The Last Necromancer

Chapter 13, Part 2

As I wrapped the bandage around him, my fingers brushed the smooth skin of his back and sides. I slowed, not wanting the connection to end. Wanting only to touch him more, to feel the muscles twitch with restrained desire, the thud of his pulse, the heat of his skin.

He wanted those things too. I could sense it, rather than see it or feel it. It was in the way he didn't move when I fastened the bandage in place, and how he lowered his face to my hair and drew in a deep breath.

With my hands still resting over the bandage, I dared to glance up at him. His eyes were closed, his jaw slack, making his face a little softer and even more handsome. I wanted to capture him in that moment, so I lifted my hand and cupped his cheek.

His eyes flew open and his face hardened. He turned away.

"Lincoln," I whispered.

He gathered up his ruined, bloody clothes. "Mr. Fitzroy," he snapped. "Or sir."

I stepped back as if he'd pushed me. "I—I thought—"

"You thought wrong." He stalked into the adjoining bedroom but didn't shut the door. He emerged a few moments later wearing a clean shirt. If I'd thought his jaw was rigid before, now it was positively rock-hard. His eyes were as black and bleak as I'd ever seen them, and his gaze didn't waver from mine. "I've decided. You can't stay here."

"Wh—what?" He was talking too fast. My head was still fuzzy from desire and his brutal rejection.

"When Frankenstein is caught, you'll go to live with Lady Harcourt."

He might as well have slapped me. My head was suddenly clear again. "No! You said I don't have to live with her if I didn't want to."

"I've changed my mind. It's the best place for you."

"Here is—"

"You can't stay here." He moved to the door, as if to see me out.

I stayed put. "Why not?"

"Because your infatuation with me is inappropriate."

My face burst into flames, or it might as well have, it felt so hot. I crossed my arms, as defiant as I could possibly be when utter humiliation ate me alive. I wanted to shout at him that he desired me too but, in truth, I wasn't sure. If he'd liked my touch as I bandaged him, it could have been because the fingers touching him belonged to a woman. Any woman. The look on his face may not have had anything to do with me.

"It's unhealthy," he went on. "And not in either of our best interests for you to live here."

Tears stung my eyes and tingled my nose. I had to hold myself very tight to keep from unraveling. "I understood your point. There's no need to pour salt on the wound."

"This is the way it has to be. You will be well taken care of at Lady Harcourt's house. She's kind."

"And if I don't wish to go there?"

"You would be a fool not to."

"I think we've already proven that I am indeed that." I sniffed, but fortunately my tears didn't spill. I didn't want him to see how pathetic I was, crying over a man I hardly knew.

"It's that or a house of charity," he said.

"I hate you, Fitzroy."

"No, you don't," he said stiffly. "That's the problem."

His cruel words were enough to shock me out of myself, and forced me to see what I was doing and saying. A small flame of anger burned in my chest, and I fueled it with thoughts of how he'd abducted me, treated me like a prisoner, and callously ridiculed my affections. I took a deep breath and felt quite a bit better; more determined than ever to conquer my feelings for him.