The Burning Shadow

by Armentrout, Jennifer L.

  “Keep dreaming,” Zoe called after them as they stalked off.

  April’s arm shot up. She flipped us off.

  “Your nail polish is chipped!” Zoe added, grinning as her eyes flashed in my direction. “God, I want to hit her.”

  “You and me both.” I started walking toward my car.

  “If I agree, does that make me a bad person?” James asked.

  “No,” Zoe and I said at the same time.

  Walking ahead, Zoe looked over her shoulder to where April and Brandon had disappeared. She shook her head. “I’m worried, though.”

  I stopped in front of my car as James handed my camera back to me. “About?”

  Zoe exhaled heavily as her gaze flicked between James and me. “I’m worried they’re eventually going to do something really stupid … and really dangerous.”

  10

  I woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for air as I scratched at my throat, searching for the fingers I could still feel digging into my skin.

  Not real. Not real. Not real.

  Drawing in deep, shuddering breaths, I forced my hands away from my neck. No one was here choking me. It was a nightmare. I knew this, but I still shoved the blanket down my legs and scrambled to my knees, heart thundering against my ribs as I scanned the bedroom.

  Moonlight seeped under the curtains and traveled across the floor and along the foot of the bed. I scanned the familiar bookshelves and heaps of clothing. The TV placed on the dresser, left on but turned down low because I’d been having a hard time falling asleep without the light, flickered from one blood-splattered crime scene to the next.

  Forensic Files.

  I really needed to stop falling asleep with that playing, though I found the dude who narrated the show to have an oddly relaxing voice.

  The door to my room was still closed, as was the bedroom window, both locked even though I knew there were a lot of creatures out there that locks couldn’t keep out.

  But it was just a nightmare.

  I knew this, but I still flipped on the lamp that sat atop the nightstand. I saw Diesel the rock smiling at me.

  Sliding off the bed, I darted into the bathroom, hitting the switch on the wall. Bright light poured into the narrow space as I lifted my shirt with trembling hands.

  My stomach was bare of scratches or bruises, just like the rational, logical part of my brain said it would be. I was okay. I would be okay. Micah was dead, and I was—

  I didn’t know who I was.

  Nausea twisted sharply in my stomach, bringing me to my knees with a harsh grunt. Grasping the cool, porcelain base of the toilet, I lost everything I’d eaten the night before. Tears sprang from the corners of my eyes as my throat and chest burned with the force of the tremors racking my body. The retching sickness came on fast and powerfully, ending in painful dry heaves until all the muscles went loose and my body gave out.

  I found myself lying sideways on the cold tile of the bathroom floor, curled tightly, trembling as I squeezed my eyes shut. I pressed my lips together and counted each breath I inhaled through my nose. I had no idea how much time passed. Five minutes? Ten? Longer? Slowly, I unfurled my legs and shifted onto my back, opening my eyes to stare dully at the ceiling.

  I’d heard his voice in the nightmare. Micah’s. He’d been ranting about Luc and warning us that everything was already over, just like he’d done in the woods.

  Neither Luc nor I had any idea of what he was talking about, but those words were like ghosts lingering in the recesses of my mind. Had he actually been trying to tell us something, or were they just the words of someone who wanted to cause as much pain and terror as possible before dying?

  I wanted to hate Micah, and I did, but I also felt … God, I also felt pity for him, and I didn’t like the stuffy, ugly feeling that pity left behind. It stained my skin like an oil slick. I hated him for that and for what he’d forced Luc to do—to kill him. I knew that haunted Luc, because he’d felt responsible for Micah, for all those Origins. I despised Micah for how he’d hurt and terrorized me.

  Micah had been a murderer, but he had also been a victim. Created in a lab, he was bred from a Luxen and a hybrid to be the perfect human—the perfect soldier. Given God knows what kind of drugs, Micah might’ve looked to be my age, but he was only ten years old. He might’ve been extremely intelligent and extraordinarily manipulative, but he was also just a child who’d needed to feel wanted and had felt abandoned and betrayed by Luc.

