Free The Last Necromancer by C. J. Archer Page A

"Course they're going to throw themselves at you. Weren't nothing to do with that ugly face of yours."
    Seth looked offended, and I couldn't blame him. He wasn't ugly in the least. He trailed after Gus. "I'll have you know I had an indecent encounter with a lady three nights ago. And no, I didn't pay her a penny. She gave herself freely to me."
    "Gave you the French disease for free, more like." Gus's chuckles faded as he closed the door.
    Finally I was alone again. I settled on the bed with the book and removed the pistol from the waistband at my back. I checked the barrel to see if it was loaded—it was—then slid it beneath the pillow beside me. I tried not to think about it and concentrated on the book instead, but it wasn't easy. I'd never shot anyone before.
    Despite the apprehension curdling in the pit of my stomach, the afternoon didn't drag. The book was riveting, and I found myself reading as quickly as possible.
    The clicking of the key in the lock startled me. How much time had passed? I took note of my page then closed the book and slipped my hand beneath the pillow. The metal of the pistol felt cool in my fingers. My pulse quickened.
    Death walked in. His assessing gaze took in the book and my relaxed repose. "You met Lady Harcourt." He did not mention my attempted escape.
    "She's very nice."
    Behind him, Seth and Gus crowded in the doorway.
    "I'm hungry," I said.
    "I'll fetch you something from the kitchen." Seth trotted off.
    "My chamber pot needs emptying," I told Gus.
    He screwed up his nose. "Should've offered to get the food." He slid the pan out from beneath the bed and left the room in much less of a hurry than Gus. I was alone with Fitzroy. With Death.
    He moved toward the bed, his long, easy strides bringing him close to me much faster than I anticipated. With my heart in my throat, I pulled the pistol out from under the pillow, aimed at his shoulder and fired.
    Next thing I knew, he was sitting on top of my thighs, pinning my wrists to the headboard. I bucked but couldn't dislodge him. I went to butt my forehead into his nose, but he dodged the blow. I hawked up a glob of saliva, but before I could spit it into his face, he'd shifted his weight, lifted me, and threw me face down onto the mattress. He resettled his weight on my legs and pressed a hand into my back. He took the pistol off me. Just like that, I was rendered immobile and defenseless. It had been far too easy for him.
    "Lady Harcourt will be pleased to have this returned," he drawled.
    A grunt was all I could manage.
    Footsteps pounded along the corridor and stopped at the door. Gus and Seth's faces peeped around the corner and, seeing their leader in control, they entered the room.
    "We heard a gunshot," Gus said, his eyes huge.
    "Sir!" Seth cried. "You're bleeding!"
    I'd shot him? He'd not shown any signs of pain or even a little discomfort, nor were his movements hindered. He'd attacked me so fast that I'd not seen him coming. I tried to look back at him to see how badly he was hurt, but the angle was too awkward and he pressed his knee into my lower back, locking me in position.
    I sucked air through my teeth as the bruises inflicted by Lord Gillingham flared with pain.
    "You should tend to it," Seth went on.
    "It's nothing." Fitzroy let me go and climbed off the bed. A patch of blood bloomed on his shoulder, but it was hardly a significant amount. "Go." He spoke to the men but didn't take his gaze off me. His eyes were like two pools of black ice.
    Gus and Seth exchanged glances then left the room again. They shut the door.
    I scooted back up the bed, as far away from him as possible. When it came, his retaliation would be swift and brutal. I braced myself.
    "Your hands shook."
    I blinked slowly. "Wh-what d'you mean?"
    He balanced the weapon on the flat of his palm. "You didn't hesitate and your gaze was focused, but your hands shook. If they'd been steady the bullet would have hit my throat."
    I hadn't been aiming for his throat,