Fifty
Ryann flinched as Keelin blurred towards her, but she refused to look away. She caught the stale air that washed from Keelin’s mouth as she cried out, the sound inhuman and tortured. She saw the hand tipped with those deadly talons as it shot forward.
The hand brushed Ryann’s hair and slammed into the wall. The wall vibrated, shock-waves rippling down Ryann’s spine.
She turned her head. There was a dent beneath Keelin’s now motionless clenched fist.
“Well, well,” Murdoch said, slowly. He half sat, half leaned against his desk, his legs crossed at the ankles. “Maybe the old Keelin is in there somewhere. You were right, Harris—she is strong.”
“Strong enough to ignore you.” Ryann nodded to Keelin, who slowly pulled her hand back, examining her knuckles like they belonged to some
