Tangled in Moonlight: Unshifted (Ava and Lucas)

Chapter 13 Ava: Illness

Chapters 11-17 have been rewritten to improve story flow and pacing. [June 27, 2024]

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Son of a bitch.

Today of all days, someone has to come to my door?

Somehow I force my exhausted body off the couch. My bones protest as I stumble to the door, leaning heavily against the frame. Who the hell needs me right now? I don't even know anyone in this town.

I'll feel bad if it's Mrs. Elkins, but anyone else needs to prepare themselves for the rage of a sick person.

I yank it open, ready to snap at whoever dared to disturb my misery. But there's no one there. My landing is empty. The stairway is empty. There's nothing, except the occasional person passing by on the street.

Great. Now I'm imagining things.

I step out, glancing both ways. Nothing. A shiver runs through me, and it has nothing to do with my fever. Something feels off, but I can't put my finger on it.

Dark clouds loom overhead, heavy and ominous. That's odd. I could have sworn the forecast said clear skies all week. A storm would be just my luck. At least I don't have to go anywhere; my shopping's already done.

Sighing, I retreat back inside, locking the door behind me. The click of the deadbolt does little to ease the uneasiness swirling in my gut. Collapsing onto the couch, I pull the blanket around my shoulders, trying to stave off the cold.

It doesn't help.

The frigid chill of my body comes from deep within, even as sweat beads on my forehead and upper lip.

I should take that Tylenol. I should eat more soup. I should do a lot of things, but all I can manage is to lay on the couch, staring blankly at the wall. Even the thought of reaching for the TV remote is too much.

Minutes tick by, or maybe it's hours. Time is only a suggestion, my fever-addled brain struggling to keep up. The shadows in the room grow longer as the storm clouds block out the sun. I should turn on a light, but even the thought of moving feels like too much effort.

then someone knocks on my door

I

to fake

find myself slipping, falling into a familiar landscape that

the

that presses against my skin. It's strange, this sensation of being too hot when I know

my balms. The damp earth squishes beneath

the thin white fabric of my nightgown—something I've never owned in my

Twigs and leaves prick at my

and

step forward.

trees bending and swaying in a non-existent

like dark

sound of water. It's faint at first, a distant murmur that can be mistaken for the rustle

rocks. The soft splash of tiny rapids. It's soothing, almost hypnotic, and draws me deeper

of their own accord, following nature's music. The ground slopes beneath me,

are thicker here, blocking out

in the gloom, I can see a

Water.

small stream, no more than a few feet wide. Crystalline waters run happily over a bed of white stones, reflecting the muted

step closer, drawn to

hear. I can feel them,

sinking into mud as I reach into

tremble, hovering above the

flicker of unease, a whisper of warning. There's something about this place, about

It's too perfect.

Too alluring.

Like a trap.

and