Page 1 of Twisted Gift

1

It’s been two months since I killed Jules and became the leader of the light fae.

Instead of moving past that awful day and on with my new life, I’m walking down a crowded sidewalk in downtown Rockdale with Allison beside me, heading for the law office of Grant Taylor’s attorney.

It’s one of the few times I’ve left the apartment since Allison and I moved in after the semester ended. I needed time to recover from exams. Actually, I needed time to recuperate from the hurricane of emotions exam time whipped up. Everywhere I went, students were high on stress—among other things.

I want my own place, but being broke and unemployed leaves me with very few options. Moving back to Mapleville to live with my parents isn’t one of them—not while I’m feeling so out of control.

Between squinting at the brightness of the June sun and wrinkling my nose at the smell of pollution and of cheap coffee coming from the cart across the busy street, my head is pounding as if I spent last night drinking shitty wine. With each week that goes by, the symptoms of becoming fae are getting more severe. I’d venture a guess that this is Mother Nature’s way of saying, “Hey girl, you fucked up.” As if I need a reminder. Along with the physical pain, the weight of guilt on my chest for walking away from Tristan is unbearable.

Feeding would make things easier, at least physically, but the thought of consuming energy from another person makes my stomach churn. I don’t even know how to go about it. There isn’t aHow to Be Faehandbook provided when someone transitions—not one that anyone’s offered to lend me.

Allison thinks I’ve managed this long without feeding thanks to the energy I stole from Jules when I took his life. At this point, I’m not questioning it. It’s allowing me to avoid the fear of hurting a human, but I can’t go on like this forever. Along with that, Allison mentioned that once my body is nourished by human energy, I’ll rely on it. As if that’s something that would encourage me to do it for the first time.

I almost smack into someone walking out of the Starbucks. I turn back to offer an apology, but instead, I get sucked into the memory of the afternoon Tristan guest lectured at Rockdale University, how he knew my coffee order when we stopped on our way back to the hotel. I remember it resonating with me—something so small, but memorable. It showed he cared even at that point in our relationship. The memory tugs at my heart as we keep walking. I keep my gaze forward in hopes that my eyes don’t catch anything else that reminds me of everything I’m missing.

Tristan hasn’t tried to contact me since I walked away from him. I can’t imagine how hard it’s been on him; I can only speak to how often I’ve had his number in my phone ready to hit dial. He’s keeping his distance, respecting my choice, even if he doesn’t agree with it. Hell, he doesn’t know what my choiceis. I didn’t tell him much before I left. How could I stand there after everything we’d been through and explain that I was unsure about my feelings toward him—that I was terrified they weren’t real?

It’s not fair of me to keep him in the dark, but I need to do what allows me to keep going. I need to figure out whatmyfuture looks like as the new light fae leader before I add another variable to it.

That being said, I fucking miss him.

Allison grabs my wrist, and I turn to look at her. Instead of meeting her eyes, however, mine land on a skyscraper in the distance behind her. All of a sudden, breathing is more than an automatic function.

Tristan is blocks and stories away, but I canfeelhis presence. That never left, not even in the weeks I’ve steered clear of him.

Horns honk while drivers and pedestrians shout their grief about the congested traffic as if they’re not used to it, even though it happens every day. I’m struck not so much by the constant city sounds but by the overwhelming sense of annoyance. It makes my skin itch. The urge to sigh lingers on the surface, but I push it down. I’m so wound up in emotions that aren’t mine, I don’t realize we’ve stopped walking.

“Aurora,” Allison says, centering me again.

I turn around and stare at the revolving door into the lobby of the law office.

When the lawyer called me yesterday to request this meeting, he didn’t say much. Only that he was working on the Taylor estate, and my name was in Grant’s file.

Allison slides her hand into mine and squeezes it. “Come on. Let’s see what mess Jules left.”

I take a deep breath before walking up the concrete steps and into the modern lobby. The entire room is made up of floor-to-ceiling windows, allowing light to stream in, making the expensive-looking light fixtures that hang from the ceiling unnecessary during the day.

I stop at the dark gray marble reception desk. “I’m looking for Mr. Barnes’s office.”

A middle-aged redheaded woman smiles. “He’s in suite number three on the tenth floor.”

I thank her, and we make our way to the wall of elevators off the lobby. The ride to the tenth floor is short, and we step off into another, much smaller but just as fancy reception area. There are no windows in this room, just comfy chairs and a white rock feature wall with a plaque of the firm’s logo attached to it. The soft sound of phones ringing fills the space past the reception area. The place is buzzing with action—so much so, it’s difficult to pick apart the emotions radiating from everyone.

With a smile, the man behind the desk verifies my ID, then disappears down a hallway, and comes back a few minutes later.

“Please, follow me.” He leads us down the hall, past a space filled with cubicles. At a set of double doors, he holds one open while the two of us step inside.

I peek around the spacious corner office. This guy must be one of the higher paid lawyers. Of course Jules was using him.

The door closes behind us, and Allison stands off to the side a bit, almost as if she’s my security detail.

An older-looking man rises from behind a massive oak desk scattered with piles of file folders and papers. For a second, the urge to organize it overtakes me until he speaks, pulling my attention away from the mess.

“Miss Marshall.” Mr. Barnes greets me in a polite tone as he comes around the desk. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course,” I say, shaking his hand. “Though I’m not sure how much help I’ll be.”

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