Page 88 of Twisted Gift

When he tells Richelle to start preparing for the transition, my entire body goes rigid. I wrap my arms around him, hiding my face in his chest. “Are you sure about this?” I whisper.

He tilts my face up to meet his gaze. “One hundred percent. I want a human life with you, Aurora.”

His words make my heart skip a beat, but the fear still consumes me. “What if it doesn’t work, Tris?” Shaking my head, I say, “I can’t lose you.”

“I’m tired of being afraid of losingyou, Aurora. I can’t—and won’t—ask you to become fae again. I wouldn’t ask you to take that risk. I’d rather take the chance that this won’t work than suffer the heartache of living without you. Let me do this. Please.”

“But—”

“It’s a risk,” he agrees. “There’s a chance it won’t work, but my gut is telling me I need to try. For you, for me, and for us.”

Anything as important as love is worth the risk.

I take a deep breath and let it out. “Okay,” I finally say. “But dammit, Tristan, you’d better not die.”

He chuckles, leaning in to brush his lips across mine. “You won’t get rid of me that easily, sweetheart.”

“Okay, it’s ready to go.” Richelle’s voice makes my stomach drop and kicks my pulse into overdrive.

“Breathe, Rory,” Tristan murmurs, his lips brushing my ear. “Just breathe.”

I force myself to take slow breaths in and out until my heartbeat calms, but my nerves are still jumping like a kid on a trampoline.

Skylar walks over and stands in front of Tristan. “I don’t like this.”

“I’m aware,” he comments with a gentle voice.

Her eyes narrow. “Don’t die,” she says, lowering her voice. “I can’t lose you, too.”

I swallow my tears and step to the side.

Tristan pulls her in and wraps his arms around her, whispering something to her. He leans back and kisses her cheek before she nods.

“Okay,” he says, taking my hand as we walk toward the table Richelle has set up. “Let’s get this over with.”

Skylar and I sit on either side of him, holding each of his hands. The fae guards stand nearby but give us some space. Richelle stands at Tristan’s head, looking over the vials of purple and blue liquid she has on the tray beside her, as well as several syringes lined up next to them. Skylar and I strapped Tristan to the table by Richelle’s instruction. It won’t work if he’s able to thrash all over the place—and once the process starts, he probably will.

“This is going to work a bit differently from when you underwent the procedure,” Richelle says, looking at me. “With you, we injected each serum one at a time, but according to our research, for a fae-born, because their magic is so attached, the serums must be injected together at exactly the same time, or it won’t work.”

Tristan blows out a breath. “Just do it.” His tone is deep, harsh. As much as he wants this, he’s scared it won’t work, too.

I squeeze his hand, leaning down to kiss his shoulder as Richelle fills two of the syringes—one with the purple mixture and one with the blue.

“This is going to hurt worse than any pain you’ve ever felt,” she warns, lowering the needle to his neck.

Skylar growls, but she stops to look down at her hand when Tristan grips it tighter.

“Do it,” Tristan says.

I keep my eyes on his face as he stares at the ceiling. He doesn’t flinch when the needle pierces his skin, but his hand is shaking in mine. “Breathe,” I remind him, just as he’s done for me so many times.

He takes a deep breath in, but before he can release it, a scream tears its way up his throat and past his lips. His pain-filled screams fill the room. He tries to clamp his jaw shut to stop them, but he can’t.

Skylar’s face pales, and I clench my jaw, wincing at the grip Tristan has on my hand as his screams get louder.

Two hours. Tristan screams in pain for two hours. I pray he’ll black out, but it doesn’t happen. He’s too damn stubborn.

Once his screams finally turn into grunts and heavy breathing, he slips into unconsciousness.

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