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.

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

simple white night dress that is several sizes too big, soft and deceptively

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

some serious therapy, if this tiny person isn't dragging

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

me inside and

face is pale, eyes wide with confusion and

And speaking of bones…

fingers grow to little more than bony

God.

skeleton with some skin

Horrible.

hell is happening?" I whisper to

has no answers. She looks as lost as

Part of me wants to march over and slam open the

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

peel off the shift dress. My body underneath is a map of bruises and scrapes. Some look fresh,

Marisol didn't beat me.

kidnapping victim, it

painful 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 do with heavy chains weighing

wrists and

hot water hits my battered skin. But the pain fades, replaced by a blessed warmth that seems to

cascades over me with a sense of peace and cleanliness I haven't

is the first thing I grab, rubbing it all over me until 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 is pink

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

the 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, but strange. There's a hardness in my eyes