The Last Necromancer

Chapter 8

Slowly, slowly, I straightened, turning away from him and covering my chest and nether regions as I did so. Nobody had seen me naked since I was a little girl, and my humiliation was absolute. My face and neck burned. My heart smashed into my ribs. I wanted to run. I wanted to curl into a ball and hide under the blankets. Hot tears stung my eyes and my lower lip wobbled. I bit it hard.

A towel came around my shoulders. I grasped the edges and pulled it tight around my body. It provided enough modesty to allow me to turn around and meet Fitzroy's gaze. A gaze that quickly flew to my face. Had he been staring at my legs? If so, there was no heat in his cheeks, nor his eyes. They grew blacker as they drilled into me.

"You should have told me," he snarled.

"Should I?" I shot back. "You kidnapped me, held me prisoner, and want my necromancy magic for reasons I can't yet fathom, and yet I should have trusted you enough to tell you my greatest secret?" The moment I'd said it, I regretted it. I'd just admitted to being a necromancer.

It probably didn't matter now. He showed no surprise. I suspected he'd discovered more than my gender today.

He lowered his head but continued to watch me through those midnight black eyes of his. His chest and shoulders heaved with his deep breaths, and his jaw was set like iron. His unbound hair tumbled forward. He couldn't have looked more like the devil if he'd worn horns and carried a pitchfork.

I tossed my head, flicking my wet hair back. I no longer needed to hide behind it. His eyes roamed over my face, slowly taking in the parts of me he'd not seen until now. I felt my blood heat again and I prayed I could control the blush. Fortunately, his gaze met mine once more, and his fury returned. Indeed, he seemed angrier than ever.

As was I. He may have discovered my gender, but he hadn't switched to acting the gentleman. He hadn't left me alone to dress. Did he expect me to do it in front of him? I couldn't guess what he wanted. All I knew was that he was furious with me.

"Are you mad at me because you didn't realize sooner?" I smiled, but it was all teeth and no humor. "The clever Lincoln Fitzroy failed to notice that I was a girl. How disappointed in yourself you must be."

He shifted his weight, and the movement had me stepping back, away from him, out of his reach. I'd said too much. He would surely force me to stop talking somehow.

Yet he didn't come closer. To my surprise, the fury in his gaze dampened a little. His body was still rigid, however, and his hands balled into fists.

"You're right. I should have noticed. But to be fair, you were very good, Charlie. Or should I say, Charlotte."

I jerked my head to the side. Being called by that name brought back memories; some good, some horrible and sad. But it also felt wrong. I wasn't Charlotte anymore. She was gone. "My name is Charlie and that's what you will call me."

"I'm not angry because I didn't see what you truly were," he said. "I'm angry because you lied to me about it."

"Of course I bloody lied! Do you know what it's like for girls living on the streets? It has been...difficult as a boy. As a girl..." I shook my head. I couldn't finish the sentence. I didn't want to think about the horrors that would have befallen me if people had known I was a girl—and a virgin from a good family at that.

His fingers uncurled at his sides. He crossed his arms. "You think I would have taken advantage of you?"

"I don't know. You did kidnap me and were rather rough in the process."

"That's because I thought you were a boy."

"You think it's acceptable to be rough while kidnapping a boy?"