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Chapter 53

Panic flooded his mind, he couldn’t control this. He never could. The oily black tar enslaved him, suffocated him.

The world around him was replaced by a pitch black hole, and Arlo stood alone in it. He scratched at his throat, tried to tear his airways open. With a scream, he pushed the pain the only way he was able to—into his mind, into the space where Nash had taken up room.

* * * *

Nash’s vision turned into black and white, and the claws ripped through his fingers without warning. The snarl bounced off the walls before he realized it had left his mouth.

Gilbert flew off the couch, ready to attack.

Pain poured into Nash’s mind and into his veins. His body was flung into an uncontrolled shift, the clothes tore as he grew. Hair covered his body, his fangs pushed through as Nash swayed

When had he gotten to his feet? His mind cleared, and the pain died down to a dull throb.

Both Nash and Gilbert spun around as the front door banged against the outside railing.