FOUR WEEKS, SEVEN DAYS INTO THE CONTRACT - FRIDAY, 8:00 AM TWENTY-SIX HOURS SINCE SEPARATION
Eve should have been dead.
Dr. Thorne stared at the monitors, then at Eve, then back at the monitors, her expression caught between awe and horror.
"This isn't possible," she whispered for what had to be the hundredth time in the past six hours. "This simply isn't possible."
Eve didn't respond. Couldn't respond. Every ounce of concentration, every fragment of will she possessed, was focused on one single task: holding back the transformation.
The golden marks covered ninety-five percent of her body now. Only small patches of unmarked skin remained....a few inches on her face, the palms of her hands, the soles of her feet. According to everything Dr. Thorne knew about binding spells, once the marks reached this level of coverage, the spell should shatter immediately.
Should have shattered hours ago.
But Eve was holding it back through nothing but sheer, impossible will.
