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.

someone knocks on

I ignore

too miserable to fake civility,

haze, I find myself slipping, falling into a

the

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

The rough bark of the trees scrape at my balms. The

at myself, I can even feel and manipulate the thin white fabric of my nightgown—something I've never owned in my life.

Twigs and leaves prick at my feet, but I barely

body and senses aren't

step forward. Then

around me, trees bending

between the trees, like dark ghosts

of water. It's faint at first, a

babble of water over rocks. The soft splash of tiny rapids. It's soothing, almost hypnotic, and draws

accord, following nature's music. The

blocking out the sky with

in the gloom, I

Water.

stream, no more than a few feet wide. Crystalline waters run happily over a bed

step closer,

can't quite hear. I can feel them, brushing against my skin, tickling my

it, I'm on my knees, sinking into mud as I reach into

tremble, hovering above the surface, but something holds me

warning. There's something about this place,

It's too perfect.

Too alluring.

Like a trap.

it against my chest. The stream darkens, its waters murky and uninviting. The forest around me