Forbidden Embers Read online

  He shrugged Quinn off and shouldered his way past the other sentries who had gathered around him to lend support and inquire about his health. They were his friends, his family, the only people he had cared about in his long, long existence, and he was afraid if he spoke to them now, he would let them change his mind about what he planned to do.

  It wasn’t that he was uncertain of his choice. He wasn’t, and the support of his king had only made him more resolute. It was simply that none of those closest to him were bothering to shield themselves and he was too worn down, his mind in too much turmoil, to do it for them. Their emotions were coming at him from every side.

  Concern from Paige, the sentry he had been involved with for nearly half of the previous century.

  Rage from his closest friend, Shawn.

  An ice-cold need for revenge from Gabe, who had lost his wife and daughter to the Wyvernmoons’ machinations less than a year before.

  And from Dylan, his king and one of his closest friends, a resigned and resolute sadness that very much matched his own feelings. Strange that with everything floating around the room, his were the emotions that came closest to breaking Logan.

  “What happened to you?” Shawn demanded, flashing across the cave in an instant to block his path. The look in his best friend’s furious gold eyes would have felled a lesser man, but Logan just stepped around him.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Not to echo Quinn, but you don’t look fine. You look like you went a full ten rounds with a weed whacker. And lost.”

  Even though that had been the point—the scar was raw and ugly enough to draw even the most discerning attention away from his features—he still took exception to the implication that he couldn’t hold his own in a fight. “I think you have me confused with yourself,” he said, bumping his shoulder into the other dragon shifter as he passed.

  “Yeah. Because I’m the one who didn’t even bother to call for help when someone messed with my pretty-boy face.”

  “That’s because you’re so ugly no one would try to mess with your mug. Any scars would be an improvement.”

  “Yeah, well, I can’t say the same about you. You look like shit. And what the fuck happened to your hair?”

  “Enough!” Dylan’s voice echoed through the cavern. And while theirs wasn’t a council that stood on ceremony, the five sentries currently in the room froze. When Dylan used that tone, it meant business—usually of the bloodiest, most serious kind.

  Logan worked his way around Shawn and Quinn and kept walking through the cold, underground cave. But instead of taking his normal spot in the War Room on the large, flat rock against the side wall, he continued to the front of the room, where Dylan, Quinn and Gabe, the king’s seconds-in-command, always sat in huge, heavy chairs.

  Quinn followed him, and Logan was aware that everyone in the room was staring at him, their cagey, intelligent minds casting around for a reasonable explanation for his appearance and Dylan’s obvious lack of worry over his wound.

  Paige, one of only two female shifters on Dylan’s council, hit on the answer first, but, then, she knew a side of him that no one else did. It had been years since they’d been together, but some things you didn’t forget. He still knew all her weak spots, as well.

  Her understanding cut like a beacon of light through the murky gray that surrounded the others’ thoughts. “Don’t do it, Logan,” she pleaded from where she was seated on one of the large black couches in the center of the room. “You don’t look nearly different enough to pull it off.”

  Confusion continued to press in on him, and Logan made a belated effort to slide his psychic shields into place. If he spent much more time in this room without their protection, he’d be crushed under the weight of his fellow sentries’ concern.

  “Pull what off?” demanded Shawn, his voice little more than a growl of frustration. “Will someone please tell me what the fuck is going on here?”

  “It won’t work, Logan. You’re one of us,” Paige continued. “You’ve been one of us for two centuries. You won’t be able to hide that.”

  “I’m the only one who can hide it,” he answered. “Because I wasn’t born Dragonstar. The clan’s magic isn’t as deeply imprinted in me, and what little there is, I can shield.”

  “All the time?” Paige asked skeptically. “Even you’re not that good. And if you slip, even for a second, then you’re dead. You know that, right?”

