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.

at my arm by the elbow,

don't recognize—a simple white night dress that is several sizes too big, soft and deceptively

questions—but they stick in my throat. There's something about her demeanor, gruff and no-nonsense, that makes me feel

that it almost feels comforting to be

therapy, if this

door, and she pushes it open, revealing a bathroom.

protest, she shoves me

alone in the sudden quiet, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My face is pale, eyes

And speaking of bones…

watched my fingers grow to

God.

look like a skeleton with some skin

Horrible.

hell is happening?" I whisper to

no answers. She

me wants to march

the grime I can feel coating my skin, and

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

Marisol didn't beat me.

victim, it wasn't technically

to escape my chains. That usually involved falling to the floor in various painful ways. And when it

I'm surprised my wrists and ankles

step under the spray, whimpering as the hot water hits my battered skin. But the pain fades, replaced

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

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

I'm not even sure it's possible to brush it out. Still, I take my time washing it

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,