Tangled in Moonlight: Unshifted (Ava and Lucas)

Chapter 292 Ava: Renewed Connection

When I open my eyes this time, Lisa's napping on the couch. Grimoire, in book form, is on the ground before me.

Seeing him in that form, a question comes to my mind—something I'd forgotten to ask him in that strange mental-magical dimension. Why did he send me to Magister Orion and the Fae Ward, if he had little respect for wizards?

That thick cord within me, the new bond linking me with Grimoire, vibrates intensely, seeming almost irritated. Without thinking, I stroke the cover of the book, trying to calm down this dog-like spirit within.

Once my fingers contact the cover, I can hear his voice inside my head, sounding like a sulky child and not a hulking spirit with flames covering his skin. Odd how they didn't burn me, though.

I have respect for wizards, he snaps peevishly. They're just idiots sometimes.

Yeah. So respectful.

Respect comes in many forms.

I laugh. My mind has been so quiet without Selene; having Grimoire in it is a different feeling, but it helps soothe the loneliness.

Lisa jerks upright at the sound of my voice. "Ave?" Her groggy voice makes me smile.

"Hey. You look tired."

"Sorry. Just dozed off while thinking…" Her eyes drop to the book I'm touching. "Is that it?! Did you do it?"

Bouncing off the couch, she practically slides across the floor, up on her hands and knees over it. "It even looks old and magical. Holy shit, Ava. You did it!"

Tell her to stop breathing on me.

Ignoring Grimoire, I take a moment to reach out with my senses, trying to see if I can get even a glimmer of Selene anywhere.

Do you need my help?

Glancing at the book beneath my fingertips, I raise my brows. "Are you able to?"

"Able to what?" Lisa asks, reaching out to run a finger down the worn leather cover.

Tell her to stop touching me and I will.

"He doesn't want you to touch him."

She jerks her hand back, mortified. "Oh. I'm sorry."

If you pour magic into our bond, I can amplify.

Okay. I get the English, but it's like reading directions putting together a dresser. They make no sense without pictures.

Just do it.

Closing my eyes—

You can't see if your

my eyes open, I scowl at the

you concentrate with

helps when

you can't

talking to the book?"

in my head, as long as I'm

able to speak to you at longer

that's a great idea. I wonder how he and Selene will coexist in my head.

remarkably small, he agrees, in a tone that sounds distinctly

It is, he confirms.

my hand off the book, only for that new connection inside

you're going to insult me," I

remorse. It's odd how I can

door startles me from my thoughts. I

say, pushing myself up from the

door just enough to peek out, surprised to see Vanessa standing there. Her usually calm demeanor is gone, replaced by a harried

"Vanessa? What's wrong?"

eyes tight around the corners. "You need to come with

questions from forming on my lips.

my shoulder, "I'll

closing the door behind me. Vanessa's already moving, and I hurry to keep up with her brisk

clenches. Lucas. It has to be Lucas. What's wrong? He was

Grimoire vibrates with frustration. Right, I left him behind. I'm sorry, I think, hoping he can hear me even though I'm not touching the book.

receives the message, but the vibration settles somewhat. It's fascinating how different Grimoire's presence feels compared to Selene's. Selene, while having her own space in my head, is also an extension of myself. Grimoire feels distinctly separate, the bond between us similar to the fated bond in my chest, but

desk without challenge, a strange tension in the air. There's something odd in the way people look at me, and

men go? There were plenty of male

Stranger and stranger still.

ushering me inside before closing

Bizarre.

eyes are immediately drawn to the bed where

on his forehead. But it's his eyes

heart beats faster, wondering if he's

intonation is all wrong. It

But then why is he staring at me like

"Are you oka—"

against the closed door. The impact knocks the breath from my lungs,

what's wrong?" My heart pounds like a sledgehammer in my chest. This isn't like

eyes wild and feverish as they roam over my features. Sweat trickles down his forehead, and I can feel the heat radiating off his body. His hands on my wrists are scorching, like

his voice

We need to get you back to bed. You're sick." Wolves don't