Hidden Embers

by Tessa Adams

  He nodded again, not trusting his voice.

  “All right. I know that you’re brilliant and talented and an incredible healer. You’re generous, you work too hard, you give too much. You also have a terrible temper and a jealous streak a mile wide—which is a little surprising in a man of your intellect, I must admit.”

  “I was never jealous before you came along.”

  She grinned. “I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not.”

  “Oh, it’s definitely a compliment. Before you, I never felt for a woman enough to care whether another man wanted her, would try to take her from me. But with you, I can’t even think about you with someone else.”

  “It doesn’t look like you have to worry about that now, does it? Interesting little side benefit of this damn virus, don’t you think?”

  “Shut up,” he growled. “Don’t joke about this.”

  “It’s joke or cry, and I don’t want to spend my last hours with you with tears rolling down my face. So…” She took a deep breath. “I’ve told you what I know. Now tell me what I don’t.”

  She patted the bed next to where she was laying. “But do it from up here. I don’t want to waste a chance to touch you.”

  “Okay.” He settled himself gingerly on the bed, pulling her more firmly into his arms. “I love to watch the desert at sunrise, when the sun is just beginning to peek over the mountains. I hate that I’m the last of my family, that the line will die out with me because the Wyvernmoons killed my brothers and I couldn’t stop them.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “No, it’s the Wyvernmoons’. And I swear I will destroy them for what they’ve done to my family. What they’ve done to you.”

  “Quinn, don’t say that. You can’t spend your life avenging the past.”

  He didn’t answer; there was nothing he could say that wouldn’t upset her. Because the one thing he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, was that after she died he would do whatever it took to ruin the Wyvernmoons once and for all. She deserved that much, and so did all of the other people who’d died at those bastards’ hands throughout the years.

  He didn’t want to think about that now, didn’t want to imagine his life without Jasmine. So he let it go, choosing instead to regale her with tales of his childhood and growing up the middle of three brothers.

  They talked for hours, about little things and important things, about themselves and who they’d once been. With each hour that passed, Jasmine got weaker—her temperature spiking again, her body trembling, her lower body becoming completely paralyzed. He held her through it all, and as she drifted into an uneasy sleep, Quinn let the pain move through him. He embraced it, wrapped it around himself. He wanted to suffer as Jasmine did, to feel what she felt.

  It was only fitting.

  She was his—even if it was only for this very short time. It was his duty, his right, and his privilege to carry her burdens. She was his mate. They were one. They were—

  He froze as a thought so outlandish, so bizarre, so medically questionable occurred to him that normally he would have discounted it completely. But he was desperate to save her, so desperate that he was willing to consider a treatment he would have laughed at the day before.

  It wasn’t going to work, he told himself, even as he eased himself off the bed. Jasmine whimpered in her sleep, and he comforted her absently, his mind already on the logistics of the task.

  It couldn’t work, he told himself, even as he rummaged through the cabinets gathering supplies.

  In fact, it might even kill her. Yet he still went out into the hall to search for Phoebe. But she’s dying anyway. At least she’d die knowing they did everything they could to save her. Absolutely everything.

  He broke into a jog, yelling for Phoebe as he looked into every room he passed.

  She came out of the lounge at a run. “Is it time?” she asked, following him down the hallway. “Is she—” Her voice broke.

  “I have an idea,” he answered. “It’s crazy and it probably won’t work, but it’s an idea.”

  “What is it?” she demanded, her hands clutching at his arm, and he remembered, for the first time, that he wasn’t the only one losing Jasmine. She was Phoebe’s best friend, and her death wouldn’t be easy on the future queen.

  He explained his idea. Though Phoebe looked doubtful—really doubtful—she never said a word. Just helped him ready everything they needed.

  When everything was assembled and Quinn was sitting next to Jasmine, Phoebe looked him in the eye and said, “Are you sure you want to do this? You know as well as I do that it could kill her faster than the virus.”

