Filed to story: Tangled in Moonlight Unshifted Novel by Lenaleia
She doesn’t deserve my tears.
“Okay,” Lucas says softly, and I can hear the understanding in his voice. “If that’s what you want, then that’s what we’ll do. I support you, no matter what.”
His words wrap around me. Comforting. Secure. The warm sun on a cold winter’s day.
nank you,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion.
“Always,” he says, and I can hear the fierce promise in his voice. “I’ll always be here for you, Ava.”
It’s disgusting to admit that I look forward to Marisol’s presence, even though her treatment has only gone downhill. At least she brings food.
The first day I was brought here, there were voices. Whispers. Noises through the walls.
Lately, it’s nothing but silence.
Every so often, there’s that dripping water sound that lasts for hours, which used to drive me mad but is now a break from the monotony of nothing.
The clinking of the manacles around my wrists and ankles echoes in the dank cell as I gnaw at the hunk of bread in my hands, its crust stale and unappetizing. But hunger gnaws at my stomach, and this is my only way to fill it.
Marisol is crouched mere feet away, her eyes wide and curious as she watches me eat. It’s unnerving the way she observes me like I’m some sort of exotic creature in a zoo. I try to ignore her, focusing instead on the meager meal in front of me.
The soup is a sickly shade of green, its scent reminiscent of rotting vegetables. I wrinkle my nose as I bring the bowl to my lips, but I’m surprised to find that it doesn’t taste as bad as it looks. It’s thin and watery, but there’s a hint of something savory that makes it almost palatable.
As I sip, I watch Marisol out of the side of my eye. Sometimes she seems so naive, like a child who doesn’t understand the world around her. But other times, there’s a sharpness to her gaze that makes me think she’s far more cunning than she lets on. It’s like playing a game of Russian roulette every time she comes to my cell -I never know which version of her I’m going to get.
Marisol shifts, her bare feet scraping against the rough floor. She leans in closer, her breath hot against my skin as she whispers, “You eat like an animal.”
I flinch at her words, my cheeks burning with shame. I want to snap back at her, to tell her that I’m not an animal, that I’m a person with thoughts and feelings and a life outside of this cell. But I bite my tongue.
Instead, I focus on the bread, tearing off another piece and shoving it into my mouth. The crust scratches at my throat as I swallow. I should have soaked it in the soup. Maybe I will.
Marisol watches me with a twisted sort of fascination, her head cocked to the side like a curious bird. “Do you dream of freedom?”
she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
I pause, the bread halfway to my mouth. Do I dream of freedom? Of course I do. Every moment of every day, I dream of breaking free from these chains and running as far away from this place as I can. But I know better than to say that out loud.
“I dream of many things,” I say instead, my voice hoarse.
Marisol smiles, a slow, creeping thing that sends shivers down my spine. “I dream too,” she says, her eyes glazing over as if lost in thought. “I dream of the day when the master will make me his queen, and I will rule by his side for all eternity.”
My stomach twists with revulsion. How can she possibly want that? How can she desire a life of servitude to a monster who keeps her locked away in the dark?
The soup is gone now, the bowl empty save for a few stray drops of green liquid. I set it aside, my stomach still grumbling with hunger. Marisol watches me, her eyes glinting in the dim light.
“You’ll learn to love it here,” she says, her voice soft and almost dreamy. “Just like I did. The master will make you his, and you’ll never want to leave.”
I shake my head, my heart pounding in my chest. “Never,” I whisper, my voice trembling with fear and defiance. “I’ll never belong to him. I’ll never stop fighting.”
He hasn’t been around since the first time, and I’m immensely grateful. Still, every day is just another day of anxiety twisting in my gut, wondering when he’ll be back.
Marisol just smiles, a knowing look in her eyes. “We’ll see,” she says, rising to her feet with a grace that seems out of place in this dank cell. “We’ll see.”
Soon enough, she’s gone again and I’m back to silence, my belly full and my heart cold.
