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.

one doing all the work, all the cooking and cleaning. Having someone else step into that role makes

have someone else shoulder that burden for a change. To be taken care of,

who thinks he's my

those thoughts. I can't afford to get too comfortable here, too used to having Clayton around. This isn't permanent, no matter how much he might

up—Selene's, too—and the smell reaches my

take care of me for just a little

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

* * *

with Clayton is

doesn't try to touch me. No more kisses on the forehead. He's just there,

she's zoned into her show instead of watching his every move. Of course, she doesn't have anything against Clayton in the first place. She doesn't like

the snide remarks she throws in

creamer with a splash of coffee, adding another

like coffee without a lot of flavor to

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

the sugary taste linger on my tongue as I try to ignore the snippets of Clayton's conversation filtering through my ears. His deep, rumbling voice is hard to tune out, even with the mindless chatter of the television

with Blackwood is

and I clutch my mug a little tighter, the warmth seeping into my

his demands,

heart sinks as the implications of his words start to

Westwood? Is a war

seems to be at the center

almost slips from my fingers, and I barely manage to catch it before the scalding liquid spills all over my lap. My breath catches in my throat as I