on

at Liane. A split‑second later, she realized why: her hands were on fire. No, not exactly fire . . . it was a blue light that flickered over her hands, lines of light that weaved and danced around her fingers.
She was too startled to do anything except stare at her hands and the pale blue light. A wave of dizziness hit her, and that strange feeling of hot power, like electricity running through her entire body—she could feel the hair on her forearms standing on end, her hands tingling faintly where the light touched her.
Oh my . . . oh my God . . .
The light faded away. She stared at her fingers, and through them, saw the gunman shaking his head slowly, as though he couldn't believe what he'd just seen.
Then she saw his hands tighten on the rifle and knew that in another split‑second he'd shoot them anyhow. . . .
Kayla didn't even think about it; she dived for him and that gun, sending both of them crashing into a rack of magazines.