Hidden Embers

by Tessa Adams

  His face was grimmer than she’d ever seen it, and Jasmine knew he was suffering right alongside his pint-sized patient. But when he closed his eyes and held his hands a few inches off Rose’s skin, Jasmine jumped toward him. “Quinn, no! Don’t. If she has the virus, you can’t heal this.”

  He didn’t answer her, didn’t so much as acknowledge that he’d heard her. Jasmine cursed as she watched him risk himself for a child who was destined to die, as her father was.

  It angered her to see him use his gift with so little regard for himself, but at the same time, could she really blame him? He wouldn’t be the man she had fallen for if he wasn’t willing to risk himself to try to save a child.

  The nurse stood by with a shot of painkillers, waiting for Quinn’s or Jasmine’s order to deliver the opiate. Jasmine started to tell her to go ahead, but under Quinn’s healing focus, baby Rose’s skin was losing its dangerous scarlet color and her little body stopped trembling altogether.

  Jasmine couldn’t tell if he was actually healing her or simply reducing the symptoms. She prayed it was the former, but she was pretty sure it was the latter. Nothing Quinn had been able to do for any patient so far had managed to prolong his or her life, at least not according to the extensive case studies.

  Just then, a shrill scream rang through the clinic. Jasmine was out the door in a matter of seconds, tearing down the hall toward the sound at top speed. She froze when she realized the sound had come from Brian’s room, that the woman screaming was Melinda.

  Has Brian died already? she wondered frantically, slipping into the room. But Phoebe wasn’t standing near Brian, who had a look of abject horror on his face. No, she was standing near the cute little boy with the big blue eyes, and Jasmine saw the line of blood leaking from his nose and trailing down his face.

  At that moment, it really hit her, the hopelessness and helplessness of this virus that Phoebe and Quinn were fighting. In Africa, she faced incurable diseases every day, but at least she could fight them with education and preventative measures that stopped them from spreading.

  This disease, this virus, came out of nowhere. There were no preventative measures to take, no steps to lesson the impact or bolster the survival rate. Anyone who got it—whether by injection or simple communicable contact, as this strain appeared to have been spread—was dead, and there was nothing any of them could do.

  The thought was absolutely devastating, particularly as she looked at the utter hopelessness on Brian and Melinda’s faces, the fear on their son’s face and the agony on their daughter’s. This disease was a nightmare of epic proportions.

  The next couple of hours passed in a blur as Jasmine assisted Quinn and Phoebe in whatever ways she could—which weren’t nearly as many as she would have liked, but then she was still learning the ropes when it came to dragon anatomy and how to treat this disease.

  Not that they were actually treating the disease, but simply prolonging the inevitable. Even Quinn, who tried so hard to heal his patients that he was literally gray with exhaustion, couldn’t do anything but try to make them comfortable as he ordered their entire wing of the clinic to be locked down and quarantine measures put into place.

  No strain of the virus had ever been this contagious before, and he wasn’t taking any chances with it spreading, even though only Brian and his children seemed to be affected by it. Melinda was showing no symptoms, and neither were his nurses, Phoebe or himself, though they’d been in contact with Brian for hours. While he’d demanded that Jasmine put on protective gear, she didn’t really expect to contract the virus; she wasn’t a dragon.

  They moved Brian to the biggest room in the wing, so they could move in two other beds for Rose and her big brother, Jake. This way the family could be together and Melinda could tend to all three. After her initial shock, Melinda proved to be a trouper, moving between her husband and sick children as needed—hugging, kissing, soothing. Jasmine wasn’t sure she could have stood up under the strain nearly half as well.

  Through it all, Quinn and Phoebe worked tirelessly, trying a long list of treatments. Jasmine hung back, taking notes and blood samples, her brain working a mile a minute. She ran through every possible scenario regarding the spread of this disease, which had affected the father and his two kids but not the mother. If it spread by contact, whether by air or fluid, surely the mother would have caught it, too. But she still showed no symptoms of the disease, even hours after her children had fallen prey to it.

