a warrior, a sentry for Dylan’s father, and had no patience for weakness of any kind—especially her mate’s.

  In a lot of ways Jazz reminded him of his mother, one more reason the rug had been pulled out from beneath him when he’d realized what had happened that morning.

  Not that he was going to have to worry about ending up beaten down and bitter like his father—his mate would have to actually stick around for that to happen. As it was, he had no clue how to find Jazz now that she had disappeared. He didn’t know where she was from, didn’t know where she was headed. Hell, he hadn’t even caught her last name before she’d run out on him. He’d even wasted his time checking out every tow truck service in town before he’d left, but he’d had no luck finding her in Fort Stockton.

  This was really bad news, considering he was already itchy and uncomfortable, though he’d only been away from her for a few hours. Or maybe it was the miles separating them. Either way, both the dragon and the man were out of sorts. They wanted their mate, and he had a feeling there was going to be hell to pay—for everyone—if he didn’t figure out a way to find Jazz soon.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re back,” Phoebe said, slipping a new slide under the microscope. “And not just because I found something new.”

  “Oh, yeah? What’d you find?” He shoved Jazz out of his mind and went to see what Phoebe had discovered.

  “You’re not going to like it.” She pulled her eyes away from the microscope, gestured for him to look. “I can barely believe it myself—the stupid thing has mutated again.”

  “Of course it has,” he said facetiously. “But come on, you don’t want it to be too easy, do you? I thou
ght you were the one who liked a challenge.”

  “Oh, I’m plenty challenged, thank you very much.” She clicked a few buttons on the computer keyboard, and the slide popped up on the huge state-of-the-art monitor he was sitting in front of. “Here, take a look. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Quinn barely bit back the vilest curse he knew. While the base characteristics identified the blood sample as being infected by the same disease they’d been fighting, the outer markers had definitely changed. Phoebe was right—the thing was mutating faster than they could get a handle on it.

  Goddamnit. The beast gnashed its teeth and Quinn wanted to do the same. They were fucked, totally and completely fucked, and there was nothing he could do. His failure hung heavy around his throat. He’d never failed at anything, after all, and it destroyed him that the first thing he couldn’t think or fight his way around was the very thing that was threatening to totally annihilate his people.

  He’d been working on finding a cure to the disease that ravaged his people for what felt like forever, and while he and Phoebe had made some huge leaps in understanding in these past few months—the least of which was the understanding that this virus was biological warfare, created by their enemies to destroy their clan—they still weren’t moving nearly fast enough. For every discovery they made, the virus mutated two or three times, forcing them to constantly play catch up.

  “So, what do you think?”

  “You don’t want to know what I think.”

  Phoebe blew out a gusty breath. “Yeah, that’s pretty much what I figured. I don’t think I had a clue what I was doing when I let Dylan talk me out of my nice, safe Harvard lab.”

  “Do you miss it?”