  I hated him, but I still pitied him. I felt bad for all those kids Luc had to … take care of because they had turned bad.

  But Micah was definitely dead, and I was lying on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night.

  Groaning, I sat up and slowly rose to my feet. Shuffling to the vanity, I turned the water on and then bent over, scooping the icy water and splashing it across my face. I sucked in a sharp gasp but did it again, letting it soak my skin and most of my hair. I reached for the mouthwash, swishing it around until the taste of the bile was gone. Then I lifted my eyes to the water-spotted mirror and gazed upon the girl who stared back at me.

  I recognized the heart-shaped face and damp, blond hair sticking to cheeks that were flushed a faint pink. The large brown eyes were mine, as were the parted lips and slightly pointy chin that really didn’t match the rest of my face.

  That was me.

  “My name is Evie.” I cleared my throat as I placed my hands on the vanity, steadying myself. “My name is … Nadia Holliday?” I shook my head. “No. I’m not her. I’m Evie Dasher.”

  I wasn’t her, either, now was I?

  But I was Peaches …

  I ran my hands down my face as I stepped back from the sink. And I had remembered something of Nadia. The kiss. Our first kiss. I may not have any other memories of my time as Nadia, but I knew in my bones that had been my first kiss, too.

  A ding from my phone startled me. I turned from the mirror and flipped off the light, hurrying to my bed. I found the phone half buried under a pillow and picked it up, my stomach twisting and dipping when I saw Luc’s name on the screen.

  Can’t sleep. You?

  I sat down on the bed. A strange mix of fluttering anticipation and trepidation replaced the churning nausea, and I wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

  Since the day in Harpers Ferry, things had shifted between us. What I was beginning to feel for him, or had always felt for him, was all over the place. How could I untangle those feelings from a past I couldn’t remember and a present that left me entirely confused?

  Can’t sleep, either, I texted back.

  A moment passed and then, Let me in.

  Let me in? Crap! Shooting off the bed, I spun around and stared at my bedroom window. Was he—

  There was a soft knock.

  He was totally outside my window.

  I hurried over before one of our neighbors just happened to notice him perched on my window like a hot pterodactyl.

  “Evie?” came the muffled voice. “Is Diesel sleeping?”

  A grin tugged at my lips. I probably shouldn’t let him in, but I wanted a distraction after that nightmare.

  That’s what I told myself as I pushed the curtains aside and shoved the window up. That letting him in had nothing to do with that distraction being Luc. Cool night air rushed in. “My mom is home.”

  “I know.” Moonlight sliced over his striking face.

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  Luc grinned as he offered a can of soda to me. “I know.”

  “You just don’t care?”

  “About getting caught? Nope.”

  Shooting him a dark look, I snatched the can out of his hand and then stepped back. “If she catches you, it’s really not going to win you any brownie points.”

  “She won’t catch me.”

  Like a large cat, he came through the window and landed nimbly, quietly on his feet. He straightened to his full height. I wasn’t exactly short, but Luc still towered over me. He turned, cl
osing the window.

  Soda can in hand, I desperately tried to ignore the fluttering deep in my chest as I checked the bedroom door, making sure it was locked. Then, drawing in a shallow breath, I faced him.

  He was wearing a plain white T-shirt and a pair of gray-and-burgundy flannel bottoms. His hair was a mess, waves sticking up in every direction, and he looked utterly adorable, which was a word I never thought I’d use to describe Luc.

  But there was something boyishly charming about him as he stood there, his eyes heavy with the cobwebs of sleep. In that moment, when he looked like he’d just shuffled out of bed, I could almost forget what he was.

  “You came all the way here in your pajamas?” My gaze dipped. “And barefoot?”

  “My feet didn’t even touch the ground.” He gave me a cheeky grin as his gaze drifted over me in a quick perusal. “I like the shirt.”

  Glancing down at myself, I frowned. The shirt I wore was at least three sizes too big. It was a shapeless tent, and as long as I didn’t start to do jumping jacks, there was no way he could tell that I wasn’t wearing a bra. A whole lot of leg was on display since the shirt only reached the middle of my thighs.

