Dark Embers

by Tessa Adams

  “Come on, Phoebe. Trust me. Close your eyes. I’ll make it worth your while.”

  Freaked out, pissed off, turned on and absolutely desperate for release, Phoebe did as she was told.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Dylan stepped back and watched Phoebe as she shivered with cold and arousal. A part of him wanted to quit the games, to just go to her and love her as he’d been doing all along. But another part wanted to give her this, wanted her to see yet another side of him—and enjoy it.

  With a deep breath, he concentrated on shifting, not into dragon form, but into his other, more secret form. Few people knew he could do this—Gabe and Quinn, Shawn and Logan—as it was rare for dragons. But her question, What else can you do? hung in his mind. Made him want to show her just what he could do.

  The shifting started—all pleasure and no pain this time, as his bones didn’t have to break, elongate, change. No, they simply dissolved as he turned from human to smoke. Seconds passed, a minute, as the change took place. He could hear Phoebe moving restlessly from one foot to the other, each shift in her weight causing a little ripple in the pool.

  And then it was complete, his body gone. He could still feel in this form, could still think and smell and see and taste, though he had no skin. No mouth. Shifting into smoke was one of the rarest gifts and biggest mysteries his people possessed. But as he floated across the hot springs toward his lover—visible only in the soft gray curls he’d become—it was a gift for which he was intensely grateful.

  He started with her legs, winding himself around her like a snake—stroking, soothing, seducing her with a featherlight touch that had her gasping for air. He skimmed up to her hips, focused on a ticklish spot he’d found on her hip bone.

  She giggled, but didn’t jerk away. And she kept her eyes closed, making him warm at the sign of trust.

  Moving on, he circled her hips, wrapped himself in rings and caressed her from her waist to her upper thighs all at once. He dipped into her navel, circled the slight indention, softly, slowly, again and again until her stomach quivered and clenched.

  He wanted to move lower, to brush against her clit, to slip inside her and feel what it was like to take her in this form, but it was too soon. She wasn’t ready. And more, he wanted her to know him—to see him as he was now—when he finally brought her to climax.

  So he moved on reluctantly, though every cell in his strange, weightless body demanded that he dip in and taste her, smell her, feel her warm depths.

  Deciding he wasn’t steady enough to caress her breasts yet—he would end up inside her the second he tasted her sweet, pink nipples—he started circling her again, then slowly inched his way up her back.

  The scars were still there, harsh and ugly and enraging. He skimmed over them, covered them, stroked them all at the same time to show her once and for all that they didn’t matter to him. That they only made him want her more, these badges of courage she had received while trying to save someone she loved.

  She gasped, tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her. Instead he gave them soothing caresses, glancing kisses, trailing fingertips.

  He slipped up to her shoulders, kneaded the aching muscles even as he allowed himself to slide up the pale, soft skin of her neck. He teased her, taunted her, explored the hollows of her neck as he liked to do with his tongue, trailed delicate tendrils up her jaw, licked into her ear with a soft laugh.

  She stiffened at the contact, let her head fall back as her nipples peaked. He stayed there for a moment, rimming the soft shell of her ear before sneaking behind to kiss the sensitive spot on her neck.

  Phoebe moaned, trembled, and the scent of her arousal filled the room. He breathed it in, loving the vanilla smell of her, the sweet warmth that told him just how much she wanted him.

  He lingered at her throat, behind her ear—it was one of his favorite spots, after all—but eventually he wanted more. Needed more. He worked his way through her glorious curls, blew just a little bit, and sent them streaming out behind her for his enjoyment.

  He twisted around one curl, then another, in and out until he reached her scalp. He massaged it slowly in the circular motions she had so appreciated in the shower.

  “Dylan, please.” Her voice was pained, her hands clenched into fists at her side, her hips canting forward as she searched for more contact, harder contact. He watched her for a moment as he continued to rub her head. But when she moaned—a breathy little expulsion of air that made his every molecule ache—he gave in to temptation.

