Hidden Embers Read online

  Praise for Dark Embers

  “Written in a compel ing 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 bestsel ing author of Archangel’s Kiss

  “Dark Embers is a blistering-hot, fast-paced adventure that wil leave readers breathless. Dylan and Phoebe have great chemistry and a romantic

  story that wil captivate you and keep you turning pages long into the night. I’m real y looking forward to the next book in the series!”

  —Anya Bast, New York Times bestsel ing author of Wicked Enchantment

  “This darkly seductive tale wil have you longing for a dragon of your very own.”

  —Shiloh Walker, national bestsel ing author of Broken

  “The first Dragon’s Heat romantic fantasy is a wonderful shape-shifter tale…. Fans wil enjoy soaring with dragons.”

  —Harriet Klausner, Genre Go Round Reviews

  “Dark Embers is a fantastic debut to a new erotic paranormal series that wil take you on a scorching-hot adventure and leave you wanting more….

  There was even a moment I felt myself get teary eyed—in an erotica, people!”

  —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

  ALSO BY TESSA ADAMS

  Dark Embers

  HIDDEN EMBERS

  A DRAGON’S HEAT NOVEL

  TESSA ADAMS

  HEAT

  HEAT

  Published by New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

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  Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi - 110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apol o Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:

  80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  First published by Heat, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  Copyright © Tracy Deebs-Elkenaney, 2011

  Al rights reserved

  HEAT is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA:

  Adams, Tessa.

  Hidden embers: a dragon’s heat novel/Tessa Adams.

  p. cm—(Dragon’s heat; 2)

  ISBN: 9781101483169

  1. Shapeshifting—Fiction. 2. New Mexico—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3623.O57H53 2011

  813'.6—dc22 2010052159

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval

  system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written

  permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any

  resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is il egal and

  punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted

  materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  For Shellee Cruz and Emily McKay,

  two of the best writing pals a girl could ever ask for

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I’d like to thank al the people at NAL who work on my books, especialy the incredibly talented people in the art department, who give me such

  amazing covers.

  My wonderful, amazing and bril iant editor, Jhanteigh Kupihea, for believing in me and the Dragonstars. She is always there to bounce

  ideas off and is always wil ing to let me try something a little different. Her enthusiasm and talent has made writing the Dragon’s Heat novels an

  absolute joy and they are definitely better for her hard work and suggestions.

  My dear friend Sherry Thomas, who always makes me laugh (and brings me chocolate cake when the situation is dire).

  My fantastic agent, Emily Sylvan Kim, for everything she’s done for me, and especial y for putting up with endless phone cal s and e-

  mails, so many of which begin with, “So, I have this real y great idea….”

  My wonderful fans, whose support of and fascination with the Dragonstars I appreciate more than I can say. Your comments and e-mails

  make it a mil ion times easier, and more rewarding, for me to write these books.

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  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

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PROLOGUE

  He was tired.

  So tired that he could barely hold his head up.

  So tired that he didn’t have the energy to finish the chart he was working on.

  So tired that even the act of breathing seemed like a chore.

  Rubbing his hands over his face, Quinn Maguire tried to fight against the despair that was his constant companion.

  He failed.

  It weighed him down, made his movements slow and clumsy as it pressed in on him from every side. When was this going to be over?

  When was he final y going to be able to stop fighting?

  After scrawling his initials on the line at the bottom of the chart, he shoved back from his desk and walked over to the window that

  stretched the length of on
e of his office wal s.

  Outside the desert was dark and peaceful, the city lights far enough away that the stars glittered against the ebony blanket of the night.

  The sight almost always soothed him, but tonight it wouldn’t. He could feel it.

  His eyesight was keen enough that he could see the night predators shadowed against the blackness, his hearing good enough that he

  could listen to their prey as they scrambled across the rapidly cooling sand in an effort to get away.

  But there would be no escape for them. There never was. If his years on this planet had taught him nothing else, they had taught him that

  much. You couldn’t escape your destiny.

