Page 22 of Under Fyre

How easy it would be to go into her room with this bag. How easy to—

Fuck up the plan.

I storm down the hall, my jaw clenched as I shove the bag into the top of my closet. Things rattle inside, but I don’t think about them either. If I had a basement, they’d all be in there. The top of my closet will have to do.

When I open the door, Charlotte is perched on the edge of the bed. She’s wearing jeans and a sweater, her hair pulled up in a ponytail.

She’s fucking breathtaking.

“Hungry?” I ask her with a smile. “I was about to bring you your breakfast.”

“I…uh…” She drops her head, and then looks up at me through her lashes. “Can I stretch my legs?”

The sheer innocence of her question catches me off guard.

It’s not part of the plan. She can pace inside her room if she needs exercise. Out there, the neighbors might hear her if she decides to scream. It’s unlikely because these properties all have such big yards, but if one of them ventured close enough to the boundary wall—

“Sure.”

My mind reels at the blatant disobedience from my fucking mouth, but when Charlotte’s face breaks into a smile, nothing matters.

She jumps off the bed and hurries closer, slowing as she nears me. I step aside, and she walks into the hall.

Thankfully, the obsessive-compulsive part of my mind injects a modicum of self-control back into my reality.

“But we can’t go outside.”

“Oh.” The disappointment in her voice is palpable, but if she knew how much of a slip this was on my part—even letting her set foot outside the controlled environment of her room…?

I’m turning to pull her door closed in case Arrow decides to investigate our guest’s room when Charlotte slips her hand into mine.

I make nothing of it, but the thrill of her skin making contact with mine sets me on fire.

Warm, soft, strong—her fingers grip mine like she’ll never let go.

I give her a smile, and lead her into the kitchen. Arrow jumps up from her bed, ears cocked and tail straight as her namesake when she sees Charlotte enter the room.

“Uh…” Charlotte pulls back on my hand.

“Don’t be scared. She’s incredibly well trained.” I click my fingers, and move my finger down.

Arrow whines, but she sinks down in her basket and lays her head on her paws. Her big brown eyes follow Charlotte’s every step as I lead her to the kitchen table.

“We’ll have breakfast together,” I tell her as I turn to take down another bowl for cereal. I stop, glance at her over my shoulder. “Would you like something more substantial? I could make eggs, or—”

“Cereal and coffee is fine.”

“I’ll have to insist on chamomile.”

There’s the briefest flicker across her face. I suppose the taste isn’t for everyone, but caffeine would only heighten her anxiety the next couple of days as we explore her time with Peter. She doesn’t need anything exacerbating her fear, even the flutter of a rapid pulse.

“Okay,” she agrees, somewhat reluctantly.

I switch on the kettle, and bring a bowl and the cereal box to the table. Charlotte is watching Arrow, and Arrow is watching her.

“What’s its name?”

“Her name is Arrow.”

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