Filed to story: Tangled in Moonlight Unshifted Novel by Lenaleia
I curl inward, huddling in the farthest corner as the echoing footsteps grow louder. My mind races, desperately grasping for anything I can use as a weapon, a means of defense this time. I will not be a helpless victim again.
The stale air shifts, carrying a new scent that makes my nose wrinkle. An acrid tang underlies the ever-present must, sharp and chemical.
I watch in trepidation as the stone wall groans and slides open, scraping against the floor.
It’s not the vampire.
Thank God.
She’s tiny, barely cresting five feet, her delicate features at odds with the dreary confines of this place. Short, feathery brown hair frames a face that would be pretty were it not for the sickly, translucent pallor of her skin. Her eyes are an unnatural green that glows in the dim light.
My gaze drifts lower, and I can’t stifle the blush that creeps up my neck. She’s clad in little more than scraps of lace that cling to her slender frame, leaving very little to the imagination. Metal cuffs cup her wrists and ankles, but there’s no chain holding her down.
Angry red marks mar the exposed skin of her shoulders and thighs, full teeth marks. Bites, but not the vampire kind. Others are vivid punctures.
Just like the wound on my thigh.
She moves with a strange, jerky grace, her bare feet making no sound as she crosses the floor. A tray laden with food is clutched in her trembling hands, which she sets down before me with exaggerated care.
A bowl of soup. A plate of broccoli. Strawberries. A steak that’s already cut into bite-sized pieces. Rare, of course. All things I can eat with my fingers. A cup of water. Nothing fancy there.
Once her task is done, she scurries away, pressing herself into the farthest corner from me. Her haunting green eyes are wide, watching my every move with an intensity that raises the fine hairs on my arms.
“Hi?” My voice is little more than a raspy whisper, my throat sore and ravaged from screaming.
She flinches at the sound, but she doesn’t reply.
I lick my cracked lips, trying again. “Who are you? Why are you here?”
For a long moment, she remains silent and unmoving, watching me with those eerie eyes. Just when I think she won’t answer, her melodic voice drifts through the dank air. “Marisol.”
“Marisol,” I repeat slowly, studying her slight form. “Are you being held here against your will, like me?”
Her reaction is instantaneous and violent. Marisol recoils as if I’ve struck her, her eyes flying wide with a look of abject horror. “No!” The word bursts from her, sharp and indignant. “No, I would never… How could you think such a thing?”
I blink, taken aback by her vehemence. “I just thought, since you’re chained up like me, that maybe—“
“I am not chained!” she cries, her voice rising in pitch. Trembling hands clutch at her wrists, caressing the iron cuffs. “The Master gave me these beautiful things to wear. He takes such good care of me.”
A sick feeling curls in the pit of my stomach as her words sink in. The way she speaks of this “Master,” the almost worshipful tone, is deeply unsettling.
It smells like him, Selene grumbles, her wet nose twitching as she sniffs around the plush rug in the center of Lucas’ bedroom. Everywhere.
I glance up from where I’m unpacking my suitcase, one eyebrow arched. “Well, it’s his room. What did you expect?”
She huffs, her tail swishing in annoyance. I expected not to be assaulted by the scent of alpha male posturing every time I breathe. Her mental words are sour, but without the bite they used to have when she spoke of Lucas.
A laugh escapes me despite the heaviness still lingering in my chest from the earlier confrontation with Margot. “Posturing? Really? It’s just his scent.”
Yes, really. She flops down on the rug, her chin resting on her paws. It’s like he’s marking his territory. Letting everyone know this is his space.
“Is it really posturing when he just sleeps in here?”
Yes.
I roll my eyes, turning back to my suitcase. She’s reaching for reasons to complain, but knowing that her grumbling doesn’t have the fierce hatred of before helps a lot. “He’s the alpha. Isn’t that kind of his job?”
There’s a difference between being an alpha and being obnoxious about it.
