Tangled in Moonlight: Unshifted (Ava and Lucas)

Chapter 242 Lisa: Waking in Comfort

LISA

Waking up in a bed is too comfortable.

My brain wants to wake, but my body wants to keep sleeping.

If this comfort is little more than an elaborate trap before I'm murdered, just take me away. At least I'll be going in bliss.

A sharp poke in my side jolts me from my half-asleep musings. I crack open an eye, squinting against the sudden brightness. A face swims into view, so close I can count every wrinkle etched into leathery skin.

"Up! Up, you lazy girl!"

The voice is shrill, grating against my eardrums. I blink, trying to focus on the owner of that voice. It's a woman, impossibly small, with a nose so red it could guide Santa's sleigh.

I open my mouth to speak, but my tongue feels like sandpaper. Before I can form words, a stinging slap lands on my calf. The pain is sharp, unexpected, and I jerk away, nearly tumbling off the bed.

"Ow! What the—"

"No time for your nonsense," the tiny woman interrupts, waving a hand in front of my face. Her fingers are gnarled, reminding me of tree roots. "You stink. Shower. Now."

I sit up, head spinning. The room tilts and sways around me. Where am I? How did I get here? The last thing I remember is... Darkness.

Cold. A strange man who brought me out of my personal hell.

The tiny woman's groan snaps me back to the present. "Look at this mess. Filthy! You've ruined the sheets."

I glance down at the bed. The once-white linens are stained with dirt and... is that blood? My stomach lurches at the sight of my wrists, raw and a little bloody.

on. No time to waste." She tugs at my arm by the elbow,

is cool against my bare feet. Bare feet? Ah. Clothes I don't recognize—a simple

questions—so many questions—but they stick in my throat. There's something

time in fear that it almost feels comforting to be

this tiny person isn't dragging

open, revealing a bathroom. "In. Shower. Make

shoves me inside and slams the door

sudden quiet, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My face is pale, eyes wide with confusion and fear. Dark circles underneath them

And speaking of bones…

grow to

God.

a skeleton with some skin hanging off

Horrible.

happening?" I

answers.

shower, eyeing it warily. Part of me wants to march over and slam open the door, demanding answers

larger part craves the promise of hot water, of washing away the grime I can feel coating my skin, and the memories of… however

hands, I peel off the shift dress. My body underneath is a map of bruises and scrapes. Some look fresh, angry red against my pale skin. Others are

Marisol didn't beat me.

fact, for being a kidnapping victim, it wasn't technically

escape my chains. That usually involved falling to the floor in various painful ways. And when it wasn't escape attempts, it was me trying

I'm surprised my wrists

space. I step under the spray, whimpering as the hot water hits my battered skin. But the pain fades,

water cascades over me with a sense of

my skin as if I could wash away the memories along with the dirt. By the time I'm done, my skin is pink and raw, but I feel more like

I take my time washing it with shampoo and conditioner, leaving

towel. Steam clouds the mirror, and I wipe it away with my hand. The face that stares back at me