"You'll do no such thing!" Leonara declared hotly. "Put that hand of yours away!"
"Then we'll be counting on you to finish the job," Atticus retorted smoothly. He gestured to Silas and lazily said, "And you better make it quick. It seems like the serum isn't going to hold for much longer."
Sure enough, in the short time that Atticus and Leonora had been conversing, Silas's breaths had gotten heavy. His fists were tightly clenched but his nails still grew into claws. It pierced through the flesh of his palm, puncturing holes into his hand as blood leaked out from the wound.
A pained groan rumbled from Silas's throat as he slammed his fists against the floor. Leonora and Atticus turned abruptly, shocked to see midnight black lines crawling through from underneath his skin, his veins colored like a raven's feathers. A trail of saliva had even dripped from his mouth, leaking onto the floor as he heaved and panted, fighting through the pain.
