Page 56 of The Last Necromancer
I had some bruises on my thighs, but I wouldn't tell him about those. I couldn't anyway. Speaking had suddenly become the most difficult thing to do. I simply shook my head and fought hard to not let my tears overwhelm me.
But when his face softened and he picked me up, it all became too much. I pressed my cheek to his chest and sobbed. It was pathetic but cathartic too. My fear flowed away along with my tears until there was nothing left but a sense of wellbeing. It was wrong to feel grateful to be in the arms of my captor, yet I couldn't bring myself to hate him. My relief was too great, the strength of his arms too comforting. He was keeping me safe, just like he'd promised.
He did not set me down. We walked for some time through the dark streets, not speaking. His arms didn't loosen around me. If anything, they seemed to tighten. I couldn't see his face, tucked under his chin as I was, but I could hear his heartbeat. It had been erratic at first, but was now steady.
"Where are you taking me?" I asked. We seemed to have left the slums. The houses we walked past were larger, the streets emptier. It was late.
"Home."
I don't have a home. I closed my eyes and listened to his heartbeat again. The rhythm lulled me and chased away the memory of that brute's fingers, his stench and my fear. I felt more like myself again, with a clearer head and a sense of dignity that had been absent since I'd realized what he'd intended to do.
"You can put me down now," I told Fitzroy. "I won't run off." I needed to stand on my own two feet again, no matter how much I liked being in his arms. That was entirely the problem—I liked it too much.
He didn't respond immediately, but walked several more paces before finally setting me on my feet. We were between streetlamps so I couldn't make out anything more than his silhouette.
"It's not far," he said and set off again.
"How did you know where to find me?" I asked. He shortened his strides so that I could keep up easily.
"I followed you."
I frowned. "You've been watching me?"
"Yes."
"All day? Ever since dropping me off in Whitechapel?"
"Yes."
His words slowly, slowly sank in. My God. I'd been right when I thought he was trying to make a point. Only I hadn't expected him to go so far as to leave me behind. When he had, I'd assumed I'd gotten him wrong and he'd decided to let me go after all. But this…this was beyond comprehension.
I stopped. He stopped too and his gaze met mine. "You never had any intention of setting me free," I murmured. I shook my head, over and over, no longer certain of this man. He'd been so kind as he picked me up—only because he felt guilty at leaving me there dressed as a woman with no weapons or money.
I went to punch him in the chest where my tears dampened his coat, but he caught my fist.
"I needed you to help me," he said. "I needed you to see that you're better off at Lichfield."
I backed away from him, but was stopped by the low brick fence of the church behind me. "That is a horrible thing to do to a woman. To anyone!"
"Your stubbornness only makes you suffer, Charlie."
"I am not doing it from stubbornness. I'm trying to stay alive."
"And look how that worked out."
I pressed my lips together and crossed my arms. I could try running away, but he would catch me. Or he might let me leave entirely, and I would once again be vulnerable and alone, and I was so tired of feeling that way.
"You may be alive out here," he said, "but it's not a good life. You know that."
"Stop pretending to know what I think. And anyway, how can I trust you after that little test?"
"I give you my word. It's all I have to offer, but I hope you know me well enough to believe me."
"Ha!"
"You have to trust me, Charlie. The alternative is…that."
Tears burned my eyes again as the memory of that brute came crashing back. It had been as bad as my first night alone, taken by the man who'd tried to sell me to the highest bidder. Worse, perhaps, because now I was aware of what could happen. Five years ago, I'd been naive.
