Dark Embers (13 page)

To savor.

To glut himself on her—again and again and again.

And she had
dismissed
him for the second time since he’d met her—had told him he was nothing more than a pesky little craving. An itch that had needed to be scratched.

The dragon roared, and for once he agreed with it.
Like hell
. Being with her had been the only bright spot in his life in far too long. If she thought he was just going to give it up—to give her up—before he’d had his fill, then she was nowhere near as smart as he’d given her credit for.

His arm ached a little as he headed for the front of the plane. It was the first time in months that it had, but he’d probably just overdone it a little with Phoebe. He smiled at the thought. One of these days, Silus’s damn magic would wear off and the stupid thing would heal completely. But until that happened, he’d keep doing what he’d been doing for the past eighteen months: ignoring it.

As his mind turned to the other clan leader and the dark magic he practiced, Dylan felt his blood heat. He’d been fighting with Silus for years, trying to keep his clan safe from the bastard’s evil plots. Most of the time he succeeded and came out on top. But sometimes he paid the price—like the battle a year and a half ago that had nearly destroyed the left side of his body as the other dragon had tried, once again, to take control of Dragonstar.

But better him than his people; that’s how Dylan had come to look at it. Besides, the damage had healed. Eventually. And the wounds he’d inflicted on the other man almost made up for any suffering he’d had to go through.

With Phoebe around, it was easier than usual to let the anger go. Leaning forward, he opened the plane’s door, licking his lips as he did so. He tasted her on his mouth and burned just a little more.

Craving, his ass. Before this battle of wills was over, he would show her the difference between a craving and an obsession, pound it into her in the most pleasurable way possible, ensure that she never forgot again.

As Dylan opened the plane’s door, Phoebe gave him a wide berth. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that she had severely pissed him off, and while she wasn’t the least bit sorry about that fact, she was smart enough to be a little leery. She understood biology well enough to know just how unpredictable a wild, aching, thwarted male animal could be.

But when Dylan pushed the door open and gestured for her to go through it, she couldn’t think of a graceful way to deny him. Stepping around him—making sure not to touch him, for her sake as well as his—she took her first steps out into the New Mexico desert and gasped in surprise and wonder.

It was everything and nothing like she’d been expecting.

The heat hit her like a freight train—fast and powerful and so overwhelming that all she could do was gasp and wait to be flattened. It might be October in Massachusetts, but out here it felt like the full bloom of summer was still upon them.

Her first deep breath nearly seared her lungs, but it was worth it as she pulled in the scents of saguaro and sandalwood and pure, clean sand. The second breath came a little easier; the third one easier still. And as she stood there, trying to get her bearings, the desert came alive around her.

There were mountains a few miles in front of her—although she was smart enough to know that out here, a few miles could be more like fifty—and the sun had just started dipping behind them. It cast an otherworldly glow on the stretch of sand and rocks and cactus spread out in front of her, turned the land and everything it encompassed fiery shades of orange and red.

She’d never seen anything like it.

The whole desert was on fire, shades of scarlet and plum and rust painting everything the eye could see. The tall cacti, with their crooked, misshapen arms, were dark purple silhouettes against the bloodred sky, the small scrub brush that littered the sand nothing more than dark embers from one of nature’s most spectacular blazes. Even the clouds in the sky—small and dark and plump—looked like curls of smoke wafting slowly through the nearly still air.

And the mountains—God, the mountains—towered over everything like sentinels of old. Ancient, overwhelming, powerful, they wore the sunset’s colors proudly, absorbing the light into their crooks and valleys as if it was nothing more than their due.

Phoebe didn’t know how long she stood there staring out into a land more primitive and powerful than anything she had ever seen before. A trickle of sweat rolled down her back, tickling her, but she ignored it. She was afraid to move, to blink, to breathe, certain that the spectacle she was watching would disappear like a mirage.

There was power here, something mystical and magical that held her spellbound. She could feel it trembling through the ground, smell it drifting on the breeze, hear it in the whispers of the wind sliding around her like lover’s hands. It was enchanting, engrossing, and for once the little voice in the back of her head was silent. There was no room for anything else as she absorbed the land that would be her home for the next few weeks.

“What do you think?” Dylan’s hand was a burning caress on her lower back.

“I don’t—” Her voice broke. “I don’t have the words to describe it. How do you get anything done living here? I’d want to spend all my time outside, just watching as the earth caught fire.”

He smiled at her response, his satisfaction palpable between them. “When I’m here, I hardly notice it. But after I’ve been away—for a few days or a few months—it gets me all over again.”

“I bet.”

“Come on.” He helped her down the stairs the pilot had pushed over to the small plane. She took them slowly, still unable to look away from the breathtaking landscape. She’d seen pictures of New Mexico through the years—the desert, the cacti, the snakes—and never had the least inclination to visit. But now that she was here, she could only wonder what had taken her so long.

As she stepped onto the rocky sand, her legs turned to jelly beneath her and she would have fallen if Dylan hadn’t caught her. She shoved away from him, embarrassed by the way her body kept failing her when he was around. But then it occurred to her that she wasn’t the only one who was having trouble standing. Dylan had spread his feet wide to brace himself, and even the pilot had leaned against the plane in an effort to keep his balance.

The ground itself was trembling.

“Is it an earthquake?” she asked incredulously, grabbing on to Dylan one more time. As long as she wasn’t the only one feeling it, she had no trouble asking for his support.

“They happen sometimes,” he murmured, holding her against him as the ground creaked and rolled around them. “Though not usually anything this big.”

He had no sooner finished the sentence than the earthquake seemed to pass. He dropped a glancing kiss on the top of her head. “Welcome to New Mexico.”

Phoebe glanced around warily. “Yeah, I guess. I have to admit, it wasn’t the welcome I was expecting.”

