Page 70 of Salem's Fall
“And the last attack?” I scoff. “Your plan got a little out of control, then, huh?”
He stiffens, a flicker of hurt flashing across his face. “You can’t really believe I had anything to do with that. I have no idea who that was.” His voice drops, steady but urgent. “I would never hurt you.”
And just like that, the fight goes out of me. My anger dissipates, turning off like a fire hose, replaced by fear as I remember how close I almost came to dying. I suck in a shaky breath, forcing the words out.
“Nick… he… he tried to sacrifice me.”
“Hewhat?” Damien’s expression darkens, fury igniting in his eyes. Before I can react, he swipes a hand across the dresser, sending a crystal vase crashing to the floor, shattering on impact. Water and crushed petals spill onto the hardwood into a soggy, wet mess. “I’ll kill that bastard!”
“Too late. He’s already dead,” I say, oddly touched by the strength of Damien’s reaction.
I guess he does care if I live or die, after all…
“Tell me what happened,” he orders.
The memory of Hargrove’s last moments alive makes my stomach twist. I start to shake under the sheets. “He took me into some secret hidden room in the shop,” I whisper. “He wanted to sacrifice me for some twisted Veil ritual, but the knife turned on him, killing him instead. I barely escaped…” I swallow hard, my hands clammy against my sides. “Did you know what he was planning?”
“If I’d known what he was capable of, he wouldn’t havelived long enough to touch you,” he says, his voice a low growl. There’s a possessiveness there, a dangerous edge to his words that makes my pulse race wildly.
As much as I want to believe this beautiful, powerful man standing in front of me, I’ve learned the hard way to trust no one and nothing in Salem’s Fall. If nothing else, Hargrove made sure to teach me that lesson. It’s not one I’ll forget anytime soon.
Damien may be telling the truth when he says he saved me from yet another attack, and maybe he’s not actively trying to hurt me right now, but that doesn’t mean his intentions are pure. Even if he did rescue me, what am I doing here—in his house? Shouldn’t I be in a hospital somewhere?
Hell, if he really wanted me safe, wouldn’t he have sent me back to Boston—to Maddie or even Quinn? Somewhere far from all of this?
“Why am I really here?” I narrow my eyes, studying him, uncertainty coiling uneasily in my stomach. “And don’t pretend this was some noble act of rescue.”
Shadows flicker across his sharp, perfect features, softening them just enough to make him look almost vulnerable, a rare glimpse of uncertainty breaking through his usual steely armor.
“You want the truth?”
“No, I want you to keep lying to me,” I say sarcastically.
He paces toward me, raking a shaky hand through his dark hair. “I’m falling for you, James. God help me, but I am.” He takes a shuddering breath, his fingers brushing against my skin in a way that sends a traitorous heat through my body. His touch lingers, tracing a slow, deliberate path along my jaw.
“And I don’t fall for anyone,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Not like this. Not ever.” His gaze drops to my mouth, hungry andhaunted all at once. “It’s against every instinct,every damn shred of control and self-preservation I have, but I can’t seem to stop myself when it comes to you.”
I stare up at him, heart pounding against my ribs.
“I—I don’t understand…”
I wasn’t ready for this confession of feelings, not from him, not from a man who’s the living embodiment of everything I’ve been taught to run from. The anger has vanished from his eyes and there’s something else lurking there now, something softer, something I don’t dare name.
“Neither do I, believe me.” He laughs, roughly, almost mockingly. “Do you think I wanted to feel this way about someone who’s clearly here only because of obligation? Someone who only sees me as the next steppingstone in her career?”
The words sting, and a part of me recoils at how little he must think of me if he really believes I’m only here because of my ambition. Yes, my job is part of the reason, but it’s not the only thing still keeping me in Salem’s Fall.
Not even close.
I sigh, torn between the rational part of me that knows I shouldn’t feel anything for this man—that this could all be a trick—and the reckless, dangerous part that clings to every word.
“Even if you’re telling the truth. Even if you do have… feelings… for me, that doesn’t mean I can trust you.” I meet his gaze, searching for something—anything—that makes this make sense. “You could be lying. You could be behind everything. The murders. The sacrifices. Hell, for all I know, Professor Hargrove and the masked men work for you. How am I supposed to believe a word you say?”
Damien’s eyes darken. He steps back, his expression shuttering like a door slamming shut, a wall rising between us.
“Of course you can’t trust me,” he says, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “I’ve been raised in a family that’s built itslegacy on manipulation, on secrets and witchcraft and blood sacrifices. Despite what I feel for you, I’m not the good guy in this story. I never will be.”
I cross my arms, defiance hardening my resolve.
