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

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 too big, soft and deceptively clean. I'm sure it's a mess

questions—but they stick in

in fear that it almost

if this tiny person isn't

open,

I can protest, she shoves me inside and slams

the mirror. My face is pale,

And speaking of bones…

my fingers grow to little more than bony sticks, but

God.

with

Horrible.

happening?" I whisper to

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

warily. Part of me wants to march over and

washing away the grime I can feel coating my skin, and the

and scrapes. Some look fresh, angry red against my pale skin. Others are older,

Marisol didn't beat me.

being a kidnapping victim, it wasn't

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

surprised my wrists and ankles

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

water cascades over me with a sense of peace

scrubbing at my skin as if I could wash away the memories along with the dirt. By the time

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 help with brushing

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