  “If I don’t try, then I’m dead, anyway. We all are. If the virus doesn’t get us, then their damn war parties will. We can’t fight the Wyvernmoons forever, not if they keep finding a way to turn our clan members into traitors.” He paused, started to run a hand through his hair before he remembered that he had cut almost all of it off. “They turned Callie, for God’s sake, Paige. If they could get to her, they could get to anyone.”

  “Bullshit.” This time it was Dylan who answered. “Yes, the fact that they turned Callie was a blow. But that doesn’t mean I don’t trust the rest of my sentries implicitly.”

  “Then you’re a fool,” Logan growled, frustrated at Dylan’s interference just when he was trying to make a point.

  Other kings would have bitten his head off for that comment, but his simply inclined his head. “Maybe you’re right. I’m going along with this scheme of yours, aren’t I? Despite my better judgment.”

  “Are you kidding me? You’re just going to let him walk into the lion’s den?” Paige sprang to her feet and walked toward Logan. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Logan, you can’t possibly believe a scar and a haircut are going to keep them from recognizing you, even if, by some miracle, you manage to strip yourself of your Dragonstar affiliation.”

  “That’s suicide!” Shawn exploded as the light finally dawned.

  “Completely insane,” echoed Quinn. “We’re making huge progress now that we know some of us have natural antibodies to the virus. It’s only a matter of time before we find a way to immunize against it.”

  The three of them looked to Dylan for support, but the king just shook his head. “If he can infiltrate, we’ll have a spy in the heart of Wyvernmoon territory. Someone who can get close enough to the lab to destroy the virus once and for all, not to mention warn us of an impending attack. Too many Dragonstars are getting hurt or injured in this stupid campaign of theirs. It has to stop.”

  “And if Logan doesn’t pull it off, we just leave him there to die?” Shawn demanded. “Fuck that.”

  “It’s not your choice,” Dylan answered. His face mirrored his concern—concern that Logan appreciated, but also that he refused to accept. Especially since Dylan’s mate, Phoebe, was pregnant with the heir to the Dragonstar throne. If it was in his power to keep her—and Dylan’s baby—from falling victim to this damn virus, then he was more than ready to step up and do whatever was necessary.

  “Yeah, well, it is yours, and you’re making the wrong one,” Shawn told him. “I never thought I’d live to see the day you sent one of your sentries out to be slaughtered like a sacrificial lamb.”

  Ice-cold silence slammed through the cavern, and Logan turned just in time to see Dylan swing around. He grabbed Shawn by the back of the neck in a gesture of absolute dominance that demanded absolute obedience. The fact that Shawn didn’t lower his eyes, didn’t apologize, didn’t do anything but meet his king’s gaze with complete aplomb spoke louder than any words could have. And while Logan appreciated the support—especially because he appreciated it—he couldn’t just sit by and watch his friend being used as a dragon-sized chew toy.

  “It’s my choice, Shawn. I went to Dylan with the idea.” His voice was loud and strong and it echoed off the jewel-encrusted walls. It filled the entire cavern and had Shawn finally bowing his head. Dylan released him with a low growl.

  “Sure, I might die there if someone finds out what I’m doing,” Logan continued. “But I’ll go crazy if I stay here and watch everyone I care about die around me from that goddamn virus. I’m the only one
of the sentries who isn’t genetically Dragonstar. The virus doesn’t affect me the way it affects the rest of you.

  “I can get in there, find a way to destroy the thing and, if we’re lucky, maybe even find out some of the Wyvernmoons’ battle plans. You know as well as I do that this is only going to get worse. We’re on the brink of full-scale war, and if this damn virus continues annihilating our strongest members, we’ll be hard-pressed to win.”

  Shawn looked like he wanted to protest more—as did Quinn—but both stopped when Dylan held up a hand. “This isn’t something Logan is going into blindly. He and I have spent most of the last four days talking over the pros and cons. The time for discussion is finished.”

  “Nice that you didn’t let us in on the discussion,” Shawn said bitterly.

