Hidden Embers

by Tessa Adams

  Suddenly, she felt churlish, even though she knew she’d been right not to give her opinion on the virus. He didn’t look like he could take another disappointment, yet disappointment was all she had to offer. Because her gut opinion was that, in terms of this damn virus, the entire Dragonstar clan was completely screwed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  She’d been having little pangs of guilt all day, and she really didn’t like the feeling. He wasn’t the first dragon she’d infected by a long shot, but he was bothering her the most. Maybe it was the pictures of his children that were causing her all this grief.

  What choice did she have? She was doing what she had to do to survive, she told herself firmly, ignoring the fact that she’d been surviving just fine before she met Brock.

  Surviving, she thought, but not thriving. Here, she had to work for a living. She had to fight, if the need arose. She had to be ordinary.

  But with Brock she wouldn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to, and ordinary wouldn’t even enter her vocabulary. He’d promised to marry her, to make her the next queen of the Wyvernmoons when this whole thing was all over. She’d seen how the last queen lived and couldn’t wait to get started.

  She still had a few more things to do, one of which included dealing with the problem she was staring at on the closed-circuit television—as soon as possible. How to do it was the million-dollar question.

  It was a shame the original plan hadn’t worked. After all, working as closely as he had with Michael, Quinn should have contracted the virus. The fact that he hadn’t astounded her and Brock, who wanted to step up the campaign. But she needed to get Quinn’s DNA before they could move forward—as well as come up with a plan to infect Quinn. He was entirely too strong, too suspicious. This was not exactly helpful.

  She studied the television, looking for a weakness. Looking for anything she might be able to use against him. Brock was getting worried about the medical team Dylan had assembled.

  It was only a matter of time, the Wyvernmoon had said, until they hit on a way to neutralize the virus. She didn’t agree. They looked like bumbling idiots to her.

  Still, it was interesting to watch them, the three people Dylan had placed all his hopes in. The moron. As if two human doctors—Phoebe would always be human in her mind—and a healer who was so burnt out he practically sizzled when he walked could make a dent in the problem.

  It would make her laugh if it wasn’t so pathetic. Especially considering how angry Quinn looked right now. What she wouldn’t give to hear what they were saying. It must be a huge deal because Phoebe looked pretty panicked. What a wimp. It galled her, bitterly, that after almost half a millennium, Dylan had chosen that milquetoast to be their queen.

  She leaned forward, watched the screen intently, trying to read their lips. But Quinn had his back to her now, and neither of the females were talking. Damn it. She’d blown it when she’d installed the camera earlier that week; she hadn’t had time to hide the bug as well before Quinn had come in.

  If she’d stuck around a few minutes more, she could have slipped it somewhere discreet, but he’d surprised her. She’d had to cut and run and hope to slip in some other time and finish the job. But after Michael got sick, security tightened, and her plan had gone to hell. It was almost impossible to be in the lab alone. Too much work was going on right now.

  She enjoyed watching them scramble around like insects—or would, if it wasn’t for the new woman. She looked like a real hard-ass, completely different from cream puff Phoebe, and so she stayed in front of the screen, watching, long after she should have.

  The new doctor probably wouldn’t find a cure for the disease—what did she know of dragons, after all—but she looked like she wouldn’t go down without a fight, either. Plus, everyone said she was some bigwig from the CDC, as if that made her their salvation or something.

  As if.

  Then again, it would really suck if she were wrong and that woman could figure something out. Though it pained her to admit it, Dr. Jasmine Kane looked absolutely competent.

  Her phone rang, and she ignored it. It wasn’t the Dragonstar clan phone, but the one Brock had given her months ago. For the first few weeks, she’d jumped every time it rang, but then she’d figured out that was exactly what Brock wanted. It made him feel powerful, and the more powerful he felt, the more powerless he tried to make her. This was completely unacceptable—especially for a future queen. If she didn’t hold her own now, she never would.

  She glanced at the clock. She knew why he was calling. She was late for their meeting. She didn’t want to go empty-handed, especially as the risks had tripled since Dylan and the other sentries had changed the safeguards. Of course, no one was supposed to know that, but she had her ways. Still, they hadn’t given anyone the incantation to dissipate them, which meant that while she could get through them—all of the Dragonstars could—she would leave a record.

  By itself it was no big deal. After all, they weren’t prisoners. At the same time, she didn’t want anyone knowing her comings and goings. It was a risk, and an unnecessary one if she didn’t have anything to give Brock. This was a problem in and of itself. His goodwill—and interest in her body—only went so far. If she ceased being useful to him, she knew he wouldn’t hesitate to find someone else to help him. This would leave her with nothing.

  She shook her head. There was no help for it. She’d just have to find a way to get back in the lab and place the bug. The camera wasn’t good enough, not at this juncture of the game. She needed to hear what they said, too.

  She looked back at the camera just in time to see Quinn stare at the good Dr. Kane as if she were a banana split and he was a starving man. Kane didn’t notice, but she didn’t have the camera’s bird’s-eye view.

