Filed to story: Tangled in Moonlight Unshifted Novel by Lenaleia
Without warning, my guide shoves me into a chair. I stumble, barely catching myself as I fall into the seat. The woman bows to the old man and vanishes, leaving me alone with him.
Silence stretches between us as I watch him sip his tea. The greenhouse’s humid air clings to my skin, making me acutely aware of every bead of sweat forming on my body. I shift in my seat, wishing it was easier to breathe in this weather. Actually, I’m just wishing to be anywhere else in the world.
Well, maybe not anywhere. Would rather not be in my cell.
But even as I think that, there’s something about this old man that puts me at ease. A sense of warmth, of friendliness, radiates from him. It’s as if I’ve known him for years, though I’m certain we’ve never met.
The feeling unnerves me. Why do I feel this way? After everything I’ve been through, I should be on high alert. Instead, I find myself relaxing in his presence, my guard lowering despite my best efforts to remain vigilant.
I don’t trust it. I can’t trust it. This comfort, this sense of safetyit has to be some kind of trick. Maybe they’ve drugged me. Maybe this whole setup is designed to lull me into a false sense of security.
My fingers dig into the arms of the chair as I force myself to stay alert. I won’t fall for whatever game they’re playing.
his Ble. 1
The old man turns a page in his newspaper, seemingly oblivious to my internal study him, searching for any hint of malice or deception. His wrinkled face is serene, unhurried as he reads.
movements
Just as I’m about to break the silence myself, he folds the newspaper and sets it aside. His gaze meets mine, and I’m struck by the intensity in his eyes. They’re old eyes, yes, but sharp and clear, almost terrifying with the way they seem to stare straight into your soul.
“Lisa Randall,” he says, his voice surprisingly strong and deep for such a small man. “Welcome.”
My name on his lips sends a jolt through me. How does he know who I am? A thousand questions race through my mind, but only one makes it past my lips.
“Who are you?”
He smiles, the expression crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I am the one who ordered your extrication, my dear.”
He falls silent, watching me expectantly. The pause stretches on, pregnant with unspoken meaning. I rack my brain, trying to decipher what he wants from me.
Then it hits me. He’s waiting for my gratitude.
“Oh,” I stammer, caught off guard. “Um, thank you. I guess.”
The words feel hollow, inadequate. But what else can I say? I’m grateful to be out of that hellhole, yes, but I have no idea if this situation is any better. For all I know, I’ve jumped from the frying pan into the fire..
Still, manners compel me to add, “Why did you rescue me?”
The old man’s smile widens, and he gestures to the spread before us. “Please, help yourself to some tea and refreshments. We have much to discuss, Lisa Randall, and I find such conversations are always more pleasant over a good cup of tea.”
I eye the food warily. It looks deliciousdelicate sandwiches, scones with clotted cream, and an assortment of pastries that make my mouth water. But years of watching crime documentaries have taught me to be cautious of accepting food from strangers, especially when I’ve just been kidnapped.
Actually, scratch that. I really only learned the lesson from drinking that damn punch right before well. You know.
“I’d rather not, thanks,” I say, trying to keep my tone polite despite my suspicion. “I’d prefer if you just answered my question.”
The old man’s eyebrows rise slightly, but his smile doesn’t falter. “As you wish. Though I assure you, the food is quite safe. I have no desire to harm you, Lisa. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
He pauses, taking a sip of his tea before continuing. “As for why I rescued you… well, that’s a rather complex question. The simple answer is that you were in danger, and I had the means to help. It seemed the right thing to do.”
I snort, unable to contain my disbelief. “The right thing to do? You don’t even know me. Why would you go to all this trouble for a stranger?”
“Ah, but you’re not a stranger to me, Lisa,” he says, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I know a great deal about you. Your friendship with Ava Grey, for instance. Your relationship with the Westwood beta. And your fate, decided long before your birth.”
My blood runs cold at his words. How does he know all this? I lean forward, my voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Who are you? Really? And what do you want from me?”
The old man sets down his teacup, his expression growing serious. “Who I am is not important right now. What matters is that I am someone who wishes to help youand, by extension, to help your friend, Ava.”
LISA
At the mention of Ava’s name, my heart clenches. God, I hope she’s okay. I haven’t seen her since….
I push the memories away, focusing on the present. “What does Ava have to do with this?” “Everything,” he says simply. “Your friend is at the center of events that could reshape our future, Lisa. She needs allies. People she can trust. People like you.”
I shake my head, too confused. I’m missing huge chunks of the picture.
