Page 45 of Salem's Fall
“I was worried.” I see the flare of something—anger, fear, maybe both—cross Damien’s face. He takes a step back, running a hand through his hair. “You shouldn’t be wandering around alone. Not after everything that’s happened.”
“I didn’t realize I needed your permission to visit my father,” I snap.
“Don’t act like this is some normal situation.” His eyes narrow, and he steps closer, looming over me. “You keep putting yourself in danger. You have no idea what’s at stake.”
The condescension in his tone causes me to lose all semblance of self-control and professionalism, and I’m unable to hold back my fury. How dare this man sit here and lecture me about danger when he’s been keeping the most dangerous secret of my life from me?
“You knew, didn’t you?” My voice trembles with barely contained rage. “About my father’s connection to the Veil and my mother’s death? You knew this entire time, and you let me walk into this case blind?”
Damien’s jaw goes slack with surprise.
“He told you?”
“He’s my father, Damien! Of course he told me!”
“Yes, but why now?” He scratches at his chin, brows furrowed together, a frown on his face. “Why would he tell you the truth now after all these years of hiding it from you?”
“What does that matter? That’s hardly the point!”
He lets out a sharp, guttural curse.
“Of course! Lucien. That backstabbing son of a bitch.”His eyes blaze with fury as he steps closer. “He told you, didn’t he? At your little meeting yesterday. And naturally, you ran straight to your father at the prison.”
“Forget Lucien! He’s not important.” A sharp gust of wind whips through the courtyard, but I barely feel it over the heat prickling at my skin. “The question is—why didn’tyoutell me?”
“Isn’t it obvious by now?” He grabs my wrist, almost desperately, and for a moment, I feel a surge of panic. “I wanted to keep you safe. There are things about the Veil—about my family and yours too—that are best kept secret. Knowing these things puts you in even more danger.”
“Is this why you insisted I stay on this case? You wanted to keep me close so you could make sure I wouldn’t find out about my dad?” My voice rises with each word. “Or did you pick me because of some sick game? Laughing at me the whole time behind my back?”
“Don’t be absurd,” he says, his voice low and rough. “That’s not why I chose you, James.”
“Then why? Why am I on this case, Damien?”
He sighs loudly, taking a step away.
“I recognized you the moment I saw you at the courthouse—Thomas Woodsen’s daughter, all grown up and assigned to my defense. I knew you were too close to the truth, but I thought if I kept you close, I could protect you. Control what you learned. Maybe even shield you from all of it. I felt I owed it to you, after everything your family’s been through.” He groans, frustrated, raking a hand through his dark hair. “But instead, you’ve been completely foolish and reckless. Running around town, chasing leads like this is just another case when it’s anything but. You don’t understand what you’re up against.”
“I understand more than you think.” My hands ball intofists at my sides, my breath sharp. “And I don’t need your help!”
Something shifts in his expression, quick as a flick of a knife—cold, calculated, lethal.
“Careful, James.”
He says it like a warning, and I remember then that Damien is a Blackhollow first and foremost. I’ve started to grow too comfortable around the man, but if his family is deadly and dangerous, he very well may be the most dangerous one of all. I have to remember that.
“You may think you don’t need my help, but I’m the only one keeping you safe right now.” His voice is clipped, sharp, and I can see the tension in his shoulders. “If you keep pushing, it’s not just your career that’s at risk–it’s your life and everyone and everything you hold dear.”
I stare at him, my pulse hammering in my ears. I can feel the ground shifting beneath me, like everything I thought I knew is unraveling right in front of my eyes.
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s the truth you keep demanding,” he says, his voice low, almost a whisper.
“I don’t do well with people trying to control me and telling me what to do,” I say, folding my arms across my chest. “I’m going back to see the professor. At least I can trust him to be honest with me.”
“You think you can trusthim?” Damien laughs, a cold, bitter sound. “You can’t trust anyone, James. Not him, not me, not anyone.” His face darkens. “Your professor has his own agenda, believe me. But go ahead, go run back to him—see what you find out.”
There’s something in his voice, something I know I should listen to, but I’m too angry, too hurt to care. I turn on my heel and shout back over my shoulder.