  Dropping to her breasts, he stroked them all over, let himself curl over the tops while he split into numerous smoky tendrils that tenderly stroked the undersides, as well. Whispering an incantation, he hovered over her nipples and began to suck—the smoke pulling equally on both.

  Her eyes flew open and she looked down at him, mouth open in shock. Her cheeks were pink with desire, her eyes glazed with passion. “Dylan?”

  He couldn’t answer her—not so she would understand, anyway—so he used his insubstantial form to coil around her nipples, flicking the tips back and forth until she reached an unsteady hand out to touch him.

  “Dylan?” she asked again, as her hand passed through the smoke. He froze, shocked at the pleasure he felt from her touch, astounded that she could turn him inside out even in this form.

  He took one more firm pull on her nipples—firm enough that she gasped and arched her back—before floating up to her face. He stroked her beautiful cheeks, slid down the curve of her nose, toyed with her lower lip until her mouth parted. And then he darted inside, stroked the top and underside of her tongue, ran one curling, featherlight tendril against the roof of her mouth before darting out again.

  As he moved away, she took a deep breath, then another and another. Her body was shaking, and sweat slipped down the valley between her breasts. He followed it, licking as he went.

  Phoebe’s mind was a maelstrom of thoughts and desires and little shots of fear. She was so aroused that each breath she took trembled in her lungs, each move that Dylan made took her higher until all she could think of was him. All she could feel was him. Wrapped around her waist, sliding down her stomach, filling her mouth—he was everywhere and nowhere, and it was driving her absolutely wild.

  She wanted to touch him, to feel his powerful body against hers. Yet the smoke—if it really was Dylan—was there. Teasing her, tempting her, taking her to the edge again and again.

  She wanted him inside her, needed to feel his cock in her sex as much as she needed her next breath. But she didn’t want to give up the smoke, either, with its curling tendrils that could touch her in so many places at once.

  Reaching out, she stroked a hand over the smoke, let it curl around her fingers and then brought it to her mouth. She blew on it, much as Dylan had blown in her ear, watched as it shimmered, drifted away, before returning to wrap itself more firmly around her hand.

  She repeated the movement, blew a soft, steady stream of warm air along her hand from wrist to fingertip. Then opened her mouth and drew some of the sweet-smelling smoke inside. She sucked on it like she would a hard candy.

  Once, twice, then again and again, until she was forced to take a breath. She opened her mouth, relinquished him and the smoke darted out. She was pleased to see that it was nowhere near as steady as it had been as it worked its way back down her body. Dylan might be magical, but she had a few tricks of her own.

  The smugness stayed with her until Dylan darted between her legs and began to stroke. He moved up and down her slit, slipping inside a little more with each pass that he made. She gasped, felt her nipples bead. He dipped deeper, found her G-spot and began to rub.

  It was strange—odd and arousing—to feel him inside her while her legs were still closed. Strange but powerful and incredibly arousing, the fit and feel of him very different from what she was used to.

  He stroked deeper, filled her so that every part of her vagina was being touched and caressed at the same time. He started
on her clit, too, circling it, flicking back and forth as her body tensed and jerked.

  Orgasm loomed, burning hot and incredibly deep. She reached for it, gave herself over to it—to Dylan—then moaned as it roared through her like a freight train. Every molecule in her body exploded, lit up from the inside as unbelievable waves of pleasure rocked her. They started in her pussy and moved outward, growing larger with each pulse of satisfaction. She’d never felt anything like it, wasn’t sure she would survive it.

  Blackness threatened, overwhelmed her, and she slid into the hot springs, her body still racked with aftershocks. She closed her eyes, then opened them to find Dylan towering over her, his eyes dragon black, his cock so large and full that she knew he had to be in pain.

  Leaning forward, she pressed glancing kisses along his length. Rubbed her cheek against his silky hardness. Licked at his powerful head before slipping down and sucking his testicles into her mouth.

