Tangled in Moonlight: Unshifted - Chapter 242

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

My legs wobble beneath 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 on the inside.

The tiny woman herds me across the room, muttering under her breath. I want to ask questions—so many questions—but they stick in my throat. There’s something about her demeanor, gruff and no-nonsense, that makes me feel like a scolded child.

I spent so much time in fear that it almost feels comforting to be afraid of someone like this.

Guess I’m going to need some serious therapy, if this tiny person isn’t dragging me around to murder me.

We reach a door, and she pushes it open, revealing a bathroom. “In. Shower. Make it quick.”

Before I can protest, she shoves me inside and slams the door shut.

I stand there, alone in the sudden quiet, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My face is pale, eyes wide with confusion and fear. Dark circles underneath them speak of exhaustion I can feel in my bones.

And speaking of bones…

My face is gaunt. I’ve watched my fingers grow to little more than bony sticks, but my face.

God.

I look like a skeleton with some skin hanging off it.

Horrible.

“What the hell is happening?” I whisper to my reflection.

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

I turn to the shower, eyeing it warily. Part of me wants to march over and slam open the door, demanding answers to all my questions.

But a larger part craves the promise of hot water, of washing away the grime I can feel coating my skin, and the memories of… however long it’s been.

With shaking hands, I peel off the shift dress. My body underneath is a map of bruises and scrapes. Some look fresh, angry red against my pale skin. Others are older, fading to sickly yellows and greens.

Marisol didn’t beat me.

In fact, for being a kidnapping victim, it wasn’t technically all that bad, I guess.

But I did do a lot of thrashing around, trying to escape 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 stretches and exercises to keep up my muscle mass—hard to do with heavy chains weighing me down.

Honestly, I’m surprised my wrists and ankles aren’t broken.

The water hisses as 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 by a blessed warmth that seems to seep into my very bones.

The water cascades over me with a sense of peace and cleanliness I haven’t felt since… well, before.

A bar 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 wash away the memories along with the dirt. By the time I’m done, my skin is pink and raw, but I feel more like myself.

My hair is a tangled mess. I’m not even sure it’s possible 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 out the tangles.

Stepping out of the shower, I wrap 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, but strange. There’s a hardness in my eyes that wasn’t there before.

A sharp knock on the door makes me jump.

“Hurry up in there!”

The tiny woman’s voice cuts through my thoughts. I look around, realizing there are no clothes for me to change into. Do I put the dirty shift back on? Wrap myself in a towel and hope for the best?

“Um,” I call out, hating how small my voice sounds. “I don’t have any clothes.”

There’s a huff from the other side of the door, then the sound of retreating footsteps. A moment later, they return.

“Open up.”

I crack the door open, peeking out. The tiny woman thrusts a bundle of fabric at me.

“Get dressed. Quickly now.”

The door shuts again, and I’m left holding what turns out to be a simple dress and undergarments. They fit perfectly, which is both a relief and slightly unsettling.

Who are these people? How do they know my size?

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. It’s time for answers.

Opening the bathroom door, I step out, ready to face whatever waits for me. The tiny woman is there, tapping her foot impatiently.

“About time,” she grumbles. “Come on, then. They’re waiting.”

“Wait,” I say, finally finding my voice. “Who’s waiting? Where am I? What’s going on?”

She turns, fixing me with a look that could curdle milk. “Questions later. Move now.”

I want to argue, to plant my feet and refuse to budge until I get some answers. But the fire inside of me fades almost immediately, and I follow along, properly cowed by this woman’s barked orders.