Tangled in Moonlight: Unshifted (Ava and Lucas)

Chapter 206 Lisa: Hearing Voices

It's disgusting to admit that I look forward to Marisol's presence, even though her treatment has only gone downhill. At least she brings food.

The first day I was brought here, there were voices. Whispers. Noises through the walls.

Lately, it's nothing but silence.

Every so often, there's that dripping water sound that lasts for hours, which used to drive me mad but is now a break from the monotony of nothing.

The clinking of the manacles around my wrists and ankles echoes in the dank cell as I gnaw at the hunk of bread in my hands, its crust stale and unappetizing. But hunger gnaws at my stomach, and this is my only way to fill it.

Marisol is crouched mere feet away, her eyes wide and curious as she watches me eat. It's unnerving, the way she observes me like I'm some sort of exotic creature in a zoo. I try to ignore her, focusing instead on the meager meal in front of me.

The soup is a sickly shade of green, its scent reminiscent of rotting vegetables. I wrinkle my nose as I bring the bowl to my lips, but I'm surprised to find that it doesn't taste as bad as it looks. It's thin and watery, but there's a hint of something savory that makes it almost palatable.

As I sip, I watch Marisol out of the side of my eye. Sometimes she seems so naive, like a child who doesn't understand the world around her. But other times, there's a sharpness to her gaze that makes me think she's far more cunning than she lets on. It's like playing a game of Russian roulette every time she comes to my cell—I never know which version of her I'm going to get.

Marisol shifts, her bare feet scraping against the rough floor. She leans in closer, her breath hot against my skin as she whispers, "You eat like an animal."

I flinch at her words, my cheeks burning with shame. I want to snap back at her, to tell her that I'm not an animal, that I'm a person with thoughts and feelings and a life outside of this cell. But I bite my tongue.

Instead, I focus on the bread, tearing off another piece and shoving it into my mouth. The crust scratches at my throat as I swallow. I should have soaked it in the soup. Maybe I will.

Marisol watches me with a twisted sort of fascination, her head cocked to the side like a curious bird. "Do you dream of freedom?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

I dream of breaking free from these chains and running as far away from this place

dream of many things," I say instead, my voice

sends shivers down my spine. "I dream too," she says, her eyes glazing over as if lost in thought. "I dream of the day when the master will make me his queen, and I

revulsion. How can she possibly want that? How can she desire a life of servitude to a monster who

empty save for a few stray drops of green liquid. I set it aside, my stomach still grumbling with hunger. Marisol

and almost dreamy. "Just

voice trembling with fear and defiance. "I'll never belong to

been around since the first time, and I'm immensely grateful. Still, every day is just another day of anxiety twisting in my gut, wondering when he'll

look in her eyes. "We'll see," she says, rising to her feet with a grace that

back to silence, my belly full and

starting to

they have been

Have they given up?

think I'm

Is Ava dead?

after the vampire drank from me, the misery

is an impossible endeavor, but I try anyway, tucking a threadbare blanket Marisol had brought me around my shoulders. It wasn't out of kindness—she was tired of seeing me naked and didn't want to share clothes—but it's still

my eyes and attempt to drift off into a fitful sleep, an unfamiliar rustle catches my attention. My heart leaps into my throat as I freeze, straining my ears to listen. It's a soft sound, like something brushing against the stone walls. I hold my

rumpled piece of paper flutters into my cell, landing

Is this real?

have I finally succumbed to

out and grasp the paper, my fingers shaking as I unfold it. My heart pounds in my chest, hope and fear warring within me. Could

and look down at the paper, my