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.

time to waste." She tugs at my arm by the elbow, her strength surprising

Ah. Clothes I don't recognize—a simple white night dress that is several sizes too big, soft and deceptively

muttering under her breath. I want to ask questions—so many questions—but they stick in my throat. There's something about her demeanor, gruff and no-nonsense, that makes me feel like a scolded

in fear that it almost feels comforting

this tiny person isn't dragging me around to

reach a door, and she pushes it open, revealing a

protest, she shoves me inside and slams the door

there, alone in the sudden quiet, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My face is pale,

And speaking of bones…

my fingers grow

God.

look like a skeleton with some

Horrible.

the hell is happening?"

girl in the mirror has no answers. She looks as lost

wants to march

away the grime I can

a map of bruises and scrapes. Some

Marisol didn't beat me.

a kidnapping victim, it wasn't technically all that bad,

floor in various painful ways. And when it wasn't escape attempts, it

I'm surprised my wrists and ankles

hisses as I turn it on, steam quickly filling the small space. I step under the spray, whimpering as the hot water hits my battered skin. But the pain fades, replaced by a blessed warmth that seems to

sense of

the first thing I grab, rubbing it all over me until it turns in a dingy gray, scrubbing at my skin as

is a tangled mess. I'm not even sure it's possible to brush it out. Still, I take my time washing it with shampoo and conditioner, leaving in a layer of conditioner in hopes it will

clouds the mirror, and I wipe it away with my hand. The face that stares back at me is familiar, but strange. There's a hardness