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.

come on. No time to waste." She tugs at my arm by the elbow, her strength surprising for someone so

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.

questions—so many questions—but they stick in my

spent so much time in fear that it almost

this tiny person isn't dragging me around to

she pushes it open, revealing a

she shoves me inside and

my reflection in the mirror. My face is pale, eyes wide with confusion and fear. Dark circles underneath them speak of

And speaking of bones…

watched my fingers grow to little more than bony sticks,

God.

like a skeleton with some skin hanging

Horrible.

happening?" I whisper to my

in the mirror has no answers. She looks

it warily. Part of me wants to march over and slam open the door, demanding answers

washing away the grime I can feel

underneath is a map of bruises and scrapes. Some

Marisol didn't beat me.

kidnapping victim, it wasn't technically all

when it wasn't escape attempts, it was me trying to do basic

surprised my wrists and

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

soap on the ledge 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

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 my hand. The face that stares back at me is familiar, but strange. There's a hardness in my eyes