“Me either.” I rub at my stomach, the sensation starting to ebb away. Maybe it was gas or bad shrimp. Perhaps I imagined it.
But no, it hits me again, this time even harder, and I let out an awful groan of pain as my palms spread over my stomach because it feels like my guts are getting ready to spill out. I hunch over, hoping for some relief, but the vibe gets stronger this time rather than easing, and I feel like I’m going to puke.
Vaguely penetrating my misery, I hear Blain’s voice. He sounds a bit panicked. “Honey… are you all right?”
My head snaps up, although I can’t quite physically straighten yet. Fallon is bent over the same way I am, utter misery etched on her face.
At that moment, I know something bad is happening to us, possibly through our twin connection, and I need to get to her. Just as I move one step forward—not missing the fact Carrick moves with me—Fallon manages to straighten.
And when she does… when I see her face… I let out a gasp of surprise, grief, and utter dread.
Fallon’s face disappears, goes transparent, and in its place is the visage of someone I don’t recognize at all. There’s no aura surrounding her, but the dark feelings coursing through me seem to grow even stronger.
The air in the room turns static, my ears start to buzz, and the hair on my arms rises. Gone is Fallon’s gorgeous face and in its place is something terrifyingly beautiful and inherently evil.
Her facial features are completely changed, but still arranged in what would be considered beautiful planes and angles. Her cheekbones are more rounded, sitting higher while her nose is a bit longer with slightly flared nostrils. Tilted eyes that could be blue or silver, but are almost colorless and full lips complete the exotic array. Her skin is alabaster, and her dark brown hair is now almost platinum. It’s not quite curly, but rather wavy with some frizz, and it’s swept back into an angled beehive. I’m shocked she has on garish eye makeup—blue shadow, heavily lined brows in a near-black color, and long lashes. The rest of her face is without color, her lips as pale as her skin. She’s taller than her normal self, lithe but toned. Her fingers are tipped in dagger-like nails.
Fallon groans, slumping into Blain. Her face flickers, filling in and becoming Fallon again, only to quickly fade into fae, then turn back to Fallon again. This happens several times, and to my dismay, it remains on her fae visage. Fallon doesn’t come back.
“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Carrick asks in a guttural voice.
“Yes,” I manage to whisper, my throat all but closed off from fear and confusion. I stare at my sister—now fae—because I can’t not look. I have to make sure I’m not dreaming or going crazy.
“Fucking hell,” he murmurs in that calm, cultured tone that he could absolutely use as a weapon of seduction if he thought to do so.
My disbelieving eyes widen, threatening to spill sorrowful tears I rarely show anyone. But why shouldn’t I? Fallon turning fae is the equivalent of my twin dying.
Fallon leans into Blain, saying something. He then addresses the crowd. “I’m so sorry, friends. Fallon is not feeling well. I’m going to take her to lie down for a bit. Please don’t leave. Continue to eat and drink, and I’ll be back soon.”
I let my abilities go unfocused for a moment to get another look at my sister. She has her glamour in place to all other humans, and she looks pained and sick. When I focus back on her fae face, her eyes burn with hatred toward Blain as he leads her away.
My legs turn to jelly, my knees start to buckle, and my head spins. I can feel myself going down, but then Carrick has a strong arm around my waist. He harshly whispers to me, “Come on… we have to go.”
He lifts me to a fully standing position, and I don’t think to deny him. I can’t think at all. I’m not sure how I’m staying on my feet, but Carrick is moving us through guests who have dispersed, doing as Blain asked and continuing to mingle, eat, and drink. I have no clue how I’m even walking because my legs feel completely numb, but, somehow, he’s making me do it. I suspect if I couldn’t, he’d throw me over his shoulder.
“What’s going on?” I manage to rasp, my voice feeling shredded already with the scream I’m holding back.
He doesn’t answer. Somehow, I manage to dig my heels in to stop our progress. Carrick turns halfway, arm still around my waist, which brings him in close to me. “We have to go, Finley.”
“What in the hell is going on?” I repeat, my voice now hysterical.