Page 56 of Realms of Swords and Storms
I looked down at my hands and watched in horror as my fingers lengthened, nails darkening and extending into curved talons. The change was creeping up my arms, my skin taking on that bluish hue I'd seen earlier. But now I could feel it spreading faster, reaching my shoulders, my chest, climbing up my neck toward my face.
Gods, no. Not now. Not with her.
With a strength born of pure terror, I pushed her away, perhaps harder than I intended. She fell back, confusion and hurt flashing across her features.
"Tarshi? What's wrong?"
I scrambled backward on the bed, pressing myself against the headboard, drawing my knees up to hide what was happening to my body. Pain lanced through my injured leg, but it was nothing compared to the agony of transformation—bones shifting, muscles stretching, my very being rewriting itself into something other.
"Stay back," I managed, the words distorted by teeth that were growing too large for my mouth. I could feel them now, sharp points pressing against my lips, drawing blood when I tried to speak. "Don't—don't look at me."
She didn't listen. Of course she didn't. This was Livia, who had never run from danger in her life. Instead, she moved closer, concern replacing hurt in her expression.
"Tarshi, what's happening? Are you in pain?"
I turned my face away, unable to bear the thought of her seeing me like this.
“Get out!” I hissed at her.
“Tarshi-”
“Get out now!”
15
"Stay back," Tarshi gasped, his voice distorted and strange. Blood trickled from his lips where teeth—too sharp, too long—had pierced the skin. "Don't—don't look at me."
I froze for only a second before moving toward him. This was Tarshi—my Tarshi—and whatever was happening, I wasn't about to leave him to face it alone.
"Tarshi, what's happening? Are you in pain?" I asked, reaching for him.
He turned his face away sharply, his shoulders hunched as if trying to make himself smaller. "Get out!" he hissed at me.
"Tarshi—"
"Get out now!"
His words slammed into me, but I planted my feet more firmly. I'd faced down seasoned gladiators, imperial guards, and dragons. I wasn't about to be driven away by fear—not his, not mine.
"No," I said simply.
His head whipped around, and I finally saw what he'd been trying to hide. His face had changed—features sharpened, jaw slightly elongated, eyes glowing an eerie amber in the dim light. But the expression in those transformed eyes was pure Tarshi—pain, fear, and a desperate love that made my heart ache.
"I said get out!" he growled, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest.
I took another step forward. "And I said no."
He backed away, pressing himself against the wall, his transformed hands—clawed and bluish—held out as if to ward me off. "You don't understand," he said, his voice cracking. "I'm becoming a monster. A beast. It's been happening for weeks now, getting stronger each time. I can't control it."
That explained so much—the distance, the secrets, the way he'd been pulling away from me. Not because he no longer cared, but because he was terrified of hurting me.
"You're not a monster," I said firmly, taking another cautious step toward him.
He laughed, a bitter sound that held no humour. "Look at me, Livia! Look at what I'm becoming!"
"I am looking," I said quietly. "And I still see Tarshi."
Something flickered in those glowing eyes—hope, perhaps, quickly extinguished by another wave of pain that made him double over, a groan escaping his lips. When he straightened, the transformation had progressed even further. Blue-tinged skin now covered most of his visible body, the claws on his hands more pronounced, ridges appearing along his spine.
