by Tessa Adams
“You were a child and I would never hurt you. I would never expect you to bend to my will just because—”
She laid her fingers on his lips, stopping him abruptly. “I know that now. And I love you more because you would never force me to do something I didn’t want to do. You might yell and bluster and use those fabulous eyes of yours to intimidate me—”
“You think my eyes are fabulous?”
She laughed. “You know they are. But you would never make me do something I didn’t want to do. That’s enough for me. More than enough for me.”
“What about your job?”
“I think there’s more than enough to keep me busy right here for now, don’t you? And when my feet get restless, I figure we can take off together for a while. You wouldn’t mind seeing the world with me, would you?”
“There is absolutely nothing I would like more.”
“Good.” She kissed him, hard. “Then what do you say? Do you think you can handle me?”
“I don’t know.” He stood up and lifted her against his chest before stepping into the bathtub. “But I’m willing to spend the rest of my very long life finding out.”
“That’s good enough for me.”
“For me, too,” he said, and for the first time in a very long time, his future was something to look forward to instead of dread.
It was more than enough.
Read on for an excerpt from Tessa Adams’s next Dragon’s Heat novel,
FORBIDDEN EMBERS
Coming soon from Heat
He knew what he had to do.
Even as the words came to him—even as the idea came to him—Logan Kelly searched for a way around them. A way around it.
But there was none. He knew 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 up on him as he’d been drifting off to sleep really was the only rational solution.
That didn’t mean he had to like it.
The walls of the cave seemed to close in on him, the stalagmites a crowd of upturned daggers. Without conscious thought, he broke off the sharp tip of one and shoved it in his pocket before using a burst of preternatural speed to get outside.
Under the stars.
Amidst the 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 having forsaken Ireland, but having to soon forsake 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 another, until the world around him stopped spinning. One after another, until the panic receded. I’ll do this for them, he told himself, because I’m the only one who can. The realization steadied him, when just moments before he’d been certain that nothing could.
Unable to bear his thoughts—his own stillness—for one more second, he walked. Around him, the desert teemed with life. Night predators searched out prey. Prey scrambled for new and better hiding spots. In the distance, an owl swept down toward the still-warm sand at amazing speed. 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. 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 their weak spot, hit fast and hard. Whatever damage he sustained—even if it was absolute—would be worth it if he could finally find a way to neutralize the enemy.
He snarled at the thought of the Wyvernmoons, and his long legs ate up the miles, walking 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 and the dragon would burst free. He couldn’t afford that, not now, when logic and reason were everything.
The hot-tempered screams of the animal would not advance the case he knew he had to make.
As he walked, he memorized the feel of the desert at night. After living here more than two hundred years, he could call it up at will, but he wasn’t taking any chances. South Dakota in winter was as different from New Mexico as one could get and still be in America. God only knew how many winters he would have to endure in that hell-hole compound before he would once again find his way back here.
If he ever did.
The pragmatist in him knew that there was a good chance that he would die on this latest quest, knew that he might never see his beloved stretch of desert again. He didn’t fear death—at three hundred and ninety-seven years old, he had faced that enemy many times before—but 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 carpeted the sky.
He broke into a run, all but flying across the forty or so miles that separated him from the small house he kept in town. The closer he got to town, the more the telepathic voices and thoughts of the other Dragonstars crowded in on him. They pressed down from every side, nearly blinding him. Almost making him insane with the fear and worry and pain that threaded through so many of his fellow dragons.
It was exactly what he needed to cement his resolve. Usually his psychic abilities drove him nuts. Though they made things easier in battle, the rest of the time they were nothing but a pain in the ass.
An ability to eavesdrop on thoughts and conversations that were never meant to be public.
An invasion of privacy that, even after close to four centuries, he sometimes couldn’t block.
His psychic ability was one of the reasons he spent so much of his free time deep in the desert, away from the other dragon shifters. It was often the only way he could give the civilian dragons of the clan any privacy. The only way he could quiet the nonstop chatter in his head.
He slipped silently into town, nodding to his friend and fellow sentry, Ty, as they crossed on the street. It was Ty’s turn to patrol the town boundaries, and though Ty looked like he wanted to talk, Logan didn’t stop. He couldn’t afford to. His plan was only half-formed, and he didn’t want to talk to anyone until he could back up his resolve with action.
No, he would wait until the council meeting in the morning, a gathering of the other sentries like himself, to reveal his plan. Till then, he had to prepare himself. He must be resolute, unshakable—otherwise, his king would never go along with what he wanted to do.
Dylan had to go along with it, a voice inside his head whispered. They were running out of time. Even with the new advances Quinn, Jasmine, and Phoebe were making against the virus that was killing his people, it was only a matter of time before the Wyvernmoons trotted out some new version of the disease. Even though their last attack was decimated, the Wyvernmoons would soon be back, looking to wipe out the Dragonstars once and for all.
He wouldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t. Not when this clan, his clan, was the only one who had taken him in after long centuries of searching. Not when these people, his people, had given him the only home he’d ever known.
This was one of the many reasons it was so difficult to contemplate leaving, and one of the main reasons he had to.
After looking around his house for signs of disturbances, he opened the door and let his senses flood the place—searching for the thoughts, the presence, of any intruders. He found none, but he still checked every room to make sure no enemies lay in wait. As he did, he cursed the Wyvernmoons and the fact that such hypervigilance was even necessary.
It wouldn’t be for long, not if he had anything to say about it.
When he was convinced h
is house was clear, Logan strode into the kitchen and yanked a scissors out of one of the drawers. Then he went into the bathroom and, without remorse, cut off the long, flowing hair that had all but been his trademark for centuries. Amidst the Dragonstars, almost all of whom were dark, his long blond hair and red eyes were legendary.
With his hair was gone, he barely recognized himself. Then Logan reached into his pocket and pulled out the stalagmite he’d shoved in there earlier. He studied it for a moment. It seemed strong enough and sharp enough.
Then he reached up and raked the hard tip down the right side of his face, from his eye to the corner of his mouth.
He knew what he had to do. As his blood flowed freely down his face and neck, he also knew he had reached the point of no return.
He would do whatever it took to keep his clan mates safe.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tessa Adams lives in Texas and teaches writing at her local community college. She is married and the mother of three young sons.
Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
ABOUT THE AUTHOR