I’m starting to lose hope.
Shouldn’t they have been here by now?
Have they given up?
Do they think I’m dead?
Is Ava dead?
The questions are never ending, driving me insane. I almost miss the feverishness after the vampire drank from me, the misery of weakness. At least then, I didn’t notice when the time passed.
Trying to get comfortable is an impossible endeavor, but I try anyway, tucking a threadbare blanket Marisol had brought me around my shoulders. It wasn’t out of kindnessshe was tired of seeing me naked and didn’t want to share clothesbut it’s still a small comfort in this awful existence.
Just as I’m about to close my eyes and attempt to drift off into a fitful sleep, an unfamiliar rustle catches my attention. My heart leaps into my throat as I freeze, straining my ears to listen. It’s a soft sound, like something brushing against the stone walls. I hold my breath, wondering if it’s just my mind playing tricks on me.
But then, to my utter shock, a rumpled piece of paper flutters into my cell, landing on the floor just a few feet away from me.
Is this real?
Or have I finally succumbed to the madness of isolation?
With trembling hands, I reach out and grasp the paper, my fingers shaking as I unfold it. My heart pounds in my chest, hope and fear warring within me. Could this be a message from the outside world? A sign that someone knows I’m here, that they’re coming to rescue me?
But as I smooth out the creases and look down at the paper, my hopes are dashed. There’s nothing there.
It’s just a blank sheet, devoid of any words or markings. A bitter Haugh bubbles up in my throat, the cruel irony of it all threatening to overwhelm me. Of course it’s empty. What did I expect? A detailed escape plan? A heartfelt letter?
I crumple the paper in my fist, ready to toss it aside in frustration, when a soft whisper emanates from it. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. The whisper is faint, barely audible, but I strain my ears to listen.
“We’re coming.”
Three simple words, but they hit me like a bolt of lightning. My heart races and I gasp, staring down at the paper in disbelief. Desperate for more, I smooth out the paper again. I bring it close to my face, my eyes scanning the blank surface for any hint of a message. But there’s nothing.
I hold it against my ear.
Nothing.
Just those three whispered words echoing in my mind.
We’re coming.
Who?
Ava.
There’s no one else. It has to be Ava.
Ava is coming.
“If you want your throat torn out and your blood sucked dry, keep thrashing like a dead fish.”
Jericho’s lovely training flavor assaults my ears in a way that’s way too comforting, considering the vitriol that comes out of his mouth.
“I like fish,” I pant, giving up for a second. Lucas was right. Jericho’s been drilling me on falls again.
This time, my arms and legs are tied.
Because, apparently, “I need practice.”
Pretty sure Jericho’s an old sadist, but at least he chose bodyguards who don’t snicker and smirk the entire time they see their charge getting battered and bruised. Or, in this particular case, flopping like a fish.
Gritting my teeth, I thrash against the ropes digging into my wrists and ankles, chafing my skin raw. They’ll be healed by tonight, but for now, it hurts like hell.
“Bend your knees!” Jericho barks. “Roll onto your side and use the momentum to sit up. Then bring your feet under you,”
Easy for him to say. He’s not the one trussed up like a turkey. After far too long on my back, half convinced my true identity is a turtle, I manage to flop onto my side, panting. Blades of grass tickle my cheek. From this vantage point, I can see Selene sprawled in front of a portable fan, tail wagging lazily. Traitor.
It isn’t even that hot outside. Everyone’s just worried about her because she’s a husky, like they aren’t wolves themselves who understand that she’s just fine in this mild weather. All because she pants a lot.
She’s milking it—but no one will believe me.
With a grunt, I rock back and forth until I gain enough momentum to heave myself into a sitting position. “Well, at least you haven’t tied me to a chair,” I mutter under my breath.
Jericho’s keen ears pick up on it anyway. “That’s next week’s lesson.” The sadistic glee in his voice makes me shudder.
Igroan, picturing the bruises those sessions will paint across my body.