“Nor the one I was expecting for you.” The pilot stepped forward and Phoebe got her first good look at him. He was tall—almost as tall as Dylan—and just as handsome, though his looks were more rugged. He had the same midnight-dark hair as Dylan, but he wore his in a shorter, jaw-skimming length. “It’s been a while since we’ve rocked and rolled like that around here.”

He held out a hand to her. “I’m Logan, by the way.”

As Phoebe reached to take his hand, she realized he had the same tattoo around his forearm as Dylan had around his bicep, only his was the same whiskey color as his eyes. She studied it for a second, much as she had Dylan’s, trying to discern the ancient symbols hidden within. When she had time, she wanted to look them up online and find out what they stood for.

“Hi, Logan. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Same here.” His smile was relaxed, easygoing, his handshake firm but not overpowering. She found herself responding to him, liking his friendliness after spending the last few hours around Dylan’s dark brooding.

Dylan must have sensed her response, however, because he moved in behind her, his hand circling her waist in an obvious gesture of possession. Logan’s eyes widened slightly at the move, but that was his only response. Still, it was amusing to watch as he eased back a little, putting enough space between them to appease a rampaging rhino.

“So, not to be a whiner or anything, but where do we go from here?” She glanced at the empty desert around them. “No offense, but I’m not exactly wearing my desert hiking shoes.” She held up one foot, showing off her favorite pair of wedge sandals.

“They’ll be here in a few minutes,” Dylan answered, his palm still stroking her lower back in soothing circles.

“And you know this how?”

He nodded toward a dust cloud in the distance, one that was moving fast as dusk descended. “That’s them.”

She did a double take. “That dust cloud?”

“It’s actually a couple of SUVs.”

Sure enough, if she narrowed her eyes and strained like hell, she could just make out two black SUVs barreling toward them hell-for-leather.

By the time Logan had unloaded her luggage—three trunks filled with research supplies and materials she hadn’t felt comfortable being without, and one suitcase that contained her clothes and personal items—the SUVs had pulled to a stop a few feet from the plane.

Phoebe watched in shock as four men, each one nearly as gorgeous and tall as Dylan, piled out of the front seats. Blinking, she fought the urge to rub her eyes. Yesterday she had woken up in her apartment in Cambridge, eaten her usual breakfast of Froot Loops and a banana and headed into work. Now, less than forty-eight hours later, she was standing in the middle of the desert, surrounded by six of the sexiest men she had ever seen. It didn’t seem real.

But it was real, and judging from the unhappy looks in their eyes, something was very wrong. Dylan obviously noticed, as well, because he didn’t bother with social niceties. Instead, he strode up to the largest of the group—who, unbelievably, stood a couple inches taller than he did—and demanded, “What?”

“Lana’s sick.”

If she hadn’t been watching closely, Phoebe would have assumed the news meant nothing to him. Dylan’s face didn’t change, his fists didn’t clench, nor did he make any of the abrupt, uncoordinated moves people often do when they receive bad news. But despite his cool, his entire body seemed to stiffen, one slow muscle at a time, until the man standing before her was a stranger. Dark, dangerous and so predatory she suddenly realized—too late—just how easy he’d been taking it on her.

“Gabe?”

“He’s fucked up, man. His wife and now his daughter. If Lana dies, he’s going to lose it completely.”

“Take me there.” Phoebe reached over and grabbed the suitcase from the pile of luggage.

Dylan turned haunted eyes on her. “Are you sure? You’ve barely started your research and—” He stopped, swallowed. “It’s bad, Phoebe. It’s always really bad.”

“I’m a doctor, Dylan.” She snapped out the words as she headed toward the cars. “This is what I do. Now, which one of these behemoths do I need to get into?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Logan said grimly. “They’re both going to the same place.” He lifted the cargo door on the first one, threw in her suitcase, then stepped back so the other men could pile her trunks in.

“I’m going to take care of the plane,” he continued, heading back to the small aircraft. “And then I’ll meet you there.”

His words gave Phoebe pause, but no one else seemed to find it odd that the pilot planned to catch up with them. Dylan’s clan must be even closer-knit than she expected.

The ride through the desert was tense and silent. Phoebe spent it locked in her head, going over everything she’d read about the disease since Dylan had stormed into her lab. Every once in a while, one of the men in the car spoke, but she was too stressed to pay much attention.

It was one thing to sit in a lab and research all day. Sure, she worked with test subjects, and, of course, she hoped that one day her research would make a huge difference in the lives of those suffering from lupus. But that was very different from what she was going to walk in on now. A young woman suffering from paralysis, who might or might not be bleeding out.

Med school had never seemed so far away.

“What are the first symptoms of the disease?” she snapped out into the quiet car.

“Numbness in the legs.” Dylan was the one who answered her, though his jaw was so tight, she was afraid he might crack a molar or three. “Blurred vision, headaches, fever.” The list continued while the SUV ate up the rocky terrain. Her stomach clenched and pitched with each new bump.

She swallowed, did her best to ignore the car sickness that had plagued her since childhood. “And the patient—”

“Lana,” the driver interrupted with a growl.

“Yes, Lana.” God, please let them get there soon. If not, she was going to begin her time with Dylan’s clan by booting all over the backseat of his friend’s car. Somehow, she didn’t think that would endear her to them. “How old is she?”

It should have been an easy question, but nobody answered her. When she glanced around the car, doing her best to catch the eyes of the three men who weren’t driving, each studiously avoided the question.

“Dylan?” she asked again. “How old is Lana? If you don’t know her exact age, give me your best guess. Twelve? Twenty-five? Somewhere in between?”

Once again, eerie silence met her inquiry. Not for the first time, she wondered just what it was that Dylan was hiding.

CHAPTER NINE