  Did that mean that all three of the sick patients had been injected with the virus? Or was there a way to spread it that they had not managed to think of yet? She needed to get to the laboratory, needed to look at the blood samples, if she was to even hazard a guess.

  Yet an idea hovered in her brain, nebulous and not quite formed, but there nonetheless. She knew it would come when it was ready, perhaps when she stopped trying so hard to catch hold of it.

  Baby Rose was the first to go, a little after noon. Her father cried silent tears, which were pitiful to see—particularly as he was almost fully paralyzed by that point. She was followed three hours later by Jake and Brian, within minutes of each other. Afterward, Melinda, healthy and shell-shocked, simply sat in a chair against the wall and stared out the opposite window.

  Jasmine’s heart broke for the woman. If she’d had to go through what Melinda just had, she’d probably be a blathering idiot.

  Quinn called a family member to pick her up—it turned out he’d known Brian and his family quite well, as he’d been treating him for a number of years, off and on, for the genetic disease that had struck him nearly ten years before. Jasmine made a note of the disease off his chart and made a mental note to look it up at the soonest opportunity. Maybe there was a connection between it and the virus, though she wasn’t sure what the connection could possibly be. But she wasn’t ruling anything out, not until she’d followed each path as far as she could. Quinn deserved that from her, as did his people.

  After Melinda left, the bodies were taken to a special, contained portion of the morgue for immediate autopsy, with cremation soon to follow. Quinn was taking no chances with the contagiousness of the disease. Eventually, the quarantine was lifted, as no one else contracted the disease; the paperwork was completed, and Quinn made his usual rounds. Jasmine was aching to get to the lab, to see what the blood samples she’d drawn showed under the microscope, but Quinn was so exhausted, so damaged by this latest battle, that she knew everything else was going to have to wait.

  She found she didn’t mind, when usually she resented anything that got in the way of her finding an answer she was looking for. But with Quinn, it came naturally. Maybe because, in his own way, he was what she’d spent her life looking for all along.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Quinn was exhausted, his entire body drained from the healing energy he’d given to Brian and Rose and Jake. It hadn’t been enough. But then, with this virus—with him—it was never enough.

  Despair swamped him as he followed Jasmine out of the clinic and into the night. He wanted nothing more than to return to his cave to lick his wounds, but he knew they needed to head to the lab despite the late hour. There were blood samples to look at, and they needed to finish their notes while the incident was still fresh in their minds. God knew, he’d been fighting this damn disease for years, and never before had he seen it wipe out a family like this.

  He hoped never to see it work this way again, though he had a sick feeling that wasn’t going to be the case. Every time this damn virus made an evolutionary leap—such as crossing from a father to his two kids in under three hours—it had a tendency never to go back. The clan might very well be stuck like this for the rest of their lives.

  It was a despicable thought.

  Jasmine looped her hand through his arm and started pulling him down the street, in the direction opposite from the lab.

  “Hey, the lab’s that way.” He motioned to their left.

  “We’re not going to the lab.
We’re going to your house. Phoebe tells me it’s just a block or so down this way. Do you think you can make it?”

  He shot her an insulted look. “What do I look like? Some candy ass?”

  “You don’t want to know what you look like right now,” she answered tartly, continuing to drag him along.

  “We have work to do.”

  “Believe me, I know. And if it wasn’t for you, I’d be in the lab already—deep into the new research samples. But here you are, gray and swaying and looking like one wrong move will have you laid out on the sidewalk. We’re going to your place.”

  “I actually feel pretty okay, all things considered.” And he did feel much better than he usually did after something like that. It must be Jasmine again, providing some kind of buffer between him and the pain and exhaustion that had threatened to swamp him in the clinic. He grinned, even as his eyes nearly drifted shut. He could get used to this.

