Tangled in Moonlight: Unshifted (Ava and Lucas)

Chapter 50 Ava: The Grey Girl

"Good morning," Clayton says with a smile, and I step back to let him into the apartment. He pauses for just a moment when he sees Selene, and I wait for the questions—but he doesn't ask any.

He's polite like that.

Honestly, outside of my paranoia and not wanting to rely on him, he seems like a pretty great guy.

Clayton strides into the kitchen like he owns it—which, I mean, he does—while I stand around feeling awkward and out of place in this fancy apartment. He seems so at home here, like he belongs.

"Everything okay with the phone?" he calls out from the kitchen. "You didn't text me this morning."

"Oh, uh, no issues," I reply, glancing down at the sleek new device on the end table. "I just woke up a little while ago and haven't set it up yet."

There's a brief pause, and then the sound of a pot clattering onto the stove. "Have you eaten?"

I shake my head, even though he can't see me. "No, not yet."

"Well, go relax then. I'll whip up some breakfast."

Before I can protest, he emerges from the kitchen, those intense green eyes fixing me with a look that brooks no argument. Grasping my shoulders, he turns me towards the plush couch and gives me a gentle nudge in that direction.

"Go on, I've got this."

I open my mouth to argue, but one glance at his resolute expression has me snapping it shut again. Instead, I just nod and make my way over to the couch, sinking into the soft cushions with a sigh.

Selene, ever my loyal companion, leans against me as she focuses on her show, resting her head on my lap. I absently run my fingers through her soft fur, trying to ignore the sounds of Clayton puttering around in the kitchen.

doing all the work, all the cooking and cleaning. Having

a part of me that's relieved to have someone else shoulder that burden for a change. To be taken care of,

who thinks he's my

to get too comfortable here, too used

of bacon on a hot pan has my ears perking up—Selene's, too—and the smell reaches my

care

sin to get a little comfortable, right? Since I can't leave,

* * *

with Clayton is

to touch me. No more kisses on the forehead. He's just there,

of watching his every move. Of course, she doesn't have anything against Clayton in the first place. She doesn't like the idea of being trapped here, but she has nothing against

remarks she throws in about Lucas every time he comes

of coffee, adding

without a lot of flavor to mask

as his phone rings. I try to settle into my role as a couch potato, but my ears can't

sip at it, letting the sugary taste linger on my tongue as I try to ignore the snippets of Clayton's conversation filtering

Blackwood

clutch my

sent his demands,

sinks as the implications of

Westwood? Is a

be at the center of it

to catch it before the scalding liquid spills all over my lap. My breath catches