GENRE: Urban fantasy
Celeste, born with a powerful healing touch, has awakened to find her power is gone. Unfortunately, she was scheduled to assist in the risky heart transplant procedure for a 20-month-old baby that same day.
It was Brogan Levine, little Acacia's father, with his wife in tow
like a drifting ghost in white. Brogan's nostrils flared as he
marched towards me. Sariah dangled from his swinging arm, resembling
a toddler trying to hold back a Mastiff.
"Honey," Sariah whispered, "Please, calm down. You can't change here,
please. Not in the hospital. We have to be able to stay with Acacia.
Brogan stopped two feet from me. His chest heaved, and I could almost
see his heart beat through his shirt. "Brogan, Sariah," I said,
lamely greeting them.
"If my little girl dies because you decided to call out sick, I'm
going to kill you," Brogan started to hiss, and the words ended with
an inelegant snort. Brogan's eyes were bloodshot and rimmed purple,
and his arms were so rigid that I could see muscles bulging beneath
the carpet of black hair.
I couldn't hold back my tears. "You think I just called out sick for
fun?" I grabbed him by a furry arm. Sweat dribbled between my
fingers. Whether he was fighting his shapeshifting or willing it, I
didn't know. "What do you feel?" I asked him.
He stared in bewilderment at his own arm. "Nothing." He knew what my
bare touch was supposed to be like.
I dropped his arm, and it flopped limply to his side. "Nothing," I
said. "That's what I have. Nothing."