The Darkest Star (Origin 1)

Luc easily caught up with me, and Kent was right behind him. Trying to shake the nervousness, I trailed my hand along the railing.

Miraculously, they were quiet as we rounded the second floor. Luc kept walking, continuing up several flights of stairs, and I vaguely wondered if it would kill them to have an elevator.

Not even out of breath while I was seconds from dying, Luc opened the door to the sixth floor. This hallway looked like the one on the second except it was wider and had fewer doors.

“I’m gonna make myself scarce with your bag.” Kent walked past us, whistling what sounded like a Christmas song under his breath, and opened one of the doors down the hall. “You two kids, behave yourselves! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

My eyes widened. As Kent disappeared into a room down the hall, Luc said, “Kent is . . . Well, he’s different, but he kind of grows on you.”

“Yeah.” Legs burning, I forced one foot in front of the other until Luc stopped outside a windowless wooden door. My heart flip-flopped in my chest. “How’s Chas?”

“Better. He’ll be back to hundred percent by tomorrow.”

“He’s lucky,” I said, and Luc looked over at me. “I mean, if he were human—”

“He wouldn’t have survived the attack,” he finished for me. “And if he wore a Disabler, he wouldn’t have been able to heal himself.”

I worried my bottom lip, looking down. “Is this . . . your room?”

“More like my apartment.”

His apartment. Right. Not like he had just a bedroom in his parents’ house. For all I knew, he had been hatched from an egg somewhere.

Luc lifted an arm, brushing his hair from his face. My gaze followed the movement of all the skin and muscles. He dropped his arm as he faced me.

Our gazes connected, and I found I couldn’t look away. There was something entrancing about his stare, and for a long moment neither of us spoke. A weird edginess surfaced, the same I felt when I’d been here on Saturday, and it seeped into the hall and settled over my skin like smoke. It was like being near an electric storm. I half expected the overhead lights to dim or explode.

He lowered his gaze, breaking the connection. His voice was low. “I’m glad you came.”

I blinked. “You are?”

A moment passed. Dark, impossibly thick lashes lifted. Amethyst eyes latched on to my eyes once more. “Yeah. I didn’t think you would.”

I crossed my arms and shifted my weight from one foot to the next. “Would you blame me if I hadn’t?”

“No.” A wry grin formed.

Warmth hit my cheeks. “You were right earlier. I’m not even sure why I’m here.”

The grin spread as he turned, pressing his finger against a pad. Fingerprint read and processed, the lock unclicked. High tech right there. “I know why.”

My stomach tumbled a little. “Why?”

Luc opened the door. “Because I’m going to tell you a story.”16

A story?

That was not what I’d come here for. I wanted to know what he knew about my mom—about what secrets she could possibly be keeping. But the moment I stepped inside the slightly chilly room and Luc flipped on an overhead light, I wasn’t thinking about what he could know.

This was not the kind of dingy apartment I was expecting.

My wide gaze traveled across the long length of the room. With the exception of two doors, which I guessed led to a bathroom and maybe a closet, the large space was entirely open. There was a huge living room with one of those deep moon-pit-style couches seated in front of shuttered, floor-length windows. A massive TV sat across from it, perched on a metal-and-glass stand. Floors were hardwood throughout, and flowed into a bedroom. The bed—oh my—the bed was on a raised platform. Two long wooden dressers butted up one side of the room, next to a clean desk. Only a laptop sat on the surface.

Looking around, I saw nothing personal. No pictures. No posters. The walls were all bare. Luc brushed past me as I stepped in farther and spied a guitar in the corner, by the TV.

Luc played the guitar?

I peeked at him. He was walking into the kitchen area, one long-fingered hand trailing over what appeared to be a slab of slate countertop. Did he play the guitar shirtless?

I rolled my eyes. I did not need to know the answer to that question. “This is your place?”

“Yep.” He walked to a stainless-steel fridge.

I shook my head. “How is that possible? How do you own this—own the club? You’re only eighteen and I didn’t think Luxen could own property?”

“They can’t, but that doesn’t mean they haven’t found a way around those laws. My name isn’t on any documentation, but all of this is mine.”

“You mean it belonged to your parents?”