Page 157 of Whispers and Wildfire

“Melanie, I did all of this for you. So I could have you. So we could be together.”

Well, that was the creepiest thing anyone had ever said to me in my entire life. A sick feeling spread through my stomach. I wasn’t sure what was worse, being abducted by someone who wanted to kill me, or someone who wanted to keep me.

Stay in character, Mel. Keep up the act.

“I was going to break up with the guy in Tilikum,” I lied. “I just hadn’t done it yet.”

“Good.” He rubbed slow circles across my back. “You were more ready for me than I thought.”

My heart started to race in anticipation of what I was about to do next. If he’d watched me all those years ago, he knew I wasn’t quiet and meek. All too quickly, he was going to realize it was all an act.

Plus, I felt like I needed to push him. Get under his skin. Mess with his head.

“These aren’t the chips I like,” I said.

“What?”

That had caught him off guard. Good.

“I don’t like these.”

He hesitated, and my heart beat so hard, I was surprised he couldn’t hear it. I kept myself still, breathing through my nose so my body language didn’t give away my fear.

“Just eat them,” he said, finally.

I lifted my gaze to his and looked him dead in the eyes, my lower lip protruding in a slight pout. “I need something else.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “Melanie—”

Grabbing the bowl with my bound hands, I threw it across the room. As it clattered against the far wall, I collapsed onto the mattress, twisting away from Roswell, and started to sob.

“I can’t eat those,” I said between shuddering breaths. “I can’t.”

“But…”

I kept crying, tucking my knees so I was in the fetal position and balling my fists against my eyes. “I’m so hungry.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, a hint of alarm in his tone. “You don’t need to cry. I’ll be right back.”

Instead of creeping up the stairs on silent feet, he hurried, his footfalls echoing in the mostly empty room.

As soon as the door shut behind him, I took a break from my pretend tantrum. Propping myself up on my forearms, I glanced around again. The bowl was still on the floor, surrounded by broken chips. A plastic bowl wasn’t going to be of any use to me, so I didn’t bother trying to retrieve it.

I could hear Roswell’s footsteps upstairs. I was surprised he’d given in so easily, although I wasn’t going to assume a little display of hysterics would get him to untie me. Still, it might be something I could use again.

A scent tickled my nose. What did I smell? It was almost like a faint whiff of campfire. He couldn’t be up there cooking, could he? And it wasn’t the scent of burning food on the stove or in the oven.

The smell didn’t last, disappearing as quickly as it hadcome, replaced by the basement mustiness. Maybe I’d imagined it.

As soon as Roswell opened the door, I lay down, curling into a ball. My eyes were still wet with tears, and I sniffed loudly, as if I’d been crying the entire time.

“Melanie?” He sat on the mattress. “Sit up.”

Because I was nothing if not a drama queen, I didn’t. Just curled up into a tighter ball and let out a whimper.

He touched my back again. “I brought food. Aren’t you hungry?”

I turned over, and he helped me into a sitting position. He had indeed brought food. In fact, he’d made a sandwich.

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