Hidden Embers (32 page)

He gestured to the bed. “Did that feel like we barely knew each other?”

“That was sex.”

“Bullshit.” He sprung to his feet, stalked across the room toward her. As she watched him move, his body loose and flowing and yet vaguely threatening, she realized again just how predatory he could be.

“That was a hell of a lot more than just a biological urge. You let me deep inside you, past all those barriers and ‘no trespassing’ signs you have posted, and I did the same.”

“It wasn’t like that,” she protested, as panic assailed her. “It was nothing.”

“It was everything. You’re mine, Jasmine.”

“Actually, I’m
mine
. I don’t belong to any man and I never will.”

He growled, deep in his throat, and he advanced, forcing her to back up or get run over. They both stopped when her back hit the wall.

“You told me you were mine when we made love the other night. You said you belonged to me.” His voice was low, distorted, much more dragon than human.

“That was during sex. It doesn’t mean I want to mate with you. How could you think that?” she demanded. “We’ve known each other all of four days.”

“And we bonded after all of twelve hours. You can’t tell me you don’t feel it.”

“Feel what?” she said, panic turning to terror in the blink of an eye. She was suddenly very aware of the heat deep down inside of her, a fire that had been there from the first moment Quinn had opened his mouth to speak to her.

She had ignored it that night at the bar, but it had burned so hot and bright when she’d been driving away from him the next morning that for a while she’d been sure she was getting sick. She had put it down to too much tequila, but it didn’t go away as the day progressed. It had only gotten worse until she’d seen Quinn again. Then the fire had quieted—not going away, but turning into a soft glow that comforted her instead of making her feel like she was being burned alive.

He studied her with eyes the color of the storm-tossed Atlantic. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. I know you do. You have to.”

“I don’t have to do anything.” It was an instinctive protest, one that laid all of her insecurities—all her baggage—out in plain view, and she kicked herself as soon as she said it.

“Yeah, Jazz, sometimes you do.” Quinn shook his head. “There’s only so much you can control in the universe. Sometimes fate gives you a kick in the ass that you can’t ignore.”

“You’re calling me a kick in your ass?”

“Actually, I was talking about me, but, yeah. It works both ways. I was miserable, self-destructive, flirting with suicide when I ran into you at that bar. Believe me, I wasn’t looking for you, either.”

She was shocked at the hurt his words caused, especially when they were damn close to the ones she’d just hurled at him. The idea that she had caused him pain bothered her, even when she was so furious with him she could barely see. The feeling only made the fear she felt deeper, more intense.

“If you feel that way, why did you bond with me?” she asked.

Quinn backed away then, thrusting a hand through his hair as he turned from her. And suddenly she knew the truth. “You didn’t do it on purpose. You had no intention of mating with me.”

He didn’t say anything, just stood with his back turned to her. His gorgeous dragon tattoo—an exact replica of what he looked like in dragon form—seemed to be staring out at her, its eyes nearly alive. She shuddered under the perceived scrutiny, felt her heart break wide-open—which was ridiculous. It wasn’t like she’d wanted anything more than a casual affair, anyway.

“Well, okay, this is good then,” she said, running her suddenly damp palms down the sides of her pants. “You don’t want to be mated to me, and I don’t want to be mated to you. Surely, there’s some way to undo this thing.”

“I never said I didn’t want you for a mate.” Quinn’s voice was even more gravelly now, and the eyes he turned to her were pure dragon.

“You just admitted that you didn’t choose me. It’s the same thing.”

“No. It’s not.” He gestured to his arm, to the three tribal bands encircling his bicep. She was fascinated by them, particularly the deep purple one that had been done in such a way that it seemed woven into the ink of the other two. “Do you think this can just be undone?” he demanded.

“What?” she asked. “Your tattoos?”

He tapped the purple bond. “This isn’t a tattoo. It’s a tangible representation of my feelings for you, of the commitment we have for each other. It burned itself into my skin that first morning, after we were together.”

“That’s absurd!” she said, panic choking her so that she could barely get the words out. “Stuff like that doesn’t happen.”

