Light It Up Like A Dynamite Novels & Stories

8 I chant out loudly, the candles going out one by one in succession around us as though a puff is wafted in succession, followed by the fire. A second of darkness before all explode back to light with a combustive boom that creates tiny sparkles around the room. Like pouring lighter fuel onto a tiny ember of a flame and igniting a volcano eruption of light.

“Light it up. Explode the whole building. Let everything burn. Leave nothing but flames and make sure he doesn’t make it out alive .” I hung up. Stefan Lombardi was about to learn what it really meant to play with fire.

She sounds so far away as she begs me not to leave her. Just before the world goes dark, I see a blast of fire, like an explosion. It lights up the sky, then everything goes dark.

Before I can say one goddamn thing, His mark explodes in light. So bright it burns. And everything goes white.

“I’m doing this for us.” Before he could stop me, I turned back to Damien, my hands outstretched. The power surging through, a blinding light erupting from my palms, wrapping around Damien like a storm. He screamed, his voice high and panicked, as the light consumed him. I didn’t mean for it to happen but since it did, I just wanted him gone, wanted him to feel the weight of everything he’d done to me. But the power had a will of its own, wild and unstoppable.

Even when men forget. When her focus narrowed, she felt the smallest stir: a pinprick of energy like a lantern’s spark. It crawled from her stomach through her arm to her fingertips, warming the skin, brightening into a faint gold. She watched it with the helpless awe of someone watching lightning strike. It did not roar. It did not burn. It hummed, small and insistent. Damian found her watching the light with a face that was more question than comfort. “Be careful,” he said softly. “You did that back there. You nearly unmade the men in that room.”

Six minutes. “Can you disarm it?” Celeste asked Damien. “I can try,” he said, kneeling. Red, blue, green, and yellow wires. “Classic,” he muttered. “Cut the wrong one and we’re dust.” “So cut the right one,” Celeste said. “Which one?” Gunfire echoed above—Rylan’s men fighting. Five minutes left. “Blue,” Elena said. “Blue’s lucky.” “That’s not how bombs work,” Damien said. “You got a better idea?”

she said, her voice a sharp, unyielding presence, a bright, vivid energy that filled the space with life and the thrill of the unknown. The medallion at her throat flared suddenly, a bright, living force that filled the space with life and the thrill of discovery. The blue light was a sharp, uncontained energy, a fierce, vivid presence that filled the space with life and the thrill of the unknown. It pulsed like a wild, unyielding heart, a bright, cutting force that filled the space with life and the thrill of discovery. The light was a bright, unyielding energy, a sharp, living presence that filled the space with life and the thrill of the unknown. It was a vivid, living force, a fierce, cu

she said, that saccharine voice sending a chill straight down my spine. The lighter snapped open and shut with a crisp "click." A flame would flash up, then snuff out, casting flickers over her perfect face. That little flame-it was like the devil dancing. One flick, and the entire room would go up in flames. Me with it. I stared at that flickering light, heart pounding, breath caught in my throat.

Like regular hair. Then it got warm. Not burning hot. Like when you hold your hands near a fire. "Devon, it's glowing." Diana's voice went all high and squeaky. She was right. The hair was lighting up. Silver light that got brighter and brighter until I had to squint. "Should we close it?" My hands were shaking. "Too late!" The light exploded out of the box. Shot up toward the ceiling. Started forming shapes in the air. A person. A woman. Made of light but looking real enough to touch.