  “Yeah,” she muttered sarcastically. “You feel great—ready to take on the world. That is, if you don’t fall asleep on your feet.”

  “Med school was worse than this.”

  “Like that’s a recommendation for the state you’re in? I remember being a zombie for at least two years there.” She eyed him curiously. “You went to medical school?”

  “Three times. Things kept changing, and I wanted to keep up.”

  “Of course you did.” She pulled them to a stop in front of a small cul-de-sac. “Now, which one is yours?”

  He gave her directions, then let her guide him down the street to his place. He was so wiped out that he floated along in a mix of euphoria and sorrow. Once he got some rest, he knew the anger and sadness would take precedence, but right now he almost enjoyed the strange high that came from being this exhausted.

  Within minutes Jasmine had him inside his house and stretched out on the large king-sized bed in the middle of his bedroom. She stood up, as if to move away, but he grabbed her hand. “Stay with me,” he said, shocked at how vulnerable it made him feel to ask.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she answered, slipping his shoes and jeans off before doing the same to her own. Then she climbed into the bed beside him, her long, lean body fitting against his like she was made for him.

  She was made for him, Quinn reminded himself, draping his arm around her waist and pulling her even more closely against him. The last thing he remembered before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep was his mate stroking his hair and whispering soft, sweet words of comfort. Nothing had ever felt so good.

  Quinn woke up in a maelstrom of need, his body on fire, aching, burning with the need to be inside Jasmine. His cock was so hard it felt like it would explode, and every muscle in his body was tense to the point of pain.

  She was stretched out beside him and her shirt had risen up to the middle of her stomach, leaving the entire lower half of her glorious body bare. His mouth watered with the need to taste her.

  Rolling over on top of her, he settled himself between her legs and trailed soft, warm kisses down her jaw, over her forehead, across her cheek. She tasted delicious—like sweet honey and blackberries and sexy, willing woman.

  Memories from the day before bombarded his mind, but he shoved them away as he concentrated on Jasmine. He would have to deal with the impact of yesterday soon enough. For now he was going to steal a few moments for himself. For Jasmine.

  He let his lips drift over her mouth and Jasmine’s eyes slowly blinked open. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see there—bewilderment, caution, heat. But he saw none of that, only an open, honest warmth that arrowed straight to his heart—and cock—as well as enough concern for him to drown out all the months and years and decades of loneliness that came before her. No one had ever gotten inside him like she did. No friend or lover or family member had been able to thaw the frigidity that had been growing in him for centuries.

  “Good morning,” she whispered, reaching a hand out and trailing it over the two days’ worth of stubble that decorated his chin.

  “I know how to make it a better morning,” he answered with a small smile.

  “I just bet you do.” Her legs slid open wider, making a cradle for him between her thighs even as her eyes drifted shut and she turned her head to the left.

  He froze for long seconds, incapable of movement, barely capable of thought as he tried to absorb what she’d done. He told himself it didn’t matter, that she didn’t know, that humans didn’t follow the same rules that shifters did. But those arguments hardly mattered—not to his human side or to the dragon that was even now trying to get out.

  Jazz trusted him not to hurt her so completely that she had exposed her jugular to him—something no dragon would ever do unless she felt very, very confident with her mate. And she had closed her eyes while she’d done it. The trust implicit in the action shot right through him, overwhelmed him, made him want to love her and cuddle her and cherish her all at the same time. That it didn’t have the same significance to her didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she was his.

  “Quinn?” Her sleepy, sexy voice rumbled its way through him. “Are you okay?”

  He didn’t know how to answer. On one hand, he felt better than he had ever imagined he could. On the other, he was on wild, uncharted ground. He didn’t know what to say, how to act, what to do to show her just how much she meant to him.

  But when her eyes opened and he could see her need for him—a need combined with affection that somehow exactly mirrored his own feelings—it melted him completely.