Quinn just lifted one imperious brow. “‘There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’”

“That’s Shakespeare, not real life!”

“And you’re not Horatio. But the sentiment still stands, Jasmine.” He crossed back to her, reached for her with hands that were trembling just a little. “No, I didn’t consciously choose you to be my mate any more than you did me. But there’s something there—there has to be or we never would have bonded as we have.”

He lowered his mouth until it was only inches from her own. “There has to be or I wouldn’t feel the way I do about you.”

She couldn’t catch her breath. “You said you loved me, but you can’t. The whole idea is ridiculous.”

He looked at her reproachfully. “How can you believe that? How can you not feel what you do to me in every brush of my lips over your body, every touch of my hand against yours?”

“You feel desire.”

“I feel love. I love you, Jasmine. Even knowing that you aren’t ready for this—ready for me—I love you. Enough to wait until you are ready.”

Her knees gave out from under her, and if she hadn’t been leaning against the wall, she would have fallen. “You can’t say things like that.”

“I can’t not say them, Jasmine.”

The fire inside of her exploded, went from a nice safe little flame to a raging inferno in the space of one breath to the next. Still she doubted it, doubted him, doubted this whole mating scenario. Who had ever heard of two people bonding like this without being aware of it?

Except Quinn had been aware of it, the small part of her brain that was still functioning reminded her. Maybe not immediately, but very soon afterward. And he hadn’t told her anything about it.

It bothered her that he’d kept it to himself and then jumped back into bed with her. Maybe there’d been an escape clause, maybe they’d had a chance to turn it around. That he hadn’t even brought it up with her didn’t bode well for how he viewed their relationship—and her place in it.

“So, if you love me, shouldn’t you have told me about this mating thing? Didn’t you think I had the right to know?”

He winced. “Of course I did. But when I woke up the next morning, you were gone, and I was sure I’d never see you again. Believe me, you didn’t want to be around me then. I was convinced I was totally fucked, mated to a woman I would never see again. It wasn’t a pretty picture.”

“But you did see me again. Why didn’t you tell me then?”

“What was I supposed to say, Jasmine? Thanks for the great sex last night. And by the way, we’re bound together for eternity? You would have freaked.”

Just hearing the words now, four days later, nearly made her break out in hives, so maybe he had a point. And yet…“I’m not a child, Quinn. I don’t need to be controlled, steered in the right direction. You had no right to treat me like one.”

“And I’m not your father, Jasmine. I’ll never treat you like a possession, never try to make you feel like less than you are. I’ll never hurt you like he did, and you have no right to treat me like I would.”

She gasped, feeling like he’d slapped her. Wishing that he had because it would hurt so much less than the callous way he’d thrown her past back at her. She’d told him that in confidence and never dreamed that he would use it against her.

Tears flooded her eyes, clogged her throat for the first time in longer than she could remember. Frantic, she glanced around for her shoes, her purse. She grabbed them and hit the door at a dead run.

Quinn was quicker and blocked her way. “I’m sorry, Jazz. I didn’t mean that.”

“Get the hell out of my way!”

“Come on, don’t leave like this. Not until we’ve sorted this thing out.”

“Quinn, if you ever have any hope of having a relationship with me in the future, you’ll get the hell away from that door. I will not be kept prisoner here.”

He looked stricken. “I wasn’t trying to do any such thing,” he said, moving to the side. “I swear. Jasmine, please, stay and talk to me.”

“I can’t talk to you now,” she said on her way out the door. “I can’t even look at you.”

She closed the door softly behind her, refusing to give in to the urge to slam it. He didn’t deserve the satisfaction.

CHAPTER THIRTY

H
ours later, Jasmine was still reeling from the fight she’d had with Quinn—and from the realization that they were bonded.
Mated—whatever
. How was it even possible, when she’d never imagined falling in love, never imagined settling down with any man? She’d never wanted to give one that much power over her. Look at what Quinn had done—deliberately lying to her, and then lashing out at her with the one thing guaranteed to hurt her. Was it any wonder she’d planned to go it alone?