Her complaints continue as I move about the room, hanging up clothes and arranging my toiletries in the en-suite bathroom.
It’s a beautiful space, all dark wood and rich fabrics, with a massive king-sized bed dominating the center. It’s all masculine without a single feminine touch, which somehow pleases me.
The thought of sleeping here, surrounded by Lucas’ scent, makes me smile—even if my wolf hates it.
But Selene’s complaints nag at me, pulling me out of my reverie. I pause, a shirt dangling from my fingers, and turn to face her.
“Okay, what’s your deal with Lucas? I thought you were over your issues with him now that we’re together.”
She sighs, a heavy sound that seems to deflate her entire body. It’s not that simple, Ava.
“Then explain it to me.” I drop the shirt on the bed and move to sit beside her, my fingers sinking into her thick fur. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re just being stubborn.”
I’m not being stubborn. She’s still grouchy, but there’s less heat in her voice now. I’m being cautious.
“Cautious of what? Lucas has proven himself time and time again. He’s been there for me, for us, through everything.”
He’s a good man, Selene admits. Grudgingly.
My lips twitch. My wolf came to me with all the wise demeanor and cryptic words of some sage, but at times like this, she’s just a sassy friend in my head.
“But…?”
Her tail thumps against the ground. Once. Twice.
Another day, Ava. I’ll explain it another day.
Her mental voice is so defeated that I don’t argue, just pet her head and ears. “Promise that it’s not the same kind of ‘another day’ where you don’t say anything until I’m kidnapped, rescued, and then go into a coma for three weeks?”
It wouldn’t have been that long if you hadn’t gotten yourself kidnapped again in the first place, Selene grumbles, though it’s obvious she doesn’t mean what she says.
“If you had rescued me quicker, it wouldn’t have been that long either.” Teasing her a little to get her out of her little funk, I add, “Besides, I didn’t get kidnapped by the vampire this time.” My heart sinks as I think that over, my heart sinking. Maybe if I had been, Lisa wouldn’t be alone and we could be on our way home. Together.
A lot of confidence for someone who hasn’t finished training with Jericho.
“Hush.”
Moving to the window, I glance over at the pack lands spread out before me. The small city feels stagnant, a far cry from the bustling modernity of Westwood.
It’s like stepping back in time by a few decades.
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Women scurry through the streets, their heads down and shoulders hunched. They move with a sense of urgency, as if they’re afraid to linger too long in any one place. It’s a stark contrast to the men who strut about, with no worries or cares.
It’s a sickening display of the gender dynamics that have always been present in the Blackwood pack, but which I’ve never truly seen for what they are.
I’ve heard about gender dynamics. I’d even seen the difference when I attended school in White Peak, or worked there. But I always felt, deep down, that the difference was because wolf shifters are different.
Now?
After experiencing the relative equality and freedom of Aspen and Westwood?
It’s glaringly obvious, disturbing me to my core. This is not because we’re shifters; it’s because of our alpha.
You okay? Selene’s voice echoes in my mind, her concern palpable.
I don’t answer right away, my eyes still fixed on the scene below. A female I recognize hurries across the street, her arms laden with bags. She has a few young pups, if I remember her right.
Her mate steps into her path, forcing her to stop short. He says something, his posture aggressive, and the female shrinks back. Even from this distance, I can see the fear in her body language.
It isn’t until an unfamiliar male strides over, breaking up their confrontation, that I realize my shoulders are tense and drawn up, my fingers gripping the windowsill with all my strength.
The male—a Westwood wolf, I’m pretty sure—saved her for the moment. But when she gets home, her mate will deal with her then.
I’m not sure what their conflict is, but I can suspect. She’s probably defected without him.
I see why the Blackwood situation has taken so much of Lucas’ time. It’s impossible to walk away from here; there’s always something brewing. Even something as simple as domestic relations in a single home.
“No,” I say finally, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not okay.”
Talk to me.