  She’d thought the thing between them had just been two people blowing off a little steam, but now she wondered if she’d misread the situation. She’d known Quinn for a lot of years and had never seen him look like that.

  Interesting. Maybe she wouldn’t be going to the meeting empty-handed after all.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “Come on, I’ll buy you dinner.”

  Quinn started at the sound of Jasmine’s husky voice right behind him. She’d done it again—snuck up on him when the dragon usually issued a warning when anyone got so close. Stupid beast. It was as infatuated with Jasmine as Quinn was, and in the end it would probably be to their detriment.

  “You want to buy me dinner?” He sounded like a damn parrot, but she was flip-flopping so much it was a miracle he didn’t have whiplash.

  “I do. Surely there’s someplace to eat around here that stays open until ten at night?”

  “Yeah, of course.” He rubbed a hand over his tired eyes and tried his damnedest not to notice how good she smelled. Already, the dragon was scratching at him, wanting a repeat of the night before. But he was hyperaware of how gingerly Jasmine had been moving all evening. The fact that he’d done that to her, leaving her aching and angry, tore him up inside in a way the dragon couldn’t hope to match.

  “There’s a twenty-four-hour diner a couple of blocks up. They make great pie.”

  She widened her eyes in fake surprise. “You want pie for dinner? I thought doctors were supposed to know better than that.”

  “And I suppose you plan on eating healthy?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll add ice cream to my apple pie. That covers three of the four food groups.”

  He laughed, then quickly straightened up his workstation. He was putting a couple of pens back in their spot in his top drawer when he realized Jasmine was watching him with a big grin. “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing. I’m just surprised at the fact that you’re a little OCD.”

  “A little?” He snorted. “When I was a kid, my oldest brother used to sneak into my room and move things around while I was out with my friends, then hang around and see if I noticed.”

  “Did you?”

  “Always.
I got my revenge though.”

  “Oh yeah?” She grabbed her keys from her workstation and headed for the door. “And what was that?”

  “I filed his arrow blades down right before a big archery competition, then replaced them with hollow tipped ones I’d spent weeks working on. Every arrow he shot that day went spinning straight into the dust and he couldn’t figure out why.”

  “That’s ingenious!”

  “I thought so. It was even worth the beating he gave me when he finally figured out what I’d done.”

  “I bet.”

  They let themselves out of the lab, and slowly worked their way down the hallway. He noticed that Jasmine smiled at both of the security guards they ran into, calling each by name as she said good night. He wasn’t sure what it meant or even why he noticed, but he found it interesting.

  “So, how far away is this diner?” she asked, as they walked into the night.

  “A couple blocks east of here. Why?”

  “Do you mind walking? I’ve been cooped up all day and would love a chance to stretch my legs.”

  “Sounds like a good idea to me. I’ve been inside all day as well.” Not to mention the fact that a walk would give him more time to talk to Jasmine, to get to know her.

  He put his hand on the small of her back and guided her through the parking lot and onto the sidewalk. She stiffened at the first touch of his hand, but didn’t say anything. He hoped that meant he was making a little progress, even as he reminded himself that he wasn’t going to do this anymore.

  One slice of pie never hurt anyone, a little voice inside of him whispered, and he decided to listen to it, even as his better judgment told him not to.

  “I do have one question,” she said, as they strolled down the street. “I thought the arrows used in archery competitions had plastic tips. How did you manage to file that down?”

  He stopped for a second, staring down at her. “Phoebe didn’t tell you?”

  “Tell me what?” She looked wary, and a little intrigued.

  “I’m four hundred and seventy-one years old, Jasmine. When I was a child, the only kind of arrows we had were tipped in iron.”

  “Yeah, right.” She laughed and shoved at his shoulder.

  “I’m serious.”

  She looked completely incredulous. “That’s not possible.”

  “Why? Because humans have a much more finite lifespan? You took biology. You should know that different species have different life spans.”

  “But you’re talking about living nearly half a millennium!”

  “I am. Surely you read in my notes about our longevity.”

  “Yeah, but I was thinking more along the lines of a hundred years, not…I don’t even know how long.” She looked him over from head to toe. “It’s not like you look like you’re on death’s door or anything.”

  He laughed. “I’ve got a few good years left in me.”

  “How many?”

  “I don’t know. Provided I don’t catch this damn disease or go down in battle, maybe five or six hundred more.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “I just can’t—that doesn’t make any sense to me. You’re four hundred years old?”

  “Four hundred and seventy-one, give or take a few months.”

  “Right, of course. Because those few months are critical when it comes to being accurate.” She shook her head. “And you’ll live to be a thousand or so?”

  “Probably.”

  “Wow. That’s unbelievable.” Then she did the damnedest thing. She stopped in her tracks, reached up and rested her palm against his cheek, while her thumb tenderly stroked over his skin. “No wonder you look so tired. Four hundred years is a long time to carry the kind of responsibilities that you do.”

  The defenses he’d spent all afternoon building against her crumbled like a sandcastle in a windstorm. He covered her hand with his own, then closed his eyes for a minute and just savored the feel of her against him. His destined mate. After all this time.

