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

time, I ignore

to fake civility,

myself slipping, falling into a familiar

the

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

scrape at my balms. The damp earth squishes beneath my toes.

my nightgown—something I've never owned in my life. It

barefoot. Twigs and leaves prick at my feet, but

body and senses

forward. Then

bending and swaying in

trees, like dark ghosts in

to realize what it is—the sound of water. It's faint at first, a distant murmur that can be mistaken for the rustle of leaves. But as

splash of tiny rapids. It's soothing, almost

accord, following nature's music. The

trees are thicker here, blocking out the sky with broad

I can see a

Water.

Crystalline waters run happily over a bed of white stones, reflecting the muted light filtering through the

step closer, drawn to

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

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

tremble, hovering above the

something

It's too perfect.

Too alluring.

Like a trap.

stream darkens, its waters murky and uninviting. The forest around me grows cold, green leaves now brown, falling to rot against the