by Tessa Adams
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
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
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DARK EMBERS
HIDDEN EMBERS
ALSO BY TESSA ADAMS
Praise for Dark Embers
“Written in a compelling voice, Dark Embers introduces a sexy and intriguing new world. I’m looking forward to seeing where Tessa Adams takes her dragons next.”
—Nalini Singh, New York Times bestselling author of Archangel’s Consort
“Dark Embers is a blistering-hot, fast-paced adventure that will leave readers breathless. Dylan and Phoebe have great chemistry and a romantic story that will captivate you and keep you turning pages long into the night. I’m really looking forward to the next book in the series!”
—Anya Bast, New York Times bestselling author of Jeweled
“This darkly seductive tale will have you longing for a dragon of your very own.”
—Shiloh Walker, national bestselling author of Veil of Shadows
“A fantastic debut to a new erotic paranormal series that will take you on a scorching-hot adventure and leave you wanting more.”
—Among the Muses
“If you’re looking for a fast paranormal read featuring suspense, hot shifters, and even hotter sex, then look no further.”
—Smexy Books Romance Reviews
“A wonderful shape-shifter tale.”—
Midwest Book Review
ALSO BY TESSA ADAMS
Dark Embers
Hidden Embers
HEAT
Published by New American Library,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:
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First published by Heat, an imprint of New American Library,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, October 2011
Copyright © Tracy Deebs-Elkenaney, 2011
All rights reserved
HEAT is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA:
Adams, Tessa.
Forbidden embers: a dragon’s heat novel/Tessa Adams.
p. cm.—(Dragon’s heat; 3)
ISBN : 978-1-101-54498-3
I. Title.
PS3623.O57F67 2011
813’.6—dc22 2011020487
Set in Minion Pro
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For Jenn
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As always, there are so many people to thank-at NAL and at home.
First off, I have to thank my amazing, wonderful, fabulous editor, Jhanteigh Kupihea, who is incredible to work with and who always has time for me, no matter how small the question or crazy the idea. You’re the best, Jhanteigh, and I am so grateful to have you.
I also must thank everyone at NAL who helps create such amazing books for me. I am so lucky to write for such a wonderful, talented house.
Thank you to Shellee Roberts and Emily McKay for the fun, companionship and chocolate cake. Not to mention all the emergency brainstorming sessions, when I was certain I wouldn’t find the way to Logan and Cecily’s HEA.
As always, thanks to Emily Sylvan Kim, who truly is the best agent and friend anyone could ever ask for.
And to my fans, thanks so much for your enthusiasm for this series. I appreciate all your e-mails and encouragement and suggestions more than I can ever say.
PROLOGUE
He was dreaming. He knew it, understood it, yet could do noth ing to wake himself up.
In the world of his mind’s creation, it was already too late. But then, it always was. Part and parcel of his gift, these little trips into dreamland were his psyche’s way of foretelling the future. His future. And as the dreams were never wrong, he knew within a few minutes of falling asleep exactly what he had to do.
Even as the idea came to him—even as he continued to sleep—Logan Kelly searched for a way around it.
But there was none, just as he’d known all along. Better minds than his had been working on this for months now. Years. All to no avail. The thought that had snuck into his dreams, and expanded until it already felt like reality, really was the only rational solution.
That didn’t mean he had to like it.
As he slept, the walls and ceiling of the cave seemed to be closing in on him, the stalactites closer and sharper than they had ever been before. Without conscious thought, he reached up and broke off one of the very sharp ones and shoved it into his pocket before using a burst of preternatural speed to go outside.
Under the stars.
Amid the sand and 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.
Nauseated. Not the knowledge that he’d forsaken Ireland, but the sudden recognition that he would soon be forsaking 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 burst of short-lived panic receded.
I will do this for them, he told himself, because I am the only one who can. That realization was enough to steady him, when just moments before he’d been certain that nothing would ever be able to do so again.
Unable to bear his thoughts—his own stillness—for one second more, he began to walk. Around him, the desert teemed with life. Night predators searching out prey. Prey searching out new and better hiding spots. In the distance, an owl swept down toward the still-warm sand at an 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, and 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 his enemy’s weak spot; hit fast and hard. Whatever damage he sustained—whether fleeting or absolute—would be more than worth it if he could finally find a way to neutralize the enemy.
He snarled at the thought of the Wyvernmoons, his long legs eating up the miles as he walked off his frustration, his pain. Inside, his beast thrashed and snarled in an effort to get out, but Logan kept it on a very short leash. One slipup, and the dragon would burst free. He couldn’t afford that, not now, when logic and reason had to be everything.
Not now, when the hot-tempered screams of the animal would do nothing to advance the case he knew he had to make.
As he walked, he memorized the feel of the desert at night. After more than two hundred years, he should be able to call it up at will, but he wasn’t taking any chances. South Dakota in the wintertime was as different from New Mexico as one could get and still be in America. And God only knew how many winters he would have to endure in that hellhole of a compound before he would once again find his way back here.
