Page 5 of Let It Snow (Eden’s Omegaverse #7)

I open my eyes. I’m kneeling on the lawn by the steps that lead down to the basement. Shit… the music! That’s what kept me here, entranced, and brought my memory back to life.

What is it about his music?

Why does it feel like it’s repairing me somehow? I twist my mouth into an ironic half smile. Maybe it’s a good thing I ended up with a family of musicians. My chances of recovery are not so impossible after all, are they?

I’m also becoming aware that something’s wrong, not just with my long-term memory, but with my short-term memory too. Remembering things from just a day ago, when I arrived at the Nolans’ estate, is a challenge. Everything in my head feels fragmented, memories surfacing chaotically, out of order.

My eyes land on the door, then drift to the stairs. Maybe there’s one person who can help me figure it out.

The thought just won’t leave me alone. I need to talk to him. Find a way to communicate. Ask… somehow.

He’ll understand.

So I jump up and run toward the stairs, my cheeks burning, excitement building.

Umm… hello, Summer?

Why am I doing this so eagerly?

I’m a trauma survivor, incapable of making well-thought-out decisions. My brain is damaged. Getting worked up over meeting an alpha should be the last thing on my mind.

I quickly reassure myself that my eagerness is… innocent; my instincts are just pulling me toward him because, deep down, I know he might be able to help me get my memory back. Nothing wrong with that, right?

People always say music can calm nerves, even influence a baby’s brain development in the womb. That the sound waves from music, especially classical, can boost memory and learning. Yeah, it has to be my instinct. That’s the version I’m sticking with.

I step down and raise my hand. Just as I’m about to knock, the door opens.

My heart speeds up. Snow is standing there. Our eyes meet, and it’s almost like a spark jumps between us.

He looks straight at me with this fierce intensity, then steps back to let me in.

I swallow hard and walk inside, glancing around.

To the right, behind glass doors, I catch sight of what might be a gym, though I can only see part of it, a section of a treadmill.

To the left is a wide open space, something like an oversized living room, with a piano, several couches, poufs, armchairs, and a coffee table, plus cabinets.

There’s also a big collection of instruments, guitars, a bass, a cello, and a bunch of others.

Along the far wall runs a row of closed doors. Maybe his bedroom, a bathroom, or a kitchen? I have no idea.

On instinct, I move toward the piano.

My eyes lock on the keys, then on the sheet music spread out across the top. It doesn’t look printed, more like something handwritten. Could it be one of Snow’s own compositions?

The alpha slowly walks over to the piano and sits down.

He doesn’t say a word. I just know he isn’t much of a talker. You can feel it. There’s a kind of minimalism about him.

It’s a bit strange, I barged in here uninvited, walked straight into the middle of the room, leaned against his piano, and gave no explanation. But Snow doesn’t seem put off or annoyed by my behavior. He simply settles comfortably at the piano and… starts playing.

Did he just write this?

The notes flow from his fingers.

Wait, it sounds somewhat familiar; it resonates… Did he write it for me?

The music is beautiful and intense. Deep. Something breaks inside my mind like a surge of energy, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

It’s coming back, it’s coming back… again! So it’s true!

Snow is trying to help me recover my memory.

The vision forms, the faces appear: Lake, Ragnar, Sun, gathered around the table… soon I’ll hear the full story Sun told yesterday, since what happened to me is part of it too… But I already know that it will be too much. I can’t handle it now.

It’s a story of kidnapping, violence, and abuse.

"Don’t!"

I protest, pushing through the pain, and stop the flood of images with my willpower, frantically shaking my head.

Then I open my eyes and lock onto Snow’s gaze.

The music also fades away.

I slowly slide onto the couch near the piano, while he’s still sitting in the chair beside it. My fingers splay across the couch as if I’m trying to hold on for dear life, but they find only smooth fabric.

The world feels shaky.

That dull ache at the back of my mind, which has been there all along, starts to rise.

I try to speak but can’t, of course. As before, only a long, rasping breath escapes. I would have to push a lot more, to the point of physical pain, to force the words out. Or scream, like I just did. And I don’t want that.

"Is it too much? Too early?"

His voice makes me shiver slightly, and I nod.

Snow rises slowly and walks toward me. He’s so tall and so… athletic. 6’7’’? The power hidden in his body is palpable, and I find it magnetic. The problem is I can’t act on this, not now. Not while being a mess.

So I will my pulse down.