  “Phoebe.” The word was barely distinguishable, all dark, dangerous growl, and she knew she’d pushed him to the limit.

  Turning her head, she took him into her mouth, pulling his throbbing cock deep as her tongue continued to stroke up and down his hard length. Grabbing his ass to anchor herself, she pulled back slowly until only his large, purple head was between her lips. She sucked at it gently, flicked her tongue back and forth as he had done to her clit, before slipping inside the small hole to stroke him from the inside.

  “Fuck!” His hands clenched in her hair, and then he was moving her back and forth, thrusting into her mouth with the strength and finesse of an alpha male who had been pushed too far.

  But he’d pushed her just as far, and she wasn’t willing to make it easy on him. Her entire body was on fire, out of control, and that wild part inside of her—the one she hadn’t known existed before Dylan—demanded that she claim him as he had her.

  Relaxing her mouth, she trailed her tongue along the bottom of his cock, teased the bundle of nerves on the bottom of the tip and then pulled away.

  “Take me,” he growled, his hands tightening in her hair.

  “My way,” she murmured, blowing warm air down the length of him.

  “Phoebe.” This time her name was more plea than warning, and she burned with triumph. Then rewarded him with the slow, steady slide of her mouth along his full length. She took him in, all of him, even as he bumped the back of her throat, and began to suck.

  She savored the taste of him. Musky, masculine, smoky and sweet, he was better than anything she’d ever had before, and she wanted to keep loving him forever.

  Dylan watched Phoebe through eyes he knew had gone feral. The sight and smell and feel of her was almost more than he could bear; it was ratcheting him up higher and higher, until all he could think of was coming in her sweet, sexy mouth. But as he thrust—gently this time—between her fuchsia lips, he wanted it to last forever.

  He watched as she took him, watched as he slid in and out. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, tangling his hands in her riotous curls. “Slow down. I’m going to come.”

  She pulled back, looked at him with sultry eyes. “I want you to come.” She licked a drop of pre-ejaculate off his tip, and swallowed it with obvious enjoyment.

  Shit, he was going to blow right here if he wasn’t careful. Phoebe must have sensed his dilemma, because she closed her lips over him again. Her tongue continued to torture him, sliding back and forth over him as she reached behind his balls and touched a spot so sensitive it shot fire down his spine.

  It was too much—too much pleasure, too much tenderness, too much stimulus. He tried to pull away, to pull out. Tried to stop the orgasm that was about to whip through him.

  But Phoebe wouldn’t let him. She dug her fingernails into his ass and pulled him tightly against her, slid his entire length down her throat. She hummed and the ensuing vibrations made a mockery of the little bit of control he had left. With a deep, tortured groan, he emptied himself into her mouth in an orgasm so all-consuming that, for long moments, he went deaf, dumb and blind.

  And still she continued to stroke him, little flicks of her tongue and fingers that grounded him as nothing else could. That brought him down slowly, from a high so intense it had been like flying.

  With a groan, he slid into the water beside her and pulled her into his lap. Mate or no mate, he wasn’t ready to let her go. Not by a long shot.

  She dreamed again that night, of dragons flying with majestic wings. Of jewels. Of sex and smoke and silver stars. She was flying—with Dylan—through a night so beautiful that she could only gasp in wonder.

  Until the clouds came and she spiraled down, down, down to a ground so unforgiving she could only cry in pain.

  And then the claws came—wickedly curved and razor sharp, tearing at her. Ripping her to pieces. Destroying her one long swipe at a time.

  She screamed as she felt the claws rent her skin.

  Screamed as she felt the talons yank her apart.