  He glanced at his mate, pale, paralyzed, already starting to bleed out. “If we leave her like this, she’ll die in excruciating pain. Fast, slow. What’s the difference? Dead is dead. Besides, I know she’d want us to try this. She wouldn’t want to give up, even if the cure is fatal.”

  “I know. I just wanted to make sure you understand, in case things don’t go as you hope.”

  Quinn nodded. “I do.”

  “All right, then. Let’s do this thing.”

  Phoebe swabbed the inside of Jasmine’s elbow, put in a small port for the blood transfusion, before turning to him and cleaning his arm as well. Then she inserted the needle into his arm, which would draw his blood out and into the tubing that was hooked up to Jasmine.

  Before, they’d briefly debated the merits of collecting his blood and then transfusing it into Jasmine in the normal way, but Quinn was adamant that it not happen that way. They were one—his heart was hers, as was his body and his soul. His blood, with its virus-resistant antibodies, needed to be hers as well. And it needed to flow directly from his body to hers.

  There were risks—of course, there were risks. He was dragon, she was human. Pumping his blood into her, with its very different DNA, might very well kill Jasmine. Her body might be too far gone, too inundated with the virus to fight to accept the antibodies in his blood. She might—

  He cut his thoughts off as the blood started to flow from his arm into hers. Praying the entire time, Quinn watched, fascinated, as the dark red liquid worked its way through the tube and into her.

  Praying that he wouldn’t make her worse.

  Praying that his blood wouldn’t hurt her.

  Praying that it would bring about the miracle he was so desperate for.

  Phoebe kept the machine running and the blood pumping until he’d given Jasmine well over a liter. Then she shut it off. He objected that Jasmine needed more.

  “We’ll see what happens,” Phoebe answered, unmoved by his pleas. “She’s taken plenty, and you need to hang on to the rest of your blood. You might need it, you know.”

  He wanted to fight her: he had no need of his blood, no need of anything, if Jasmine died. But in the end, he kept his mouth shut, determined to save his arguments in case he needed to convince Phoebe to let him try it again.

  The next hour and a half was the most excruciating of Quinn’s life. He watched Jasmine—and the clock—with an intense obsession, waiting for signs that the blood transfusion was either helping her or killing her.

  For the longest time, nothing happened. Then her temperature gradually got worse. The trembling started again, and her nose started bleeding.

  “Shit, fuck, damn,” Quinn cursed. He buried his head in Jasmine’s stomach while Phoebe wiped the blood away.

  “I’m sorry, Quinn.”

  “We need to try again.” He lifted his sleeve feverishly, holding his arm out to her. “Come on. We need to do it again.”

  “It’s not working. We knew it was a long shot.”

  “Bullshit. We haven’t given it enough of a chance. She needs more of my blood.”

  “She needs to be left alone, to die with a little dignity.”

  “No!” He grabbed another kit, ripped it open. “She needs another transfusion.” He tried to hand it to her.

  Phoebe shook her head, stepped back. “I’m sorry, Quinn.
I can’t.”

  “Goddamnit! I know this is the right thing to do. I know it, Phoebe.” Something inside was driving him, something more primal than his dragon. Something more instinctual. “Let me try one more time.”

  When she didn’t move to help, he swore again. Then he slammed the needle into his own vein with all the finesse of a berserker.

  “Quinn, what are you doing?” Phoebe rushed forward.

  “I’m saving my mate.” He reconnected Jasmine’s port, then flipped the switch on the machine. Within seconds, his blood was pumping into Jasmine again. It wasn’t as pretty as when Phoebe had done it, but the job was getting done, and that was all that mattered.

  He gave blood until he felt light-headed, until his heart started stuttering in his chest, until Phoebe was screaming at him to stop. He ignored her and kept pumping his blood into Jasmine.

  “Damn it, Quinn!” Phoebe yelled. “You’re killing yourself.” She stepped forward to turn the machine off, and he snarled at her, more beast than man.