As he stops in front of me, I tilt my head back to look up at him. His eyes hide something mysterious, a subtle silence that seems to saturate everything around us.

Then he slowly lowers himself, kneeling right in front of me, his chiseled stomach almost touching my legs.

Unsure how to react, I swallow hard. Maybe I should be afraid?

After all, I’m alone with a strong male in his prime.

He sets a hand beside my thigh, almost as if offering it for me to take, but I only curl in tighter. No one can get close, not until I know exactly what happened to me, and the paradox is, at the same time, I’m not ready to delve into this.

I’ve only glimpsed the fact that I was subjected to violence, but that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

Was I also… raped?

What if there’s trauma buried just beneath the surface, waiting to explode?

The touch of a virile alpha could be too much for me now, and Snow seems to understand. He doesn’t press. His eyes simply search my face, his expression pensive, and he says quietly in his deep voice,

"Did you test your power yet?"

Oh.

Definitely not what I expected to hear, but I’m grateful for the change of subject. What a relief.

I shake my head.

Snow glances aside, giving me a perfect view of his profile, his straight nose, the sensual outline of his lips, and lashes darker than you’d expect on someone with naturally pale blond hair. Watching him is oddly… hypnotic.

He reaches back to the coffee table, picks up a small scented candle, and sets it on the back of my hand that rests on my thigh.

He tilts his head in a subtle, encouraging gesture and gives a soft smile.

My eyes fix obsessively on the small item.

Does he really want me to try it right here?

The problem is, on some level, I already know how to use it. It’s just under the surface, waiting to be tapped. But there’s this barrier inside me, a recoil. My power is the reason I was taken, hurt, ripped from my family.

So do I claim it again? Do I let myself feel that strange energy I’ve been half-aware of the whole time but kept quietly pushing down?

Violet eyes stay on me, offering no judgment, just a presence.

Snow gives me space to try; a small test.

My gaze stays on the candle, almost like it's glued to it. Really? Should I? Just jump into it, flood my body with the sensation so familiar from the time I was innocent and just… experimenting? The memories are not within my conscious reach, they’re there, buried, an yet still pulling at me.

Maybe here, with him watching, would be a good time to rediscover it safely?

Perhaps I could even… well. Show off a bit? While being watched by a handsome guy… sure, I could. Just a bit?

And just like that I’m in.

Fighting through the pain, I push the brain fog away and let my mind reach for the very essence of the candle’s structure.

With my special sense, I feel the vibrating web of particles that form the wax: diglycerides of fatty acids, palmitate, n-alkanes, a tight lattice of molecules.

And then, in a split second, I shatter their bonds.

The candle bursts into a pale powder that scatters across my thighs and knees, some of it settling on Snow’s hand.

Wow. That’s all it takes. My will.

So I really am a hylomancer. I can push atoms wherever I want them to be.

Snow lifts the powder closer to his eyes and studies it with some satisfaction.

Then he glances at me and gives a wink.

I blush. For real, I can reduce matter to dust in a heartbeat, so easily, yet I’m embarrassed.

I guess I’m not used to showing it to anyone.

It always has to involve some bit of fear, the uncertainty that somebody would notice and that would be it.

My tiny, insignificant existence would be cut short.

Having powers is a lonely path by default. Every comic-book fan knows that, right?

Snow stands and walks to one of his cabinets. He takes a book from a shelf and brings it to me.

It’s small, and the cover is full of colors; honestly, it looks like a children’s book, which is a little odd. The title reads Fate’s Seed, with the subtitle Alien’s Legends. The author is listed as BN Marlow.

I stare at the cover: a swarm of colorful fireflies encircling planet Earth. What is that supposed to mean? I don’t read children’s books, but I accept it out of politeness. Our silence is strange enough.

Snow waits a beat as if expecting me to dive right in, but I just keep the book on my lap, probably looking stiff.

A minute passes.

Feeling awkward, unsure what to do, I finally get up and walk toward the piano.

My eyes land on sheet music, a pen, and then the keys.

I’m curious if Snow wrote the music just before I came.

I throw him a quick glance. We’re standing close now; he’s just three feet from me, his head slightly lowered, his eyes on the chair by the piano.

His scent, like a heather meadow, subtly hangs in the air.

Very pleasant, and I take a discreet sniff.

What if I lean in and inhale him? Touch the hard planes of his perfect alpha body, lick his skin…

Uhh, what?!