Hidden Embers

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.,
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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
All 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 illegal 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 all the people at NAL who work on my books, especially the incredibly talented people in the art department, who give me such amazing covers.

My wonderful, amazing and brilliant editor, Jhanteigh Kupihea, for believing in me and the Dragonstars. She is always there to bounce ideas off and is always willing 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 especially for putting up with endless phone calls and e-mails, so many of which begin with, “So, I have this really 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 million 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

H
e 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 finally 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 one of his office walls.

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 all, 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 still could.

Perhaps that was his destiny as well.

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.

All those years of training, all 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 millennium of life boiled down to nothing in a matter of months? Was illness and exhaustion and crushing disappointment all there was?

If so, what was he still doing here?

Why was he still fighting?

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

Inside him, his beast screamed in agony. Battered at the walls 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 still impervious to his attempts to immunize against it. His best ideas on how to stop its spread had only multiplied the infected cells, 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 usually healed quickly—very quickly—but would that be enough to repair a mortal wound, especially if he didn’t
try
to heal it?