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Cole patted Travis’s shoulder reassuringly as he walked to the center of the room. “You got this, man,” he said.
“Yeah,” Travis said. “I’ve got this.”
Travis settled into the large reclining chair. The air hung heavy with anticipation as the doctor prepared the concentrated dose of gene therapy—the same injection Travis had gotten before with a slightly altered dose. If this worked, Travis would shift immediately. If it didn’t…well, we may not have any recourse for saving the people whose ability to shift had been compromised.
Travis glanced at Cole and me, his eyes reflecting both determination and a hint of fear before he swallowed tightly and looked up at the ceiling, his jaw working as his teeth clenched. We had been through this before, but the memory of the pain lingered. I couldn’t imagine what it must be like to know that you’re going to go through a terribly uncomfortable process again, especially after having just been through it.
The doctor readied the injection with the precision of a seasoned professional. The syringe gleamed in the dim light, and the liquid inside held the promise of transformation. He pressed the plunger on the syringe, squirting just a smidge of the serum out of it, ridding the vessel of any air inside.
I stood at Cole's side, his arm warm and heavy across my shoulders. I couldn’t tell if he was seeking comfort or if he was trying to comfort me.
Maybe it was both.
"Ready, Travis?" the doctor asked, his voice steady and warm. Confident.
Travis nodded, his jaw clenched. “You bet, doc,” he said. “Gimme the juice.”
The doctor neared, sliding the needle into Travis’s arm with little ceremony. I was once again surprised by the almost anticlimactic nature of the procedure. One little shot was all it took, like Travis was getting inoculated for the flu or something.
Travis closed his eyes, breathing slowly. In and out. In and out. He looked like he was waiting for something. Like he was standing on a cliffside, waiting for the tsunami to hit.
Then it happened.
The room slowly filled with the harsh sound of labored breathing. At first, there were just a few gusts through clenched teeth. Then came hard, heavy gusts paired with pained moans. Travis’s body contorted, muscles and bones shifting beneath his skin. The last time it happened, we were out in the open, and the cheers of the crowd had helped drown out the sickly sounds of his bones cracking and his sinews snapping. This time, we were in a room as silent as a graveyard, waiting with bated breath to see if this would work. Waiting to see if there was hope.
Travis’s muscles expanded, splitting open his skin before his body rapidly healed the same area. The doctor backed away toward the edge of the room as Travis rolled off the recliner, kneeling over on all fours and retching, his body rejecting the food in his stomach.
The shifters in the room cringed away from the smells and sounds of the first shift. It was a gruesome, visceral process, the very essence of Travis’s being rebelling against the change. Punishing him for indecision that was not his fault.
Blood poured from wounds that appeared and disappeared, marking the path of the transformation. I couldn't look away, my heart aching for the pain Travis was enduring for the sake of reclaiming his shifter form.
Cole squeezed my arm, then released it, moving to go to Travis’s side. The doctor held a hand up to stop him.
“It’s nearly done!” the doctor shouted. “Don’t interfere, or you may make it worse.”
“Fuck,” Cole hissed, raking his hands through his hair. “Doc, it’s worse than last time.”
“We have it under control,” the doctor said steadily. “We’re prepared for every contingency. Let it run its course.”
Finally, the agonizing process concluded. We watched as a glistening golden wolf rose from the still-bloody linoleum floors. He looked over at Cole and me, his eyes now a familiar shade of amber. He looked at us with a mixture of relief and exhaustion. The transformation had taken its toll, yet the triumph of regaining his lycan form shimmered in Travis’s gaze.
He was just as beautiful as I remembered the first time.
But as quickly as the victory manifested, his golden eyes became glassy and distant. Fatigue seized him, and with a suddenness that alarmed us all, he shifted back into his human form.
“See?” Travis slurred, wobbling a bit on his feet. “Not so bad.”
The room, which moments ago had echoed with the sounds of transformation, fell into a tense silence as we all watched Travis stumble a couple of times before collapsing into a heap on the floor.
“Travis?!” I shouted.
“Fuck,” Cole growled, hurrying forward at the same time as the nurses.
“Mr. Lucas, please stay back,” one nurse barked as she and the other nurses pulled out some cool compresses and checked Travis’s pupils for constriction. “He’s fine,” she continued. “He just needs some rest and space. If he wakes up to too much going on around him, he could shift out of fear.”
Cole awkwardly backed away, nodding but staying just close enough to hurry over if he needed to.
The doctor checked Travis’s vitals with practiced calm. “It's common for shifters to experience fatigue after a transformation, especially one as intense as this. He'll wake up in a bit, but give him some time to recover. All is well—his vitals are stable. He’s just tired.”