  Like him. He would be fighting forever. It was, after al , the nature of the beast.

  Never in his 471 years had his nature, his abilities, his limitations, been so hard to accept.

  Four hundred and seventy-one years. He closed his eyes, leaned his head against the cool glass. And wondered how he was

  supposed to survive another four hundred years. How he was supposed to survive another day when his every instinct demanded that he end

  things, now, while he stil could.

  Perhaps that was his destiny as wel .

  What did he have to live for, anyway? His lover was dead, and while he hadn’t been mated with Cecily, he had cared deeply for her.

  Two of his three brothers were dead. Four of his closest friends were dead.

  Thousands of his people were dead—a number that was growing larger with every month that passed.

  And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

  Nothing he could do to stop any of it.

  Al those years of training, al the time he’d spent honing his gifts—wasted. Because now, when he needed the knowledge most, it was

  gone. Or, worse, was so useless against this latest threat that it was as if it had never been.

  He was useless, ineffectual, his power nothing but a joke in the face of the crisis ripping through his clan at an alarming rate.

  Was this it, then? he wondered. Nearly half a mil ennium of life boiled down to nothing in a matter of months? Was il ness and

  exhaustion and crushing disappointment al there was?

  If so, what was he stil doing here?

  Why was he stil fighting?

  For the first time in centuries, he didn’t have an answer.

  Inside him, his beast screamed in agony. Battered at the wal s he kept around it in an effort to get out. Raked sharp claws down the

  inside of his skin as it fought for its very survival.

  It sensed what Quinn’s mind was only beginning to comprehend: he had no purpose on this earth anymore, no meaning. No matter what

  he tried, no matter how hard he fought, no matter how many antidotes he came up with, his people were dying. And it was his fault.

  He glanced over at his computer screen—at the magnified results of the latest tests he’d run. The virus was stil impervious to his

  attempts to immunize against it. His best ideas on how to stop its spread had only multiplied the infected cel s, as if whoever had designed the

  disease had anticipated his every attack. He didn’t know why he was surprised. It wasn’t as if this was the first time they’d thwarted him.

  It was becoming a regular occurrence—his enemy was too determined, too insidious, too clever, and he was not clever enough.

  Quinn deliberately turned his back on the computer and his newest research and eyed the cabinets across the room instead. Inside

  him, the beast roared in protest, but he shoved the thing back down. He took two halting steps across the carpet toward the built-ins.

  Inside was every manner of medical device—medicines, bandages, scalpels and forceps for surgery. He imagined what it would feel

  like to grab a scalpel and plunge it straight into his jugular—and was vaguely surprised when the thought didn’t bother him nearly as much as it

  should have. Yes, dragons usual y healed quickly—very quickly—but would that be enough to repair a mortal wound, especial y if he didn’t try to

  heal it?

  He was across the room, his hand reaching to open one of the cupboards, before he final y regained control, final y stopped himself as

  the dragon screamed inside him. He thought of Dylan and Phoebe, Gabe and Logan, Michael and Shawn and Tyler—and despised himself for

  even thinking of taking the coward’s way out. He might have lost al hope, but his friends, his clan mates, hadn’t. Was he real y selfish enough to off

  himself and take even that smal grain of hope away from them?

  His hand fel back to his side, sharp talons poking through his fingertips before he could stop them. No, he wasn’t that selfish. Wasn’t

  that pathetic.

  At least not yet.

  He wouldn’t kil himself and leave Dylan to clean up the mess. He owed his king far too much to take the easy way out.

  And yet the despair swamped him, overwhelmed him, until al he could see or hear or feel was the utter darkness of it. Sinking to the

  floor, he laid his head on his knees and prayed for some idea of what he should do next. But as with so many of his prayers of late, this one went

  unanswered.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “That was the worst one yet.” Quinn kept his voice level through sheer wil, though everything inside him was screaming for release, for revenge.