  But Luc had seen a lot more than my legs.

  “What do you like about it?” I asked.

  One side of his mouth curled up. “There is an unmeasurable list of things I like about this shirt, but the QUEEN OF THE NAPS written across the front of it is in the top three.”

  “Oh.” I looked down again. Yep. My shirt did say that. Apparently, I’d forgotten how to read. I wondered what the other two things were, but I didn’t have the courage to ask.

  His gaze flicked from me to the space above my bed. A slow smile appeared, and I knew he was staring at the framed photograph of the picture he’d given me. I’d decided to take it home that night, and after nailing several holes in the wall above my bed, I’d finally gotten it level.

  At least, I thought I did.

  “Forensic Files,” he said after a moment, tilting his head toward the television as I grabbed the hem of the shirt, tugging it as far it would go. “I think you’re the only person who can fall asleep with that on.”

  While his back was to me, I all but darted toward the bed, still holding on to the hem of my shirt as I dived under the covers. “Probably why I have nightmares.”

  Luc turned to me, and even though I couldn’t see his eyes, I could feel his gaze as I tugged the soft blanket to my waist. He took a step and then stopped. “That’s not why you’re having nightmares.”

  Letting go of the blanket, I looked up at him, my chest clenching. “Why would you say that?”

  He picked up my laptop from where it rested and sat at the foot of the bed. “You’ve been through a lot of shit, Peaches. You’ve seen me kill Luxen, and you’ve stumbled across dead bodies. You were hurt by Micah and learned that your entire life was a lie. You’re bound to have some nightmares.”

  “Do you?”

  “Almost every night.”

  A different kind of pressure clamped down on my chest. “What kind of nightmares do you have?”

  He was quiet for a long moment. “Things that have already come to pass,” he said and then quickly moved on. “What woke you?”

  “Micah,” I said, telling the truth instead of lying or avoiding his question like I normally would.

  “Micah’s dead. You said that yourself.” His head turned in my direction and in the shadows of the room our eyes met. “Which is probably why you’re having nightmares.”

  “I know he’s dead, it’s just…”

  “You’ve been through a lot,” he repeated. “I wish Micah were alive so I could kill him all over again.”

  “Don’t say that. I know you didn’t want to kill him, and I know killing him bothers you.”

  Luc tilted his head to the side. “Why do you think that?”

  “Because I remember what you told me about the other Origins, and I could tell that what you had to do is something that’s stayed with you.”

  “It has, but Micah was different.”

  “How?”

  “Because Micah did something that none of the others did.” He rose with the laptop in hand and walked to the head of the bed. He sat beside me, on the other side—his side. Not that he had a side, but he sort of, kind of did. “He hurt you. I don’t regret a thing I did to him.”

  I sucked in a shrill breath. “You don’t mean that.”

  “I do. There’s not an ounce of regret in me. He deserved it—deserved worse. He hurt you, Evie.”

  “He also killed other people, but—”

  “I don’t care about that.”

  My mouth dropped open as a lock of hair fell across my cheek.

  “When he broke your arm, he was already in his coffin.” He leaned against the headboard, stretching out his long legs. “Him attacking you again, hurting you like he did? I just put the final nails in.”

  My gaze lifted to his, and I drew in a shallow breath and spoke the truth. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

  He stared at me a moment longer and then nodded. “You don’t need to say anything.”

  I reached up to push my hair out of my face, unsure if I believed him or not.

  Luc snapped toward me, his long, warm fingers circling my wrist. “What happened to your arm?”

  The contact of his fingers sent a pleasant jolt up my arm. I followed his gaze as he lifted my arm, examining it. At first, I didn’t know what he was talking about, but then I saw the blue smudges marring the inside of my forearm.

  “These are fingerprints.” His mouth pulled taut. “Who did this?”

  I shook my head. “There were some idiots protesting Luxen at school today, and things got heated.”

  His head cocked to the side. “Who did this, Evie?”

