Page 7 of Under Fyre

“Good evening,” he says, his deep, rich voice surreal in this intimate environment.

He’s holding another tray, and as soon as I smell what’s on there, my stomach starts to grumble.

“Hiding another book under there?” he asks, standing by the door like he’s waiting to see if I’ll attack him.

I shake my head.

When he doesn’t move, I push the blankets off me. I don’t trust myself to speak—I’m shivering internally with nerves, and the last thing I want is for him to pick up on my fear.

He comes closer, his dark eyes latching onto mine as he sets the tray down on the nightstand.

I can’t help myself—my eyes cut to the source of the glorious smell that’s filling the room.

A grilled cheese sandwich. A big bowl of tomato soup with a swirl of cream on the top.

My stomach rumbles urgently and floods my mouth with saliva.

“Can I eat?” I ask

“Only if you let me feed you.”

My head tips back, my eyes wide as I stare up at Fyre. “What?”

He cocks his head to the side. “So you don’t eat too fast. May I?”

I lick my lips, hurriedly scooting back when Fyre perches on the edge of the bed. His earthy scent drifts to me, and for some reason it calms me.

Or maybe it’s just the fact thathelooks calm.

Nothing like the look on his face when I hit him with the book this morning.

That was the face of a demon.

Fyre takes one half of the grilled cheese sandwich, breaks off the corner, and holds it out for me.

Right by my mouth.

I lean hesitantly forward and let him slip the triangle between my lips. Ripe, gooey cheese oozes into my mouth, forming a doughy ball when I chew it up with the buttery, toasted bread.

Fyre feeds me a spoonful of tomato soup next.

Bite of cheese, sip of soup. Repeat.

There’s a sharp pain when the food hits my stomach but I don’t let the discomfort slow me down—I eat everything he feeds me, until every crumb and every drop of tomato soup is in my belly.

The last spoon leaves a dab of soup on my bottom lip. Before I can lick it off, Fyre wipes it away with his thumb. I half expect him to make me suck it off his finger, but he drops his hand to the tray and wipes it on a serviette.

“What do you want with me?”

Fyre stares at me, dark eyes frank, mouth tight. “I want to fix you.”

I would laugh but I suddenly don’t have the energy. It’s easy to assume that it’s the belly full of food that’s making me so lethargic, but I know this sensation all too well.

My brain is desperate to end this freak show of a life for a few hours. To reset. Sleeping is the easiest solution.

Close eyes.

Forgot problems.

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