Dark Embers (32 page)

Where are the others?
she wondered frantically. Callie and Paige and Jase? She’d gotten to know them over the last week and couldn’t believe that they weren’t here, watching Dylan’s back.

Quinn, exhausted though he was, was fighting with two of their attackers and holding his own, despite his human form. But when a third one came from behind, hand held high, she screamed his name at the top of her lungs. He whirled at the last second, then thrust his hand deep into the man’s stomach and yanked out his entrails. The man was dead before he hit the ground. Quinn turned back to the other two dragons, but they were backing up fast. As he advanced, they disappeared.

Phoebe’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. Could he possibly have done what she thought he had? And, disgusting though it was, why weren’t the other dragons doing the same thing? Shawn was flashing from one spot to the next, keeping his opponents on their toes by constantly showing up in a new spot. Liam was using his incredible strength—second only to Dylan’s—to fight in hand-to-hand combat. And she wasn’t sure what Logan was doing, but the attacker closest to him was on the ground, his head clutched in his hands.

For his part, Dylan was locked in battle with the man he’d called Jacob, the two of them blasting away at each other with lightning, fire, and power bursts that shook the very earth. For every blow that Jacob struck, Dylan struck two, but that didn’t stop him from getting hurt. The front of his shirt was covered with blood, and she had a sick feeling that most of it was his.

Her stomach cramped up at the realization that he really could die, and for the second time since the fight began, she thought about trying to help him. But what could she do? They were fighting with weapons she couldn’t hope to understand, their strength and magic like nothing she’d ever seen before.

If she threw herself into the middle of it, she would be nothing but a liability. But sitting by on the sidelines, watching, was killing her. She felt like she was being torn apart, like something was clawing her from the inside out, and she just wanted this whole thing to stop. Just wanted Jacob and his pals to go away.

At that exact moment, Dylan grabbed Jacob’s head in his powerful dragon hands and wrenched it so hard that she heard the crack all the way over where she was. The fighting stopped instantly, and everyone—from both clans—turned to watch as the man fell. One of the Wyvernmoon dragons let out an earth-shattering roar; then they dissolved in midair. The bodies of their dead followed them until the street was once again peaceful.

It wasn’t until Dylan let out a bellow of his own that she realized one of his men had fallen. Liam lay on the sidewalk, bloody and pale.

Crawling out from under the bench, she headed for him at a dead run.

Quinn beat her to him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Q
uinn started CPR as soon as he hit the ground next to Liam. She careened to a stop by the dragon’s head, expecting to handle the breathing part of the equation, but her first look told her it was too late. Liam was dead.

“Get ready to breathe!” Quinn yelled at her, eyes wild, as he continued to pump on Liam’s chest.

“He’s gone, Quinn. It’s too late.”

“Breathe, damn it.”

“He’s dead.”

“Then get out of my way and let me—”

She breathed for him, then watched as Quinn pressed down on his chest with five steady beats. She breathed again. Maybe there was something about dragons she didn’t know. Maybe they could be brought back. Maybe—

She bent over Liam and breathed for him again. And again and again. As she did, she was conscious of the others gathering around them. Shawn looked more serious than she had ever seen him. Logan was on his knees at Liam’s feet. And Dylan—Dylan looked like he wanted to take the whole damn world apart, one dragon at a time.

Five minutes passed, then another five, and still there was no response. Quinn was sweating, but his rhythm was unbroken. She waited for Dylan to say something, for any of the guys to say something, but none of them did. They just kept watching as Quinn worked himself to exhaustion trying to bring Liam back from the dead.

Finally, she’d had enough. Dragon or no dragon, the poor man was dead, and trying to bring him back was not only unsuccessful, but downright disrespectful. “That’s enough, Quinn. He’s gone.”

He ignored her; just kept pumping.

She placed a hand over his, tried to still his movements. “He isn’t coming back.”

He still didn’t acknowledge her, and she’d had enough. Glancing at her watch, she said, “I’m calling it. Time of death, ten twenty-one.”

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare!” He leaped at her, would have connected if Dylan hadn’t flashed himself between them in the span of one heartbeat to the next.

“I’m sorry, Quinn. I wish it was different. I do, but he’s gone. You have to let him go.”

“Don’t tell me what I have to do.” He dropped down on the sidewalk, tried to resume CPR. But her resistance had broken his will. Instead of pressing on Liam’s chest, he laid his head down on it and started to sob.

Phoebe’s heart broke as Quinn lost it. Through everything, he’d been the stoic one. He hadn’t shown sadness or anger or even defeat, just an absolute determination to cure the disease ravaging his people. But this—this inexplicable act of violence—had shattered even that.

She turned to Dylan, hoping for some help, but he was already squatting next to Quinn, pulling the healer to his feet. Quinn was out of it, his shock plain as he surveyed their bloody, ragtag group.

Dylan looked from her to Quinn, indecision written on his face. “Take care of him,” she said. “Get him to the cave ASAP and try to get something hot in him. I’ll be there as soon as we take care of Liam.”

He didn’t seem happy with her solution, but in the end, it was the only one that made sense. Quinn was in bad shape, too bad to get to Dylan’s lair on his own. He was one of Dylan’s sentries, one of his closest friends, and therefore Dylan’s responsibility. It didn’t bother her that he felt like he needed to look out for him. It would have bothered her if he hadn’t.