  Dylan’s face darkened, and for a second it looked like he was going to take up where he had left off and rip Shawn a new one. Logan took a cautious step forward, put himself between Shawn and their king. But the movement turned out to be unnecessary, as Dylan contented himself with simply saying, “Don’t mistake the fact that I look to you for counsel on most matters as a requirement. I am king. The responsibility for this clan falls on my shoulders, and I will do whatever I have to do to ensure that my people are safe. Even if it means sending a man that I like and admire very much into the very heart of darkness.”

  “You’re not sending me,” Logan argued. “I’m choosing to go.”

  “Then you’re a lot stupider than you look,” Shawn muttered. Before Logan could answer, Shawn was gone, flashing out of the cavern in the blink of an eye.

  “I hate it when he does that.” Paige shook her head and looked at Logan through narrowed eyes. “When are you going?”

  “Tonight. As soon as possible, actually. We can’t afford to wait.”

  “Shawn’s right. You are a moron.” But even as she said it, she threw her arms around his neck, holding on tight. “Take care of yourself.” The last part she whispered in his ear.

  “That’s what I’m planning on,” he answered as his arms went around her. For a second, he just stood there, absorbing the soft, female scent of her. There was nothing sexual between them anymore, hadn’t been in more than a decade, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate the feel of being held by a woman who cared about him. It was something he’d never take for granted—not after spending the first three hundred years of his life without the sensation.

  When she pulled away, he let her go reluctantly. It was hard to believe he might never see her again. He wasn’t suicidal, but he was practical. He needed to hold on to the belief that whatever happened to him after he left here would be worth it if he could keep his people safe.

  His good-byes to Quinn and Gabe were brief—there wasn’t anything left to say after all, and he and Dylan had already said everything they’d needed to the day before. With a smile and a halfhearted wave, he gathered up his pack and headed out of the cave, his footsteps growing heavier the farther away from them he got.

  This is it, he told himself. It was time to put his money where his mouth was. Time to do what had to be done.

  He’d climbed steadily upward and could see daylight ahead of him. He would shift as soon as he got out and then head to South Dakota. If things went as planned, he’d be in his new home by nightfall.

  But the second he set foot out of the cave, Shawn grabbed his shoulder. “Why are you doing this?” his oldest and closest friend demanded. “You don’t have anything to prove to anyone.”

  “I have something to prove to myself,” he answered fiercely, shrugging off the hand. “You guys took me in when no one else would have me. You gave me a family and a home and a life. How can I do anything less for you?”

  “We’re not keeping track, you know. And besides, any debt you might think you owe, you paid back a long time ago.”

  “It’s not a matter of paying back a debt! It’s a matter of doing what’s right. If there’s even a chance that I can do this, that I can stop this, I have to try.”

  Shawn snorted. “You’re not superdragon, you know.”

  “And you’re not my keeper.”

  “I should be. God knows you fucking need one.”

  “Look who’s talking. You’ve spent your entire life doing one reckless thing after another.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s reckless and there’s suicidal. It’s a thin fucking line, and you’re skating right down the center of it.”

  Logan inclined his head. “Then I guess it’s a good thing I have an impeccable ability to balance.”

  “You’d better.” Shawn’s look turned serious, and Logan shifted uncomfortably. Smart-ass, he could do. Real emotions were another thing altogether.

  He took a few steps back, was totally unprepared for Shawn to follow him and grab him in a huge bear hug. Of all the dragons, Shawn was usually the least demonstrative—and that was saying something, as most of the male Dragonstars viewed showing emotion right up there with getting a root canal without anesthetic. They didn’t mind putting their anger on display, but anything else was pretty much off-limits.

  “Don’t get dead.” Shawn’s voice was low and fierce. “I’m going to be really pissed off if I have to waste time building your funeral pyre.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Shawn pulled back, punched him in the chest. “You’d better do more than try.” He took a few steps back, putting distance—physical and emotional—between them. Then glanced very deliberately up at the sky, where rain was rolling in from the east. “If you’re going to go, you’d better get started. That storm promises to be a real bitch.”