  He could barely take it in.

  The sense of peace was incredible—even his dragon was calm, quiet, its fire banked. He’d never felt anything like it.

  Quinn wasn’t sure how long they stood there—he could have remained, just like that, forever—but eventually Jasmine grew restless. She pulled her hand away, and he let it go, reluctantly.

  They started walking again, without the light conversation of before. Instead, they continued in silence until Quinn finally decided to stop beating around the bush.

  “So, Jazz, are you going to tell me why you invited me to dinner? Seeing as how last night I was pretty sure you never wanted to talk to me again.”

  Jasmine ducked her head at Quinn’s words, more than a little shocked at the remorse that swept through her. Last night she’d been so sure that she was right, and now…now she wasn’t sure of anything at all. If Quinn was really as old as he said he was—and she saw no reason for him to lie—then he was pretty damn progressive. He never questioned her worth as a doctor. In fact, he took seriously everything she and Phoebe discussed in the lab.

  Plus, when Phoebe had started for her car about an hour before they’d left, Quinn had made sure to walk her out as well, even though, as a dragon, Phoebe was more than capable of taking care of herself. Maybe Quinn’s behavior the night before was only half as objectionable as she had thought. Maybe what she’d seen as controlling had only been courtesy.

  That’s why she’d invited him to dinner—to see if maybe she was mistaken about him. Well, that and because working in the lab with him all evening had turned her on, big time. She’d spent half her time trying to concentrate on the data in front of her and the other half trying to keep her eyes off Quinn.

  There was something about him—the way he moved, the way he held his body, the way he smelled like sex and sand and the wild desert wind that really rang her bell. After Phoebe left, it had taken all Jasmine’s self-control not to jump him right there, as he had done to her the night before.

  Turning to him, she said softly, “I invited you because I like you.”

  “You like me?”

  The way he said it made the word sound boring and insipid, when she’d meant it as neither. “Don’t look so offended. Being liked is a good thing.”

  He snorted. “I have to admit I was hoping for something more. Seeing as how we’ve had incredible sex several times now.”

  “I wasn’t talking about the sex. I meant—” She paused, tried to put her scattered thoughts in order. “I like talking to you, when you’re not being all overbearing and macho. I like bouncing ideas off of you and listening while you do the same with me. I like the way you give everything you have to your clan—how you never say no, no matter how tired you are.” She smiled, warming to her subject. “I like the way you take meticulous notes and always put the cap back on your pens. How you hold onto your temper long after I’ve lost mine. And I really like how you do tequila shots.”

  “Oh.” He stared at her for a few long seconds, then his lips tilted up in the lopsided grin she was beginning to love. “In that case, I like you, too.”

  She cracked up. “I’m glad to hear that. Now, are you ready to go get some pie, or what?”

  “The restaurant’s right across the street.” His hand reached for hers, and he tangled their fingers together as he led her across the street.

  Within minutes they were seated at a cozy booth in the back of the diner. It was a cool little place, done in retro black and white with touches of yellow, red and blue that made the dining room pop. The walls were decorated with oil paintings, which surprised her, as she would have expected art deco prints instead. They were desert scenes and absolutely gorgeous; starkly simple but with a sophisticated use of color.

  As she studied the one above their booth, Jasmine felt a surge of longing well up inside her. She wanted to possess it. It felt strange, as she rarely needed to own anything, but something about this scene—the desert just as daylight broke through the horizo
n—pulled at her.

  The sky was painted a fiery orange as far as the eye could see, and small clouds in shades of red and purple hung over a silver desert with huge rock formations in the distance. Everything about the scene seemed to shimmer with life and intensity and magic. Unable to resist, she reached a finger out and traced it over the bottom of the canvas.

  “Do you like it?” Quinn asked, his voice low and intense.

  “What’s not to like? It’s one of the most beautiful landscapes I’ve ever seen.”

  “It’s Michael’s.”

  Acute disappointment filled her. “You mean the paintings aren’t for sale?”

  His mouth was grim. “Oh, they’re for sale. Or at least they were. My brother painted all of them.”

  “Your—” Her breath left her in a huge sigh. “Oh, Quinn, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have—”

  He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you like them.” That crooked grin of his flashed again. “He was really talented, wasn’t he?”

  “Incredibly talented. He makes me long to see this piece of desert, to watch the sun come up over the rocks. I’ve been all over the world, seen sunrises and sunsets in some of the most exotic places on earth, but I swear, I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s absolutely awe-inspiring.”

  He nodded, but didn’t say anything. Though his face was blank, his body language stoic, she could feel the waves of pain rolling off of him. They arrowed straight into her, making her wince with the overwhelming strength of Quinn’s sorrow.

  “I’m so sorry, Quinn.” She could barely get the words past her closed up throat. She’d looked at Phoebe’s notes on Michael’s case right before she’d shut down for the night. It was the most recent and most awful of all the cases she’d read about so far. The idea of Quinn having to stand by and watch as his brother was systematically destroyed by the damn virus made her physically ill.

  “It’s not your fault.”