  “Each case seems to be a little worse than the one before it,” agreed Phoebe Quil um, his research partner and the clan’s soon-to-be-

  queen. Her normal y clinical voice was tempered with so much sympathy, it nearly suffocated him. “As if every ful -blown infection mutates the virus

  just enough to make the suffering worse for whoever contracts it next.”

  “Not surprising when you think of the bastards who created this thing. Silus probably had his mad scientists do it on purpose.”

  “There’s no ‘probably’ about it, Quinn. They had to have engineered it this way. There’s no other explanation for how this is happening—

  sure, viruses mutate, change, al the time. But this one does it in an incredibly complex pattern. Its abilities have to be manufactured, the result of

  genetic engineering.”

  He hadn’t thought he could feel any worse than he already did. Trust Phoebe to change that. She always knew just what to say.

  “This can’t keep going on.” His fist came down so hard on the crash cart that he dented the thing. “If we can’t get inside its wal s, then we

  have to find a way to immunize against it. I don’t know how many more of these deaths I can sit through.”

  “It’s far too sophisticated for a virus—even one that was manufactured in a lab.” Phoebe hadn’t even heard him. She was muttering now,

  taking notes on the smal pad of paper that went everywhere with her, and he knew she was talking as much to herself as she was to him. “It has the

  brutality and quickness of Ebola coupled with the sophistication of lupus. Which doesn’t make sense, even after looking at it under a microscope

  and taking it apart for months like we have. If they could create this damn thing in a lab, we should be able to tear it apart in much the same way. I

  can’t believe the Wyvernmoon scientists are real y that much further ahead medical y than we are.”

  Quinn didn’t respond, but his entire body tightened at the mention of the enemy clan. For centuries the Wyvernmoons had been trying to

  wipe the Dragonstar clan out of existence, but it wasn’t until recently—until their king had hit on this damn virus as a weapon of annihilation—that

  they’d had any success. Of course, Silus was dead now, kil ed by Phoebe a few weeks before, but the virus was stronger than ever. The

  Wyvernmoon council obviously wasn’t letting a little thing like losing a king affect their long-term goals.

  He started to apologize to P
hoebe for not being able to come up with a solution, or facts that either supported or debunked her opinion,

  but, judging by her expression, she wasn’t looking for a response, just someone to bounce ideas off of.

  Not that he was surprised. He’d heard her express the same sentiment a mil ion times in the few months she’d been with his clan, and

  she was right. That didn’t make the devastation wrought by the disease any easier to swal ow.

  Unable to bear a reexamination of the fucked-up state they were in, he concentrated instead on cleaning up the patient. He could do

  that if he thought of the man lying there as only a patient. Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

  The bleed-out had been quick and ugly, death coming even faster than usual. Quinn tried to tel himself that a death this fast—only

  eighteen hours from the onset of the symptoms—was a blessing, but he didn’t real y believe it. How could he when he’d seen Michael scream in

  agony and had been unable to do anything? Though Quinn was trying his best to compartmentalize, the wal he’d built around his emotions

  crumbled, leaving him feeling raw and exposed.

  “I’l do it, Quinn.” Phoebe’s hand stroked his back gently, cutting off his self-destructive thoughts, while she removed the blood-soaked

  rag from his hand. She rinsed it in the basin of warm water on the table next to the bed, then reached forward to stroke the rag over his younger

  brother’s stil and bloody face.

  His fingers curled into his fists, his talons poking through his fingertips and scoring his palm. He wanted to argue with her, to tel her that

  Michael was his responsibility and no one else’s. But the beast was too close, and if he opened his mouth right now, he was certain that only a

  growl would come out. He wanted to lash out at something, at someone, and Phoebe was a convenient target.

  As the scent of fresh blood—Michael’s blood—permeated the room, Dylan stepped between the two of them. His gaze was steady but

  rife with warning, and it was clear he was no longer content to observe silently. “You don’t have to be here. Not for this.”

  Again, Quinn didn’t answer, and Dylan didn’t push him—though his king had every right to expect an answer. They’d been friends since

  childhood, long before either had suspected that Dylan, a second son, would have to take up the reins of ruling their clan. But friendship—even four