She was right about one thing: he had no intention of letting any harm befall on her own self through this. It was why he used himself – but also to piggyback her own power through himself. James was not a man who had much natural talent in the arcane. His skills were learned; his machinations were wrought by other things. He was, truly, a man of science when it came to the preternatural world. And like a scientist, he treated his body like it was a computer. Overclocking could make it run faster. Too much, however, and he could cook his own hardrive.<br/><br/>He was her driver, her spotter, and her babysitter for this particular experiment. The backfire was his lack of educated guesses. As soon as the fire of her own making ignited the first roughly drawn rune sketched on the table, it burned through quickly before jumping to the next. Like artwork, orange flame laced with the powder from his chalk until it was charred black into the top of his table until the entirety of his circle was nothing but tendrils of smoke drifting up from the scorch marks in the shape of his runes. With each new flare up, he<i>felt </i>the power inside Lane jump up into his palm. Until the last ignited in a curl of smoke and the transformation erupted through the young woman. With the flood of her power came the overflow that shot through his waiting palm, causing him to jerk it back with a curse. The smell of burning flesh and the tell-tell indication of a char mark seated in his palm lanced pain through the heady drug that kept him numb and made his hand throb.<br/><br/>That, of course, was soon forgotten as his own synapses flared to brimming. His eyes flickered with vibrant, inner flames that threw sparks through his gaze and swirled it with violet. Riveted, he panted for breath while at the same time drinking in this new entity sitting at the table before him. Breathless, the man reached out with his unscathed hand and traced her moonlit skin with his knuckles.<br/><br/>“Fuck,” was the only thing he said as the adrenaline raged through him. Then he laughed, tipping back in the chair.<br/><br/>He eventually stood up from his seat, unaware for the time being that like her, he was aglow like a human Christmas tree. Or that the outline of the newt through his jeans glowed bright as a candle flame. There was a vague impression that tickled the back of his mind that his thigh was growing warmer than usual, the sensation dampened still, or that there was steam rising from the fabric of his jeans.<br/><br/>The man was too caught up in the vision before him to notice the changes in himself. Circling her, both his hands reached out to stroke over the wings that had sprouted from her back. “Well. Fuck,” he repeated softly. “Seraphim, perhaps. Maybe something else. I've never seen something exactly like this before.”<br/><br/>He would have giggled if he could breathe properly. But his own intakes of air were short, a side effect of the power that coursed through him.<br/><br/>“How do you feel?” His head cocked so that he could get a look at her face.