Filed to story: Tangled in Moonlight Unshifted Novel by Lenaleia
It fades, though, and I sigh in relief, even as she continues doing something to my arm. “Going in,” she murmurs. “You should start feeling it pretty soon.”
Dizziness attacks with a vengeance, and it feels like my head’s about to detach to fly high into the sky, like a balloon that’s escaped.
***
The ceiling is white, and the distinct scent of disinfectant makes my nose cringe.
I can see every detail of the ceiling. A few dents, and a couple holes. Probably from something that had hung from it once before.
Sliding my head to the left, I can see clear bags full of liquid hanging from an IV pole. There’s an IV in my arm and a little monitor with squiggly lines in different colors.
SpO2 99%.
RR 12.
PR bpm 61.
It takes a second for me to understand them, but my brain comes online after a short time.
Oxygen, respiratory rate, heart rate, blood pressure.
I’m in a hospital.
For a second I think I’m back on Aspen lands, but as I blink away my grogginess, I realize it isn’t the same. I’m in a smaller room, on a real bed. There are sheer curtains over my window, letting in soft daylight.
The world makes sense again.
I must have been taken to Westwood. To Lucas’ pack.
Once my nose adjusts to the astringent scent of copious amounts of disinfectant, I can smell the faint scent of a campfire. It’s a soothing aroma, one that triggers a sense of comfort and security deep within me.
I’m wearing a shirt several sizes too large, and the scent comes from there.
It must be his shirt.
I guess they thought I’d need my mate’s scent to stay calm as I heal.
I attempt to sit up, but pain explodes across my body. I groan, grabbing my side, where I feel the rough texture of bandages beneath the soft cotton fabric of Lucas’ shirt.
Memories return, and I flinch. Todd. Of course. The excruciating pain of his claws tearing into my flesh, his fangs tearing at my shoulders.
I shudder, remembered fear tingling in my veins.
I’m not made to fight.
The door opens quietly, and a woman steps into the room. She’s dressed in scrubs, her dark hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. Her eyes widen slightly when she notices me awake, and a warm smile spreads across her face.
“Good morning, Luna,” she says, her voice soft and melodic. “How are you feeling?”
I open my mouth to respond, but my throat feels parched, and the words catch in my chest. The woman seems to understand and quickly pours a glass of water from a nearby pitcher.
“Here, drink this slowly,” she instructs, helping me sit up just enough to sip from the glass.
The cool liquid soothes my throat, and I manage a grateful nod. “Thank you,” I rasp out.
“You’re very welcome,” she replies, setting the glass back down. “My name is Vanessa. I’m one of the pack healers here at Westwood.”
Westwood. The name sparks a flicker of recognition, and I remember Kellan’s words from earlier that they were taking me to Westwood territory, to safety.
Definitely I wong nook than
“I’m not your Luna,” I tell her, uncomfortable with the title.
Lenaleia
Creator’s Thought
Vanessa looks at me with confusion etched on her face. I’d laugh a little, except I’m a little too worried about her calling me by a title I shouldn’t have.”
“You’re… not our Luna?” she asks, in this careful way that makes me think she’s been told the exact opposite.
Has Lucas been spreading the word that I’m his Luna? Because that seems a little presumptuous. No, not a little; a lot presumptuous.
It’s hard to be too angry when he risked his life to save me, but it’s not impossible, so I seethe a little on the inside, shaking my head,
There’s a ringing in my ears and an increase in the throbbing ache of my face when I do, so I stop, holding up a hand instead. “No. No, I’m not.”
Vanessa’s gaze goes from the top of my head, down my body, and eventually to the side of my neck, despite it being covered in bandages. Her brow furrows as she considers my words.
I take the opportunity to study her. She’s cute. If she didn’t smell like a wolf and I had to choose an animal for her to be able to shift into, I’d choose something tiny and fluffy, like a rabbit. Or a red panda. She has some curves to her and a soft face, with large, doelike eyes and lashes that are too long to be real. Despite the lack of makeup on her face, I suspect she at least throws on some false lashes and mascara.
I would, too, if I knew how to do it. Short eyelashes suck.
“But you are Lucas’ mate, aren’t you?” Her question throws me off. I was too distracted by looking at her face and pondering if there was anything out there that could shift into a red panda.
A lump forms in my throat at the mention of his name. Unable to meet her gaze, I lower my eyes to the light quilt over my legs. It isn’t the kind you’d normally find in a hospital. Instead, it’s a real blanket that you’d see in someone’s home. Between that and the shirt I’m wearing, I have a feeling that I’m getting special privileges due to this misunderstanding.
“Yes, I suppose, I don’t sound very confident, because
I’m not.
“But?” Vanessa prompts, leaning forward.
This is a conversation I’m probably going to have a lot in this place, so I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the admission that still stings, even after all this time. “He rejected me. Months ago.”
The fact that my voice doesn’t waver a single iota is something I’m proud of.
It’s not my fault. He rejected me. That’s a him problem, not a me problem. Right? Who rejects their fated mate? It’s a question I’ve pondered thousands of times since it happened.
I still don’t know why. I just know that he showed up one day with apologies, before disappearing again.
Of course, I was kidnapped before I could wait around for him to show up again, butwho knows if he even did?
Dumbass. Of course he did. He came for you, didn’t he?
A frustrated sigh escapes me at the thought. None of this makes sense in my head, and I can’t stand it anymore.
Vanessa’s expression shifts to one of amused thoughtfulness, and I can’t help but wonder what’s going through her mind with my admission. Before I can dwell on it further, she seems to shake herself out of her reverie and refocuses her attention on me.
“Well, that’s a story for another time,” she says with a small smile. “For now, let’s take a look at your injuries.”
She moves closer to the bed, and I brace myself for the inevitable discomfort. My entire body protests movement, and I can only imagine how much it’s going to hurt with her hands on me.
Vanessa is gentle as she peels back the fabric of the oversized shirt, revealing crisp white bandages wrapped around my midsection.
“You sustained some pretty severe gashes here,” she explains, her fingers lightly tracing the outline of the bandages. “Claw marks, confirmed.”
I nod. I remember getting the injury.
“And these…” She gestures toward my face, neck, and shoulders, where I can feel the stinging remnants of bite marks. “These were mostly caused by teeth, it seems. Nasty pieces of work, those bites.”
I nod again, not trusting my voice at the moment. The pain is manageable, but the trauma lingers. Having a flash of those teeth snapping at me, sinking into my neck, my face, my shoulders…
It’s a lot.
Vanessa’s expression turns grave as she continues her assessment. “Unfortunately, there was widespread infection, particularly in the wounds where you were bit. It set in rapidly. You’ve had a high fever for two days, and coded once on your way to the hospital.”
I blink. “Coded?”
I died?
She grimaces. “Yes. Between your blood loss and the rapid infection, your heart rate ceased to exist for a short time.” 2