Page 72 of Salem's Fall
The fancy restaurant. The wine. The overwhelming exhaustion that hit me out of nowhere. I’d been drinking, sure, but not enough to feel like that.
I look up at him sharply. “That night at dinner, you drugged me, didn’t you? I wouldn’t listen about the Hollow, soyou made me listen.” The pieces snap together as I finally understand just how far this man will go to control me. “The Xanax,” I whisper, remembering the prescription bottle I found in his briefcase at the Cottage. “That’s how you did it, isn’t it?”
His expression darkens. “How do you know about the Xanax?”
“It doesn’t matter!” I snap, my pulse pounding in my ears. “How could you do that to me?”
His eyes lock onto mine, a storm brewing beneath their surface.
“I did it for your own damn good. I needed to keep you safe.”
“You drugged me—against my will—to keep mesafe?” I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Do you have any idea how messed up that sounds?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. A muscle in his jaw clenches, and for the briefest moment, something like regret flickers across his face. But then it’s gone, buried beneath that familiar cold resolve.
“Maybe so. But it worked.”
Anger curls hot in my stomach, but it’s not enough. I’m not nearly angry enough for what he did. I swallow hard, feeling off-balance and confused at my own emotions. I should be furious at the sheer violation of him taking my autonomy—my choices—away. I should be looking at him with nothing but loathing, demanding he let me go, threatening to make him pay.
But I’m not.
Because I can’t ignore the truth in what he’s saying. I would have gone that night to the Hollow. Like with Hargrove, I probably would have walked straight into something I wasn’t prepared for, and I don’t know if I would have made it back alive. I hate that he’s right, but even more I hate that somepart of me—some sick, twisted part—doesn’t hate him nearly as much as I should. Beneath my anger, something unexpected slithers. Something unsettling. Something like… gratitude.
And I don’t like it. Not one bit.
Damien Blackhollow is far more dangerous than I ever suspected. He can control me, manipulate even my very emotions, bend my reality until I can’t tell right from wrong anymore. A man like this… what else has he done? What else is he capable of?
“You did it, didn’t you?” The words slip out before I can stop them. “You killed those women—Carla, Elise, Vivienne. I’m sure they also believed your lies when you told them how much you cared for them.”
Something cracks in his expression—a flash of pain, raw and unguarded. His hands clench at his sides like he has to physically restrain himself. “You have no idea what you’re talking about!” His voice is sharp, almost desperate. “Ineverhurt those women.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Believe what you want.” His lips press into a hard line. He looks almost… wounded, like he can’t quite believe I think so little of him. But then, just as quickly, his expression steels over, his voice turning cold. “But remember this—I’m the only one keeping you from becoming the Veil’s next sacrifice.”
“So that’s it? You’re really doing this?” I ask, my voice unsteady, like I’m still waiting for him to take it all back. “You’re just going to keep me here against my will?”
“Now you’re getting it, Counselor.” He smirks, but there’s no humor in it. “You’ll find all the doors and windows in this house are locked to you. Otherwise, you’re free to roam within these walls however you like. All this”—he gestures around the room—“all that’s mine is now yours too, to do with as you wish. If you need anything, just ask, and I’ll make sure youhave it,” he says. “But you won’t be leaving Blackthorn Manor until I say so.”
A sharp pulse of panic shoots through me as I realize just how screwed I am. Trapped in this fortress of a house, away from all my family and friends, solely at the mercy of Damien Blackhollow—a man who could be my savior or my doom.
“You can’t just keep me here! You’re—you’re a monster!”
“Maybe I am,” he says, my heart hammering as he leans in and presses a soft kiss to my temple, catching me off guard. “But it’s a role I’m willing to play if it means keeping you safe. Because if I let you leave, you won’t live to see November.”
Then he strides to the door and slams it shut. The sound echoes through the room, final and unyielding, sealing my fate inside this gilded cage.
Damien doesn’t visit me again, though I can still feel his presence lingering in the walls, in the silence of the room around me. Though he said I could have free rein of his home, I sulk in my bedroom instead. He’s effectively cut me off from the rest of the world, taking my cell phone and my laptop and keeping them who knows where. The shifting light outside my window, fading from morning brightness to the deep hues of dusk, is my only measure of time.
All that being what it is, if I wasn’t so frustrated about being trapped against my will—with a case that urgently needs my attention—I might actually enjoy my time at Blackthorn Manor. There’s no shortage of delicious gourmet meals and expensive wines. Damien has them sent to me multiple times a day. And he attempts to alleviate my boredom with the stacks upon stacks of books dropped off at my door daily. Romance. Horror. Thrillers. Fantasy. He leaves me a bit of everything. Under any other circumstance, the amount of good food and books he showers upon me daily would be the perfect little escape.
I can’t help feeling conflicted.
On the one hand, I’m furious. How dare he lock me up like I’m some helpless damsel? But part of me, the part I don’t want to admit out loud, not even to myself, can’t help but feela bit flattered that he’s gone to such lengths to protect me and keep me pampered at the same time.
Not to mention that love confession.
I’m still reeling from his admission of feelings for me. I can’t deny there’s something thrilling about being wanted like that—by a man like him. And then there was that kiss…