She wondered if this whole thing was just some strange dream or hallucination. It wasn’t like she was in love with Quinn, anyway. They’d just been having fun together, enjoying each other’s bodies and minds.

Sighing, she dropped her head down onto her workstation. She didn’t really think she was going to convince herself to believe that, did she? Not when she could remember so clearly what it felt like to be held in his arms. Or how her heart had nearly broken with the pain she knew Quinn kept bottled up inside of him. Their relationship was a lot of things—wrenching, intense, emotional. Fun and games barely scratched the surface.

Frustrated, furious and completely fed up, Jasmine very deliberately buried her thoughts about Quinn. She had a job to do that in no way revolved around him, and she was going to do it, damn it. The sooner she found the key to unraveling this damn virus, the sooner she could get the hell out of Dodge. And with the way things were going around here, she was more than ready to be on her way.

Liar
, the little voice in the back of her head taunted.
You don’t want to leave any more than he wants you to.
She shut it down, refusing to listen. The last thing she needed was to break down in tears in the middle of the lab. Phoebe might have a heart attack if she did.

In the meantime, the tension in the laboratory was so thick that Jasmine swore if she tried to walk around, she’d slam straight into an invisible brick wall. Quinn was over in his section, looking at the results of Brian’s autopsy report. Except for his regular blood draw, the coroner hadn’t found any evidence of injection—which was the number one thing they’d all been waiting to hear about—and Quinn wasn’t taking the news well. The idea that this might be an airborne strain was enough to make them all crazy.

She glanced at Phoebe, who was working diligently over a set of petri dishes, while Jasmine was following up on the hunch she’d had the day before, as she’d watched Brian and his children slowly die.

She looked at the strain that had infected Brian, then popped up the blood samples from his two children side by side with it. The strain was the same in all three of them—no mutations, no changes. They were identical, something they hadn’t seen in consecutive cases of the disease in a number of months now.

What was particularly interesting about this strain was the way it had invaded the three hosts’ DNA so quickly, without the body even having a chance to fight it off—almost as if it had been manufactured specifically for Brian and his children. Which was absurd. Except…

She clicked a few keys, separated the virus’s RNA from Brian’s DNA and compared the two. Her heart started to beat a little faster, excitement thrumming in her bloodstream even as she forced herself to remain calm and focused. She could still be wrong. There was no use getting excited until she knew for sure.

Punching up the viral infection pattern from Rose and Jake, she had the computer separate it out in the same way. As she looked at it, everything snapped into place with an almost audible click.

Still, she wasn’t ready to say anything. She needed more evidence, needed to see how this worked with another family. Something Quinn had said jogged her memory, and she pulled up the list of case files, scanning through until she found the two that belonged to Dylan’s sister and niece, Marta and Lana. She did the same thing to their samples as she’d done to the others—and came up with the exact same response, despite the fact that the virus was very different from the one that attacked Brian and his family.

On a hunch, she pulled up Michael’s sample, looked at it. It was a different mutation from Brian’s as well, though no less sophisticated. Pulling it apart yielded the same results she’d seen with the previous two mutations. And yet, if what she was thinking was the case, shouldn’t Quinn have been infected?

She pushed away from her workstation and bounded across the lab to where they kept the medical supplies. Picking up a slide, a needle and an alcohol swab, she called out, “Quinn, I need you over here for a second. I want to look at something.”

The urgency in her tone caused both Quinn and Phoebe’s heads to snap up. “What’s wrong?” Quinn demanded, as he made his way across the lab entirely too quickly for her peace of mind. The fact that Phoebe beat him didn’t escape her notice.

“I need some blood.”

“Whose blood?” he asked.

“Yours, Quinn! Whose do you think? Actually,” she turned to Phoebe. “Can you call Dylan? I’d really like to take a sample of his blood as well.”

“Of course. But where are you going with this?” Phoebe eyed her intently.

“I’m not exactly sure yet.”

“But you
are
on to something. I can tell,” Phoebe said with a dawning excitement.