  My gaze snapped to his. Barely leashed violence churned in his eyes, matching his tone. There was no way I was going to tell him what happened, and I immediately started thinking about puppies with fluffy, wagging tails and kittens chasing balls.

  Luc’s eyes narrowed.

  “It’s nothing,” I told him.

  “Sure as hell doesn’t look like nothing.” He finally looked away as he lowered my arm to his thigh. “No one should be touching you in a way that leaves a bruise behind.”

  I had to agree with that last part.

  “I’m sure the Luxen appreciate you standing up for them, but you need to be careful.”

  “I am.”

  He folded his hand over the bruises. “This tells me you’re not careful enough.” His palm began to warm. “There are people out there who are so controlled by their hate and their fear that they will not think twice before harming someone in the name of whatever they believe in. Even people you thought you knew.”

  The warmth rolled up my arm, washing over my elbow. “Are you healing me?” When he didn’t say anything, my eyes widened. “Luc, you shouldn’t do that. It’s just a bruise.” I kept my voice low as I tugged on my arm. “What if—?”

  “Nothing is going to happen from a quick healing.” His other hand had folded over mine, and his thumb slid back and forth along the center of my palm. “You’re not going to mutate.”

  “How do you know?”

  A lopsided grin appeared as his lashes lifted. “I know all, Peaches. Haven’t you learned?”

  “You’re not omnipresent.” A pleasant tingling swept over my skin.

  He chuckled. “That’s omniscient, Peaches.”

  “Whatever,” I murmured, letting my head fall back against the headboard. We needed to talk more about Micah and how Luc really felt, but the tingling warmth was beyond distracting.

  His fingers slid away from the bruised area, and I knew without looking that the bruises were gone, but his fingers kept searching, kept caressing. “You won’t have the trace. The—”

  “Andromeda serum,” I finished for him. “I remember, but just because I don’t have a trace, does that mean I can’t be mutated?”
<
br />   His hand smoothed over my upper arm, sending a tight shiver down my spine. My right leg curled. “Not through me healing you.”

  I turned my head to him. “Origins can’t mutate humans?”

  “Correct.” His palm, calloused over, slid back down my arm. He kissed the center of my hand and then laid it back in my lap. “I remember you mentioning a couple of days ago that you like BuzzFeed Unsolved?”

  “I did.” Heidi had introduced me to BuzzFeed Unsolved, and Ryan and Shade were quickly becoming my favorite two humans—well, I assumed they were human and not Luxen. Nowadays, you really couldn’t tell. Not when there were many Luxen out there, unregistered and using those contacts to hide their eyes from the RAC drones.

  Human or Luxen, I could really go for Ryan’s dramatic storytelling and Shade’s hilarious wry wit.

  “Want to watch a few episodes?” he asked, picking up my laptop.

  “Yeah.” I reached over, pressing my finger to the reader to unlock it.

  I snuggled down as Luc searched for the episode that had something to do with the Mothman in West Virginia. I struggled to ignore how close we were, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. Somehow his legs were under the covers now, and the soft material of his pajama bottoms rasped against my bare legs, leaving me feeling like I needed to shove the blankets off by the time he got the video going.

  I tried to pay attention, but within minutes, my thoughts took me back to one of the many things that had driven me to my knees in the bathroom. Had he done something like this with Nadia? Stayed up and watched videos because she—I—couldn’t sleep?

  I peeked over at him, hating and loving the tugging motion in my chest when I saw the faint grin on his face as he watched Ryan and Shane traipsing through a forest. Somehow he’d known I was awake, and while there was a part of me that did want to know how, I was also afraid to find out.

  Because what if it were some kind of bond, some weird alien bond he’d forged with Nadia that had guided him to my room tonight, because of all the times he’d tried to heal me as Nadia? Maybe he wasn’t able to mutate me, but could there have been some bond created?

  How did Luc know I was having nightmares? Mom didn’t even know I was spending many nights a week like this. I didn’t want her to worry or feel guiltier than she already did.