Lost Soul (DarkWorld #2)
by T.G. Ayer
My ears lifted, pointed, flared out. My eyes burned, the particular sensation of my panther eyes coming forth. Another growl and my jaw lengthened, hardened, my nose now picking up every odor surrounding me, including the sickly odor of the poison flowing thick and strong beneath my skin.
My hands transitioned smoothly into paws, my fingernails curving into deadly-sharp claws. I stretched out, lengthened my back, and let the panther take control.
The lab was cold and silent as Logan breathed deep, drawing the fire through his body and centering the molten energy within his mind. The mouse shivered in his hand, its sickly green eyes staring up at him, its expression sad and seemingly pleading. The little, large-eyed white-furred creature had been shaved to reveal its bare skin, enabling Logan and the lab-techs to assess how well the fire was progressing in killing the poison.
As the glass hit the ground, water burst from it like a geyser, spraying droplets all over the kitchen. And all over me.
Good job, Odel. Now who's going to clean up this mess?
Lying where I fell, my face rested close to my poison-wreathed arm. I stared at it as it throbbed and pulsed, as if the poison had taken on a life of its own and was just waiting for the next moment to advance farther into my flesh.
Who knew a tiny piece of Wraith-sword could be this deadly?