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.

She tugs at my arm by the elbow, her strength surprising

wobble beneath me, and the floor is cool against my bare feet. Bare feet? Ah. Clothes I don't recognize—a simple white night dress that is several sizes

room, 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,

almost feels comforting to be afraid

some serious therapy, if this tiny

a door, and she pushes it open, revealing a bathroom. "In. Shower. Make

shoves me inside and slams the door

face is pale, eyes wide with confusion and fear. Dark circles

And speaking of bones…

my fingers grow to little more than bony sticks,

God.

like a skeleton with some

Horrible.

is happening?" I whisper to

the mirror has no answers. She looks as lost as I

shower, eyeing it warily. Part of me wants to march

away the grime I can feel coating my skin, and

a map of bruises and scrapes. Some look fresh, angry red against

Marisol didn't beat me.

for being a kidnapping victim, it wasn't

ways. And when it wasn't escape attempts, it was me trying to do basic stretches and exercises to keep up my muscle mass—hard to

my wrists and

the spray, whimpering as the hot water

over me with a sense of peace and cleanliness I haven't felt since…

it turns in a dingy gray, scrubbing at my skin as if I could wash away the memories along with the dirt. By the time I'm done, my skin

possible to brush it out. Still, I take my time washing it

shower, I wrap myself in a fluffy towel. Steam clouds the mirror, and I wipe it away with my hand. The face that stares back at me is familiar,