If he ever did.
The pragmatist in him knew that there was more than a passing chance that he would die on this latest quest, knew that after he left here in a few days, he might never see his beloved stretch of desert again. And while he didn’t fear death—at 397 years old, he had faced that enemy many times before—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 stretched as far as the eye could see.
He broke into a run then, all but flying in human form across the forty or so miles that separated him from the small house he kept in town. But that was the thing about dreams—fiction and reality could mix until it was impossible to tell one from the other.
The closer he got to the small city that was the heart of the Dragonstars’ home, the more voices and thoughts 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.
He could feel walls closing in even though he was outside. Could feel time ticking away from him like the sand of his beloved desert through an hourglass.
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 almost four centuries, he sometimes couldn’t block.
A knowledge of people’s most embarrassing moments and deepest, darkest secrets.
It sucked, big-time.
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. It was also the reason it had taken him nearly three centuries to find a home.
He shied away from the thought and the emotions that were still too raw, even after all this time. Then he slipped silently into town, nodding to his friend and fellow sentry Ty as he passed him on the street. It was Ty’s turn to patrol the town boundaries, and though he looked like he wanted to talk, Logan didn’t stop. He couldn’t afford to, not now, when his plan was only half-formed. It would still be too easy to talk him out of it.
No, there was a council meeting in a few days, a gathering of the other sentries like him, and that was where he would reveal his plan. It wasn’t much time, but he was determined to be prepared.
To be resolute.
To be unshakable. Otherwise, his peers would never go along with what he wanted to do.
They still might not—that fact was what had driven him toward town before he even knew where he was heading. He needed to talk to Dylan before the meeting, needed to talk him into the idea that was still not fully formed in his own head.
It shouldn’t be that hard to convince the Dragonstar king, a little voice inside Logan’s head whispered. Dylan had to go along with it. They were running out of time. Even with the Wyvernmoons’ last attack party decimated, it wouldn’t take long for them to regroup and head back to New Mexico, looking to wipe out the Dragonstars once and for all. And while they couldn’t beat the Dragonstars in a fair fight, the Wyvernmoons had much greater numbers and an amorality that gave them a firm advantage. After all, they were responsible for the disease that had ravaged his clan for more than a decade.
He wouldn’t let them destroy the Dragonstars. 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.
That generosity was one of the many reasons it was so difficult to contemplate leaving. And one of the many reasons he had to.
After checking 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 that didn’t stop him from making the rounds, checking every room to make sure no enemies lay in wait. As he did, he cursed the Wyvernmoons and the fact that such hyper-vigilance was even necessary when he and his clan mates wanted nothing more than to live in peace.
It wouldn’t be for long—not if he had anything to say about it.
When he was convinced his house was clear, Logan strode into the kitchen and yanked a pair of scissors out of one of the drawers. Then went into the bathroom and, without thought or remorse, cut off the long, flowing hair that had all but been his trademark for centuries. Amid the Dragonstars, almost all of whom were dark, his too-long blond hair and amber eyes were legendary.
After the hair was gone—and he was barely recognizable even to himself—Logan reached into his pocket and pulled out the stalactite he’d shoved in there earlier. He studied it for a moment, made sure it was strong enough and sharp enough to do what had to be done.
Then, without pause, he reached up and raked the hard, sharp tip of it down the right side of his face, from his eye to the corner of his mouth.
They had reached the point of no return. As he watched blood flow freely down his face and neck, he knew that nothing else mattered.
His clan would be safe. He would make sure of it.
He woke up a few minutes later, shivering and huddled up on the couch in his living room in town, though he had fallen asleep in his cave. He blinked a few times, brought t
he world around him into focus.
And realized that the pillow he’d been sleeping on was coated in his blood.
His fight had already begun.
CHAPTER ONE
The murmurs started the second Logan walked into the War Room. He ignored them as he headed to the front of the long, underground cavern that Dylan used as a meeting and strategizing room for himself and his sentries, but that only made the sounds—and the worry that fueled them—more insistent.
The room wasn’t even close to full. After finding a traitor in their midst a few weeks before, Dylan had tripled patrols around their territory. Everyone was suddenly being very careful about what they did and who they trusted, but still, the emotions of his closest friends pressed in on Logan from every side.
He refused to acknowledge them, instead choosing to keep his eyes on his king, who stood at the front of the room, waiting for him. The look in Dylan’s eyes was a mixture of fury, concern and resignation. Logan recognized it because they were the same emotions that had been flooding him for far too long, as he’d watched clan mate after clan mate die around him.
“What the hell did you do to yourself?” Quinn, the Dragonstars’ number-one healer, jumped up from his spot next to Dylan and crossed the room so quickly he was nearly a blur. “You should have called me right away.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re patently not fine,” Quinn answered, reaching for his face. Though the healer had yet to touch him, already Logan could feel the warmth emanating from his fingers. The promise of healing that would make the ceaseless ache in his face finally go away.
