Tangled

99 Ava: Life in Westwood (IV)

A plastic thud startles me awake. I crack open an eye to see Lisa’s alarm clock skitter across the floor, her arm still extended from the throw. O

“I can’t do this anymore,” she moans into her pillow. “Everything hurts. I think my eyelashes are sore.”

I laugh, but it turns into a groan as I slide out of bed, my muscles screaming in protest. Four days of Jericho’s training from hell, and my body still hasn’t adjusted. I’m not sure it ever will.

“Do you think the bodyguards would murder Jericho if we asked nicely?” Lisa’s voice is muffled, her face still buried in her pillow.

“Stop dreaming.” I limp to the bathroom, each step an agony. “And get ready. You know he’ll just make it worse if we’re late.”

Lisa’s groan follows me as I shut the door, a smile tugging at my lips despite the pain. As much as I hate the early mornings and the constant ache in my muscles, there’s a part of me that relishes the challenge. Each day I push myself further, each day I

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99 Ava: Life in Westwood (IV)

grow stronger.

Selene would be proud.

The thought sobers me as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Four days, and still no sign of her. I’m starting to wonder if she’ll ever come back. If I’ll ever be whole again.

I splash water on my face, the cold shock chasing away the melancholy thoughts. I can’t afford to dwell on what I’ve lost. Not when I have so much to gain.

By the time I emerge from the bathroom, Lisa is up and dressed, her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. She shoots me a baleful look as she tugs on her

sneakers.

“I hate you for being a morning person.”

“I’m not a morning person,” I protest, grabbing my water bottle. “I’m just better at pretending than you

are.”

Lisa snorts, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “Fake it till you make it, right?”

take a deep breath, steeling myself for

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Life in

she stretches out her legs. “But let’s do

groan in unison. We don’t have to check.

the door, eyeing Kellan with exasperation. “Don’t

impassive. “There’s nothing in

up her cheeks. Well, well. What do we have here? But

the dread pooling in my stomach. Jericho. Another day of

us, his

“You’re late.”

the antimist aring at

Ava Lile in Westwood

All you can eat, if we can

games? Fine. Run another mile. Both

takes off at a jog.

a trainer who seems to hate

complain, I know I need this. Need to be stronger, faster, better.

Selene. For myself. For whatever

my teeth and keep running, pushing through the pain. One foot in front of the other. One

manage five miles–slow as fucking snails, Jericho points out, like he does every damn day -my legs burn. Lactic acid (something I’ve learned about in recent days) scorches my muscles, a deep, throbbing ache that pulses with each labored breath. I’m convinced my limbs have liquefied, reduced

in Westwood (IV)

face flushed crimson from

cuts through the haze of exhaustion, his tone brooking no

argument.

Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ (ꜰind)ɴʘvel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and

my head, wincing as the movement sends a fresh wave of agony through my body. “Sorry, Jericho. My legs have officially died. I’m going

into a sneer. “Well, aren’t you two being

pushed our luck too

he growls, his eyes narrowing to icy slits. “Practice

choose.”

leaden weight in my chest. Neither option

alternative–incurring

Life in Westwood (IV)

He likes coming up with

my mouth dry as I force

she echoes, her

edge, sharp and unforgiving. “Good