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.

my arm by the

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

the room, muttering under her breath. I want to ask questions—so many questions—but they stick in

in fear that it almost feels comforting to be

going to need some serious therapy, if this tiny

she pushes it open, revealing a

she shoves me

mirror. My face is pale, eyes

And speaking of bones…

face is gaunt. I've watched my fingers grow to little more

God.

like a skeleton with some skin

Horrible.

the hell is happening?"

the mirror has no answers. She

wants to march over and slam open the door, demanding answers to all my

water, of washing away the grime I can feel coating my

body underneath is a map of bruises and scrapes. Some look fresh, angry red against my pale skin. Others are older, fading to sickly yellows

Marisol didn't beat me.

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

trying to 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 to do basic stretches and exercises to keep up my muscle

surprised my wrists

I step under the spray, whimpering as the hot water hits my

with a sense of peace and cleanliness I haven't

at my skin

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

away with my hand. The face that stares back at me is familiar, but strange. There's a hardness in my eyes that wasn't