Chapter 40

He nodded. “I’m ready.”

Lyle nodded back. He lowered his eyes and took a breath. He clenched his hand into a fist and the muscles of his forearm bulged beautifully. “Then watch.”

For a second there was nothing. No one breathed. Nobody moved. Then the breath that Lyle had been holding huffed out, his veins swelled underneath the skin of his arm and his muscles lurched like the ground during an earthquake. Somebody sipped a gasp of air between their lips—Randy? Rafe? Matthew wasn’t sure, but God knew it wasn’t him as his breath was locked in his throat—and as if Lyle’s arm had heard the sound and taken it as a queue to continue, the skin from Lyle’s wrist to his elbow split with an audible crack. His forearm heaved, reshaped, while grisly yellow-white tissue splayed left and right.