The Burning Shadow (Origin 2)

“Okay,” I said after a moment. “I did miss you.”

“A lot.”

“A little,” I corrected, fighting a grin as I stared at the white glow in his finger and then lifted my gaze to those stunning eyes. “Why do you want me to touch it?”

He was quiet for a moment, and the teasing eased from his features. “Because this is something you used to love doing.”

My heart lodged itself in my throat. He meant it was something Nadia loved to do.

When I first learned of who I was, hearing that name—Nadia—made me sick to my stomach, but now I was thirsty for the knowledge, to know what she liked and disliked, what her dreams were, what she had wanted to be when she got older. If she was like me, scared of nearly everything, or if she was brave.

I wanted to know what it was about her that had captured the heart of someone like Luc.

Drawing in a short breath, I lifted my hand, trusting that Luc wouldn’t let the Source harm me. The warm glow was pleasant, like basking in the sun, and it sent a trill of electricity dancing up my arm. The moment I pressed my finger against his, the room exploded with light. I gasped, starting to jerk back.

“Look,” he urged softly. “Look around us.”

Eyes wide, I tugged my gaze from where our fingers had disappeared under the glow, and when I saw his room, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

Luc’s apartment was one large, open space with the exception of a bathroom and closet. From where we were on the bed, I could see straight into the living room and the kitchen that appeared rarely used.

But every square inch—the large sectional couch and television, the end tables, and even the guitar displayed by the floor-to-ceiling windows—looked like it was covered with twinkling, floating, warm white Christmas lights.

“What is this?” I watched as one of the dazzling lights drifted past my face. It was so tiny, the size of a needle point.

“It’s the molecules in the air lit up.” His breath coasted over my cheek. “The Source can bond and interact with those molecules and the atoms that create the molecules. Normally you wouldn’t be able to see them since they’re too small, but the source magnifies them, and when you see one, you’re actually seeing thousands of them.”

Everywhere I looked, I saw the dancing little balls of light. “Is that how you can use the Source to move things?”

“Yes.”

“It’s beautiful.” Awed, I took in the stunning sight before me. I wanted to reach out and touch one of the dazzling lights, but I didn’t want to disturb them. “I think it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s not the most beautiful thing I’ve seen.” His voice was different now, deeper and thicker. As if I had no control over myself, I turned my head toward him.

Luc’s gaze snagged mine, and a shivery feeling spread over my skin. Every inch of my body became aware of his.

My heart sped up. “I used to do this with you?”

He didn’t nod or move, but somehow, he seemed closer. I inhaled the unique pine-and-spice scent of him. “You used to make me do this at least once every day.”

“Once every day? That seems excessive.”

“It was in the beginning,” he admitted, and there was no mistaking the fondness that had crept into his tone. “When you were really small—really young, I’d get annoyed because you’d followed me around for hours until I made the fireflies come.”

“Fireflies?”

“Yeah.” Thick lashes lowered, shielding his eyes. “That’s what you called the lights. Fireflies.”

“They do kind of look like fireflies in a jar.” With those intense eyes not focused on mine, it was easier to concentrate on what he was sharing with me. “Did you get mad at me when I’d ask you to do this?”

“I was always annoyed with you when we were younger.” He chuckled as he pressed the palm of his hand flat against mine. The contact sent another ripple of electricity through me, causing the tips of my fingers to tingle and the dancing lights around us to pulse. “When I wouldn’t do this for you, you’d go to Paris, and then he’d guilt me into doing it even though he could’ve done the same thing.”

“I wish I remembered Paris.” Especially since Luc spoke of him as if he were like an older brother or father to him and to me.

“I can help you remember.” His thumb slid along the side of my hand. “Because a lot of my memories were yours.”

You were all my good memories.

Pressure clamped down on my chest, threatening to seal off my throat with emotion. That’s what Luc had said to me when I asked if I’d been a part of his rare good memories, and I believed him. I just couldn’t find those memories.