  Leaning forward, he took her mouth with his own, using his lips and tongue to arouse her—to soothe her—in a way he never had before, not even with Jasmine. He wanted her, God did he want her, but even more overwhelming than the desire was the tenderness he felt for her. The softness she brought to him when he was used to being the strong one, the tough one.

  He nipped at her lower lip, reveling in the sexy moan she didn’t try to stop. Sucked it into his mouth in an effort to ease the confusing rush of feelings tearing at his insides.

  She went wild, her strong warrior’s body bucking against him. She wrenched her mouth from his, skimmed her mouth down his neck and over his shoulder, and he shuddered with the effort it took to restrain himself. To hold the beast back when it wanted nothing more than to lose itself in her.

  But this moment, this morning after one of the worst days of his professional life, meant more to him than a desperate drive for satisfaction. Jasmine was his, and he wanted to show her that being with him didn’t always have to be flash and fire, didn’t always have to be a struggle for control.

  Reaching up, he cupped her face in one of his hands and just looked at her. From the little lines just starting at the corners of her glorious eyes to the small scar that ran along the edge of her jaw to the random scattering of freckles that decorated her nose, he memorized her. Pulled her face, pulled her, deep inside of himself, where he could hold on to her whenever his fucked-up life started crashing in on him. And she let him. Instead of struggling against him or trying to move things along faster, Jasmine just lay there and let him look. Lay there and watched him as intently as he was watching her.

  When he couldn’t take it any longer, when his need to be inside her was nearly overwhelming, he moved so that he covered her. So that every part of her body was covered by every part of his. Not domination, but protection. Not control, but adoration. Bending forward, he kissed the softness of her lips, the corners of her mouth. Traced his tongue along her full bottom lip, lingering at the cute little indention in the center of her lopsided upper lip. She was like the richest, smoothest velvet, so much softer than she looked on the outside. So much hotter than he had dreamed his mate could be.

  He wanted to be gentle this time, to give her the tenderness she deserved. But the second her tongue tangled with his, he was lost. Lust rose, sharp and terrible and all-consuming. He ignored it, beat it down, kissed her some more. He was unwilling to give up her lips, unable to break the co
nnection when everything inside of him clamored to be a part of her. To make her a part of him.

  He didn’t lift his mouth until she whimpered, gasped for air. Only then did he relinquish her lips, skimming his own down her cheek and over the long, graceful curve of her neck to the delicate bones of her shoulders. How could she be so fragile and yet so strong?

  Using his free hand, he pushed her shirt up, baring her beautiful breasts. Then he slowly pulled it over her head, fully exposing her round breasts and beautiful, dusky rose nipples. She was amazing, glorious, and as he ran his tongue around her areola, he had only one thought: to worship her, to pleasure her, to make her his, once and for all.

  Then he forgot everything but the ecstasy of being with her as he licked and kissed his way over every inch of her body. He explored the curve of her shoulder, the bend in her elbow, the back of her knee. Then tickled her ribs with his tongue before moving between her legs and tasting her. Feasting on her. Claiming her.

  He slid his tongue over her labia, once, twice, loving the spicy scent and taste of her. Slipped inside of her and stroked her from the inside as her hands clutched at his hair, his shoulders.

  Ran his tongue over and around the hard button of her clit as she sighed and moaned.

  And then, with a quick flick of his tongue and a stroke of his fingers, he brought her to climax. Pulling back, desperate to see her, he stroked his thumb over her, intensifying Jasmine’s orgasm even as he watched her take her pleasure. Her back bowed, her hips moved languorously against his thumb, and her skin flushed a pretty pink that called to him, urging him to take her. To take all of her.

  His cock twitched, but he wasn’t ready to give up the view quite yet. Not when she was spread before him like a feast, like a banquet. Not when she was so completely open and vulnerable to him, and he felt like he was the same to her.

  When she finally stopped coming, he spread her legs a little wider, then simply looked at her soft, pink pussy.