  Screamed and screamed and screamed until she awoke to Dylan’s black eyes and sheltering arms. He held her against him through the long, long night, but she didn’t sleep again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The door to the laboratory slammed open, but Phoebe didn’t even bother to look up from the computer. In the week since she’d learned Dylan was a dragon, she’d gotten used to him coming for her at the clinic around ten o’clock. The first couple of days it had annoyed her—made her feel like she was a recalcitrant child who needed to be taken care of—but he always made quitting worth her while. In fact, the time she spent with Dylan had fast replaced working in the lab as her favorite pastime.

  Especially today, she thought as she shut down her computer and pushed away from it. Once again she wondered whether she should share her suspicions with Dylan. If she was even close to being on the right track, he’d want to know about it.

  But the scientist in her wasn’t sure, and she balked at the idea of sharing a hypothesis without some kind of proof to back it up. Because if she was right—and she might very well be—then Dylan and his clan would have to be peeled off the ceiling. Not to mention the fact that Dylan had a no-holds-barred, act-now kind of personality, and she would hate to be responsible for a war if she was mistaken.

  “I’m about ready to go,” she said. “Just let me run something by Quinn.”

  “It can’t wait?” Dylan caught her and dragged her to his chest. She could feel him, rock-hard and ready against her stomach, and something inside her melted—besides the obvious.

  God, she was getting in too deep and it scared the hell out of her. Already Dylan was the first thing she thought of when she woke up and the last thing before she went to sleep. Her body was so tuned to him that just a random thought of him during the day made her nipples hard and her underwear damp.

  That in itself would have been alarming, but even worse was the fact that when they made love, she felt him inside of her. Not just in her body, but in her heart and her mind. It scared the hell out of her. She’d never needed a man, had never wanted one, and now Dylan was becoming as necessary to her as breathing. Even worse, she was beginning to trust him, and that was more frightening than everything else put together.

  She’d never trusted a man in her life, had never been willing to give someone that much power over her. But Dylan was different. He held her when she had a nightmare, took care of her when she couldn’t take care of herself. How could she not trust him?

  And yet this had to end. When she went back to Harvard or, God willing, when she found a cure to the disease, he would have no more use for her. She wasn’t an idiot, wasn’t so stupid as to think that the king of a clan of dragons would abandon everything to marry a human. Not when the fate of his people rested on him. And not when she was so damned easy to leave.

  Pushing the self-pitying thought out of her head, Phoebe leaned into her lover’s embrace. Then shot over to the next room, where Quinn was working, and dropped a file next to him.

  �
�What’s this?”

  “I just printed it out. It’s some new research out of Johns Hop-kins on mutating disease cells—how, in a few rare cases, some contagious diseases can map onto each other.”

  “But this isn’t contagious.” Quinn’s eyes were blurry when he looked at her; he was burning the candle at both ends and it was catching up to him. But after a week, she knew better than to suggest he go home—at least if she wanted to keep her head attached to her body.

  “Maybe it is; we don’t really know yet. People contract the disease somehow, and from what I had my assistant run through the Cray back at my lab, it doesn’t appear to be caused by any chromosomal abnormalities. Which means it has to be coming from somewhere.”

  Quinn was quiet for a long time, absorbing her words. It wasn’t until he swayed a little that she realized he had fallen asleep sitting up, in the middle of their conversation.

  “Okay, Quinn, enough is enough,” she said, fully prepared to have her ass handed to him. She shook him gently, and when his eyes flashed open, she continued. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

  “I’m fine.” He flipped open the folder she’d handed him.

  “You’re patently not fine. You’re—”

  “Back off, Phoebe.” After nearly two weeks around him—and Dylan—she was able to recognize when his eyes turned dragon. Like now. And while she was largely certain Quinn wouldn’t hurt her, she wasn’t stupid enough to tempt fate. Or Quinn, for that matter.

  “Quinn, you look like hell.” Dylan’s voice carried effortlessly from the doorway. “Go home and sleep it off.”

  “No.”

  “I wasn’t asking.”

  “Fuck you.” Quinn stood up so abruptly, he knocked down the pile of research he’d been weeding through. “You’re going to pull rank on me? Over this?”