“Go, Dylan. I mean it. Get him home.”

He ground his teeth, but eventually nodded. He turned to Logan, bit out, “Get her back to the cave—and goddamnit, if one hair on her head is out of place, I’m taking it out on your ass.” Then, “Shawn, get Liam to the morgue. We’ll deal with—” His voice broke. “We’ll deal with arrangements tomorrow.”

He didn’t wait to see if they followed his orders, just shifted into his dragon form and scooped Quinn up in his clawed arms. As soon as he had him secure, he shot straight into the air, fast as a rocket. She watched, heart in her throat, and realized for the first time just how easy he had been taking things during their late-night flights.

Shawn gathered Liam’s broken, battered body into his arms, then flashed away, as she had seen him do during the fight. She was left with Logan, who looked almost as heartbroken as Quinn. The pain in his eyes was so great that she had a hard time looking at him.

She glanced around at the street, shocked to realize that even after the deadly fight, the only thing out of place was the park bench she had knocked over herself. All other remnants were gone—even the blood that had spattered the concrete as the men fought.

The bench looked obscene lying there, a reminder of everything they’d lost that night. She went over and started trying to tug it back into place. But it was heavy. The only reason she’d been able to move it to begin with was the adrenaline that had been pumping through her system.

Logan came over to help her, and picked the damn thing up one-handed. As he settled it back where it belonged, he said, “Liam’s his brother.”

“What?” Her horrified eyes met his sad ones.

“Quinn. Liam’s his oldest brother. That’s why—” He didn’t finish.

“Let’s get going. I want to check him out. He was already exhausted, and now I’m pretty sure he’s in shock. The two don’t make a pretty combination.”

But as she started back toward him, she stepped on the syringe she’d noticed earlier. She picked it up, an ominous feeling building in her as the suspicions she’d had all week ran rampant in her head.

“Quickest way is to fly.” He quirked a brow at her.

“I know.” She eyed him grimly. “But I need to make one stop first.”

“Where?”

“I need to go back to the lab.”

Two hours later, Phoebe closed the door to Quinn’s guest room after getting him settled with a tranquilizer. He’d refused the pill she had tried to give him, had insisted that he was fine. So she’d snuck up on his blind side and given him a shot instead. He was sleeping now, and considering how exhausted he was, probably would be for hours to come. When he woke up he’d be pissed, but she’d take pissed over catatonic any day.

But now that he was settled, it was time to pay the piper. She had to find Dylan, had to tell him what she’d found. She was completely heartsick, the guilt a solid knot in her stomach. If she’d said something earlier . . .

But she hadn’t, and Liam was dead. Quinn was devastated. And she was deathly afraid that it was all her fault.

Shaking her head, she started down the hallway, following the directions Logan had given her to the war room, where Dylan and the others waited. Even the name was ominous, and she dragged her feet as she headed down the hall. Not because she was afraid of Dylan hurting her—he didn’t have that in him—but because she didn’t want to face him. Didn’t want to admit what she’d done.

She’d gone only a few yards when a grim-faced Logan fell in beside her. She glanced at him in surprise, but didn’t say anything.

“I thought I’d wait around and make sure you didn’t get lost.”

“I’m not a coward, Logan. I wasn’t planning on running away.” She hadn’t told him what she’d found out at the lab, but he was no dummy. He’d seen the syringe.

“I never thought that.” He put a bracing hand on her shoulder. “But when you walked out of that lab, you looked like you needed a friend. I can be that.”

“You might not want to, after you hear what I have to say.”

“I think I know what you’re going to say, and I’m still here, aren’t I?”

He took a left at the end of the winding hallway, steered her away from the direction she’d been heading. “It will be okay, Phoebe.”

She snorted. “How?”

“I don’t know. But it always works out in the end. One way or the other, so stop looking like you’re going to your execution. I figure at least half of what you’re going to say is good news.”

“Maybe. But the bad half is really bad.”

He inclined his head.
“C’est la vie.”

He took a sharp right and she followed him. “Jeez, it’s a good thing you waited, or I would have ended up in Siberia or something.”

“More like Yellowstone. But no problem. Stick with me, kid, and you’ll go places.” He grinned as he did the old Bogart impression, but his eyes were nearly as shadowed as hers.

“So, how’s Quinn?” he asked after a moment.

“Asleep. That’s about all I can say at this point.”

“It’s enough.”

She sighed. “I guess.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes, twisting and turning through the cave, passing literally dozens of rooms she hadn’t known existed. Under different circumstances, she would have been tempted to stop and look around at the beautiful cave formations, but right now, all she could think about was getting to Dylan.

Telling him what she had just proven. If she’d told him what she suspected earlier, would Liam still be alive? Would the clan be stronger? Would—

She heard him before she saw him.

“What the hell were the four of you doing over there—twiddling your fucking thumbs?” Dylan’s voice boomed down the hallway.

“We were doing our jobs.” A female voice, filled with outrage and sorrow.

“Really? Are you sure about that?” Phoebe paused at the threshold, looking at Logan with shocked eyes. She’d never heard Dylan sound like that—so angry and sarcastic and unforgiving.

“Damn it, Dylan! That’s not fair.” A male voice this time. She peeked in the room in time to see a tall, blond man throw his arms in the air. “I swear to God, unless they know something we don’t, they didn’t slip past us. We had the place surrounded.”