Page 21 of Twisted Fate

She pulls back and stares at me for a moment and then hugs me back, tighter. “I’m so sorry,” she murmurs. “I never meant to hurt you. I was so scared. I don’t know what came over me. I’m never like that. I shouldn’t have left you, especially after everything you went through.”

“It’s okay,” I say, rubbing her back. “You’re not going to disappear on me again, are you? What the hell was that?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she promises with a small laugh. “The disappearing is a fae thing. Shifting, we call it. Like teleportation, but calling it that makes it sound weird to me.”

“That’s because itisweird. Whatever, I’m just glad you’re here. Are you okay?” I pull away enough to look at her. “What happened? What did he do? Did he hurt you? I swear to—”

“Hold on,” she cuts in. “Slow down and breathe, Aurora. I’m okay.”

My eyes narrow as I look her over again. She appears to be unharmed, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t hurt. “What happened?”

“Nothing that you’re thinking. He didn’t hurt me, I swear.”

The tension in my muscles doesn’t relax any. “I came looking for you, but he wouldn’t let me see you.”

“You went back there?” she asks. “Are you insane? You could’ve been hurt.”

“It was you, Al. I had to dosomething. But now, everything is going to be fine.”

“How can you say that?” She sniffles. “With the news about your fae lineage, he isn’t going to let this mistake go, which means he isn’t finished with you.”

The panic that’s been living at the surface rears its unforgiving head.

He isn’t finished with you.

Life settles into a comfortable routine over the following days, and I’m able to focus on my studies. It’s almost as if I were never kidnapped, never told my family could be fae, never introduced to the insufferable Tristan Westbrook.

The morning of my work placement interview, I open my eyes to bright sunlight streaming in through my window. I roll over and reach for my phone. I’m still shocked that Tristan returned it, given hedidkidnap me, but I’m in no place to question his kindness.

I squint at the backlight of the screen and my heart races when I read the time.

It’s almost eight thirty.

I throw myself out of bed and into the bathroom to put myself together as fast as I can. Once my hair looks decent, twisted into a quick French braid, I apply a few swipes of light makeup so I look alive. I get dressed in a formal black jumpsuit and shrug on a matching blazer. Grabbing my bag off the dresser, I shove my portfolio inside before I pull on my heels and rush out the door.

I spend the entire cab ride to the conference center tapping my hands on my knees and chewing my lower lip. My stomach is swirling with nerves, and my pulse is so erratic I’m sweating. I can’t remember ever being this anxious about something. If I’d had time for breakfast, I’m not sure I would’ve been able to stomach anything.

When the cab pulls up out front, I exit in a hurry after handing the driver some money. I burst through the front doors and speed-walk to the reception desk where an older looking man checks my ID.

“Aurora Marshall, you’re the last student to arrive. Please follow me.”

I almost scowl. Of course, I’m the last one here, did my frantic entrance not tip him off?

We walk down a wide hallway that opens into another lobby where a man sits behind a table.

“Register here, and you’re all set,” the receptionist says and walks away before I can thank him.

I step forward. “I’m Aurora Marshall.”

“Degree program?” the man asks without looking up from the stack of papers he’s looking through.

“Business,” I say.

He lifts his gaze and hands me a lanyard with a visitor pass attached. “Your interview will be held in conference room E.” He stands and points down the hallway. “Last door on your right.”

“Great, thank you.” I rush toward the room, but when I reach the door, my hand freezes halfway to the doorknob. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly.I’ve got this.Straightening, I knock before walking into the conference room.

We all have moments in our lives where we reflect on every bad thing we’ve done in an attempt to comprehend why a terrible thing is happening to us. To determine why we deserve something so awful. As I approach the conference room table and lock eyes with Tristan Westbrook, I’m sucked into one of those moments.What did I do to deserve this?

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