  “Fine. I’m going to get Dylan—and a sedative. If you haven’t turned that thing off by the time we get back, I’m knocking you out.”

  “You can try.” It was the dragon’s voice, low and gravelly and dark.

  Phoebe left in a huff, and Quinn closed his eyes, resting his head against the wall as weakness swept through him. He wasn’t stupid. He knew he was giving Jasmine too much of his blood—he could feel the weakness weighing him down, the dangerous lethargy invading his mind.

  But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He would rather die here, now, giving Jasmine a chance to live than to spend one day of his life without her. She was his mate, his everything, and giving his life for hers was no sacrifice.

  Phoebe burst back through the door with Dylan on her heels and a syringe in her hand.

  “Come on, man.” Dylan laid a hand on his shoulder. “This is madness.”

  “It’s not madness.”

  “Quinn, please.” Phoebe took a step toward the machine, and he knocked Dylan out of the way, adrenaline surging through him.

  “Don’t touch it.”

  “We have to—”

  He locked eyes with her, bared his teeth in a move no one—least of all Dylan—could mistake. “Don’t. Touch. It.”

  Dylan stepped in front of his mate. “Phoebe, I want you to go back outside. Quinn is—”

  “Stubborn as hell and mean to boot.”

  They all froze at the voice coming from the bed, then turned as one to stare at Jasmine, who was awake and struggling to sit up. “But he’s mine and I would really appreciate it if you didn’t kill him just yet.” She eyed the blood-filled tube that ran from his arm to hers. “Or let him kill himself.”

  “Jasmine!” He was out of his seat in a heartbeat, reaching for the thermometer and blood pressure cuff. “You’re awake.”

  “Now, can I take this damn thing off?” Phoebe muttered, but she was blinking back tears.

  Quinn barely noticed as she turned the machine off and unhooked Jasmine. He was too busy staring at his mate’s clear violet eyes, too busy taking in the healthy rosiness of her cheeks.

  Ten minutes later, Jasmine continued to improve. Her blood pressure was normal, and she seemed perfectly coherent, but her temperature remained elevated. “How do you feel?” Quinn demanded.

  “I feel good,” she answered, moving her legs beneath the covers just to prove she could. “Better than I ever have.”

  She glanced at Dylan and Phoebe. “Is this energy running right under my skin what it feels like to be a dragon? Like your heart could burst right through your chest? Like you could take on the world and win?”

  Dylan laughed. “That’s exactly what it feels like.”

  She grinned. “I like it.”

  Phoebe checked her pulse and her responses to cold, heat and pain against the bottom of her foot, then retook her temperature. “I’m glad to hear that. Because it looks to me like Quinn gave you more than just his blood.”

  “What does that mean?” Quinn demanded. “Is she all right?”

  “I think she’s fine. But I also think she’s got an awful lot of dragon characteristics all of a sudden, characteristics that weren’t there before you did your little reverse vampire number.”

  “Dragon characteristics?” Jasmine repeated. “What’s that mean?”

  “I can’t be sure without a blood test, but I’m thinking that Quinn’s blood did something to you. Changed you,” she added, at Jasmine’s blank look. “Your temperature is elevated, and your pulse is much quicker. Your grip is a lot stronger than it’s ever been. Quinn made you, if not a dragon, then the closest thing to it.” Phoebe leaned over and hugged her. “Welcome to the clan.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Two days later, Quinn brought Jasmine home to the house he kept in town. The dragon wanted him to take her to his cave, wanted him to claim her there, where the rules of society had little impact.

  But the man still remembered her so close to death, and he wasn’t all that keen on being so far from the clinic, just in case she had a relapse.

  “I’m perfectly capable of walking,” Jasmine protested, laughing as he carried her through the house to his master bedroom.

  “I know you are,” he said, humoring her, even as he laid her in the center of the big bed. “This is for me.”