“Sorry, I don’t understand. What events? What’s happening to Ava? Isn’t she safe with
The old man sighs, suddenly looking every bit his advanced age. “She is safe enough, I suppose. But the danger is always present, waiting for the right moment to strike. Decades, if not centuries, of planning have come to fruition, and we’re only just learning of it. For now, I will have to apologize as we leave you in the dark a little longer. Just know that you’re in a safe place.”
“So why tell me anything at all?” I demand, my patience wearing thin. “Why not just leave me in the dark?”
“Because I don’t need a human gallivanting off to what she thinks is freedom, only to be snatched up once again” He peers over his spectacles. “You thought of escape at least once, didn’t you?” My cheeks heat a little, even as my chin lifts. The stubbornness deep within me is coming back to life, at least a little certain that I’m safe enough to snap back. “Wouldn’t you, in my shoes?”
“Indeed. He chuckles, sipping at his tea again, with the elegant air of a gentleman. Someone you’d see on those TV shows about posh royalty in England. “Hopefully I’ll have a little more clear information for you soon enough, to prepare you in the times ahead.”
I laugh, the sound bitter even to my own ears. “Prepared? For what? More kidnappings? Torture? Sexual assault? You know, in the human world, I was never kidnapped. And even Ava has never been kidnapped in the human world. But add werewolves to the mix?” I snap my fingers. “Kidnapped. Twice! And don’t get me started on the assault rates in werewolves compared to humans. I thought humans were bad, but between the wolves and vampires…”
The old man’s face softens with sympathy. “I am truly sorry for what you’ve endured, Lisa, No one should have to suffer as you have. But I promise you, what I offer is not more pain. It’s a chance to make a difference. To protect your friend and perhaps save many lives.”
I want to scoff at his words, to dismiss them as an old man’s delusions. But something in his tone, in the earnestness of his gaze, gives me pause. Despite my suspicion of this desperate desire to trust him, I consider his words.
“What do you mean?” I ask cautiously.
The old man’s smile returns, warm and encouraging. “You, my child, are Faeblessed. This gives
Just Weird
“Wait, I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “If I was stillborn… does that mean I’m not really…
human?”
The old man’s expression softens. “You are very much human, Lisa. The Fae magic brought you to life, but it didn’t change your fundamental nature. You’re simply enhanced. For every child brought back to life, a tiny piece of a High Fae Priestess’ soul lies within them.”
Enhanced. The word echoes in my head, bringing with it a mix of emotions I can’t quite sort out. Fear, confusion, a strange sort of wonder, and underneath it all, a simmering anger.
“Why?” I demand, my voice stronger now. “Why would the Fae do this? What do they get out of it, besides… besides feeding on souls?”
The old man sighs, leaning back in his chair. “The motivations of the Fae are complex and often inscrutable, even to us gnomes. But from what we understand, Faeblessed humans serve as a sort of bridge between our world and theirs. You have an innate connection to Fac magic, even if you can’t wield it directly.”
“And this vampirethe Mad Prince? Why does he care about Faeblessed humans?”
The old man’s expression darkens. “The Mad Prince has an obsession with them. He once. believed that by consuming the essence of a Faeblessed human, he can gain access to Fac magic himself. Several have died in his pursuit of that power, and he never succeeded. But he gains something from their blood, even if it isn’t Fae magic. It’s how he grew his power?
A shudder runs through me as I remember the time he visited me. The way the Mad Prince had touched me. The way he’d been infuriated at my body’s lack of passion, like that made a difference.
I guess it really did.
What a freak.
I feel dirty even thinking about it, and suddenly want nothing more than another shower. Maybe twenty showers.
“So, what are you trying to say? If all this is true-” which it can’t be, because my parents are normal humans and definitely have never talked to some High Fae Priestess or whatever, “-then what is your plan with me?”
“Training,” he says promptly, his eyes gleaming. “A Faeblessed human has grown up with technology and has an affinity for magic, though they can never wield it. You’re the perfect. medium for magitech.”
“Magitech?” I echo. “What the fuck is that?”
He gives me a stern look, and I shift in my seat. “Excuse my language, sir.”
Damn. It’s like swearing in front
Your ar
“Magical technology. Gnomes, unfortunately, have no gift for magic. We can see it, but we can’t utilize it in any form. And very few Fae use technology, because they have their magic. You, Lisa, are the answer. Technologically inclined, with magical affinity.” He smiles. “I have a few things in mind for voti”
The way he looks at me is not predatory, like a wolf in front of meat. It’s more like… when my mom comes into my room with an outfit she adores, hoping I’m going to love it.
Beaming and way too invested in something I have the feeling I’m going to hate with every fiber of my being.
“Joy” I say weakly, not sure how else to respond.