  “You calling me a pussy?” It was Logan’s turn to shove him, desperate to put things back on an even keel. Back to how they’d been before he’d undertaken this nightmarish mission. “You think I can’t take a little rain?”

  “I was more concerned about the lightning, but whatever. You get down with your bad self.”

  He grinned and looked at the sky. “Don’t you mean up?”

  Shawn groaned at the terrible pun. “Whatever. But I mean it. Take care of yourself.

  “I plan on it.” The lie tripped easily off his tongue.

  “Yeah, right.” Shawn’s look was sardonic, as if he knew exactly what Logan was thinking despite his lack of psychic ability. Despite his disbelief—or maybe because of it—he muttered, “May your life flow like the sands in the desert, infinite and unending. May you be as strong and untamable as fire, as cunning and as sly as the beast that resides inside you. And may you return to us, your flame forever undimmed.”

  The formal words of the Dragonstar blessing slipped inside Logan, twisted up his insides when he’d been so sure that he was relaxed and ready for whatever came. “Shawn, I—”

  His friend just shook his head. “Bye, Logan.” And then he was gone, flashing out between one breath and the next.

  And Logan was alone, just him and the beast inside of him. I’m used to it, he told himself. Prepared for it. It was how he’d lived for nearly three centuries of his existence, how he would remain for the indefinite future. Why, then, did it feel so fucking lonely this time around?

  Refusing to dwell on it—or anything that didn’t have to do with the mission he needed to accomplish—he stripped down.

  Shoved his clothes and shoes in the backpack he’d packed early that morning.

  Began to shift, relishing in the dark pain that swept through him as his beast took over.

  Long, curved nails burst out the ends of fingers and toes already elongating and curling into talons.

  Bones broke and reformed in a combination of agony and ecstasy that took his breath away every time.

  His skin changed, thickened, turned red and scaly and cool, while his vision took on the incredible acuity of the dragon.

  Long, sharp spines poked up along his own spine, while huge wings broke through the skin and muscles of his upper back.

  The beast roared, screaming in euphoria as Logan released the
last of the hold he had on the creature. He felt the change deep inside himself—not just the physical one, but the mental one, as well. The usually sharp, omnipotent control of the human was gone, and in its place were the all-consuming instincts of the dragon.

  Pride in the animalistic power sweeping through every cell in his body.

  Joy in being fierce and free and strong. A need to meet this newest Wyvernmoon threat head on, to rip apart the ones responsible limb by limb. To hell with secrecy and caution.

  In the back of his head, the human within warned of following plans and being careful. The dragon roared back an impatient response before launching itself into the sky with one powerful thrust of its legs. Then it began to fly due north, straight toward a destiny that would be Logan’s absolute downfall or his clan’s eventual salvation.

  As he flew, he prayed with everything inside of him that it was the latter. He owed that much to the Dragonstars, and even more to Dylan.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Excuse me, Your Highness. You cannot go in there.”

  Though every ounce of training she’d been given held with the rightness of those words, Cecily Fournier forced herself to ignore them. After all, she’d known someone was going to try to stop her. She just hadn’t figured it would be a maître d’ who looked more like a stressed-out penguin than he ever would a dragon. Ah, well. Live and learn, she figured. But she didn’t allow her stride to falter, not even when the small man hurried to get in front of her and then attempted to bar her path.

  “This is a gentleman’s club,” the little twit said in a French accent that was as pretentious as his hairstyle—and as fake. She’d known Antoine since he was a child, had gone to school with him. Knew he’d been born here in South Dakota half a century ago, the same as she had. But none of those ties—nor the fact that she was the only living member of the Wyvernmoon royal family—kept him from throwing his arms wide in an attempt to ensure that she didn’t try to scoot around him.

  She finally stopped walking, but only to avoid running into him. She didn’t like touching people any more than she had to.