  “I bet,” she snorted. She held her arms out to him and cuddled close as he settled on the bed next to her—which was all that mattered.

  They lay like that for a long time, her fingers tangling in his hair as he rested his ear against her chest, listening to her heartbeat. It was dragon fast now, and his beast preened with the knowledge that he had done that to her. That his blood was running in her, changing her, making her Dragonstar. Phoebe didn’t think she’d ever be able to shift because she didn’t have an actual beast inside of her as the others did, but Quinn didn’t care. All he cared about was that she was whole and healthy and now able to live as long as he could.

  She was his mate, in every sense of the word.

  “I love you, you know. And not just because you saved my life.” She whispered the words against the top of his head.

  “I know that. I love you, too.”

  “Really?” she demanded, rolling with him so that he was on his back and she was above him. “Then make love to me.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think you’re ready yet. You nearly died two days ago.”

  “But I didn’t, thanks to you and your weird medicine.” She grabbed his hand, slid it inside the low-cut waistband of her yoga pants. “I want to celebrate the fact that I’m alive, and I can’t think of a better way of doing that than making love with my mate.”

  His cock hardened at her words, and the easy way she called him her mate. Rolling back over, he trapped her beneath him, reveling in the soft heat of her as she tangled her legs in his.

  “If we do this—”

  “Oh, we’re doing it,” she said, licking her way down his throat.

  “If we do this,” he repeated, “we do it my way.”

  “Don’t we always?”

  “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

  “Then hurry up and get inside me. I’m dying here.”

  “Don’t joke about that!”

  “God, you’re bossy. Give it a rest.”

  “Why don’t you give me a rest?”

  Her hand slipped between them, massaged his cock. “I’d rather give you a ride.”

  Quinn gave up, letting his absolute joy in his mate—his beautiful, healthy, alive mate—swell through him. Then he pulled her hand back up to his mouth, where he used his tongue to stroke from her wrist to the top of her palm, lingering for long moments over her chained and broken life line.

  She’d had a rough time, this mate of his, but now she was his to protect. His to care for, and he would do whatever it took to make sure that she had what she needed to be safe—and happy.

  Jasmine gasped at the feel of his tong
ue on her, going perfectly still. And for a moment—just a moment—she was soft and pliant, her body his to command.

  He pressed himself against her, savoring the feel of her soft, lush curves against the hard planes of his own body even as he made sure not to rest his weight on her injured ribs. Then her arms were around him, pulling him down to her, and everything he wanted to say to her, everything he wanted to promise, simply faded away as desire—harsh and all-consuming—took over.

  Jasmine sighed as Quinn pulled her even more tightly against him, until she could feel every part of him pressed to every part of her. His arousal was hard as a brick between her thighs and she delighted in it. She moved restlessly in an effort to feel him more fully against her.

  He accommodated her, shifted his strong hands until they were cupping her ass. Then he was lifting her, shaping her, molding her body to his as he thrust against her.

  “Put your legs around me,” he growled against her lips, and she did. The pleasure—the sweet, soft, incredible pleasure that came from the movement—made her gasp in delight.

  He took instant advantage, his tongue slipping between her parted lips with all the subtlety of a conquering army. But as he stroked it against the top of her mouth, ran it in one glancing caress over her own tongue, Jasmine couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when his invasion sent frissons of delight through her whole being. Not when she’d been so certain that she would never feel him like this again.

  The thought sent need spiraling through her, and she rocked against Quinn, desperate to have him inside her where he belonged. Desperate to feel him anywhere and everywhere as he claimed her.

  It was a strange feeling for a woman who had spent her life running from emotional entanglements—and from alpha males who expected her to bend to their every whim. But she didn’t mind Quinn’s dominance anymore, not when she knew she was more than capable of standing up to him.

  Not when she knew that he would never force or bully her into doing anything she didn’t want to do.

  And not when she knew how very much he loved her—enough to give up his life for her. It was the same way she loved him.