Page 19 of Salem’s Fall (Dark Seasons Thriller #3)

T he restaurant Damien takes me to is beyond fancy. Far too fancy for a casual work dinner.

Dim lighting. Sleek white tablecloths. Crystal glasses gleaming under sparkling chandeliers. It smells like truffles and expensive leather. The snotty-looking ma?tre d’ was practically falling over himself when we walked in. I could tell without asking that Damien comes here often.

I stick out like a sore thumb. Even my pretty suit feels plain next to the designer-clad beautiful women around me. It makes me feel antsy sitting in a place where even breathing feels like it’s costing money.

Damien watches me as if he can sense my discomfort.

A faint smirk plays at the corner of his lips as he addresses the waiter.

“We’ll take a bottle of the Screaming Eagle Cabernet Sauvignon, and I’ll have the filet.

Rare,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine as he orders.

“She’ll have the salmon with the beurre blanc on the side. ”

I raise an eyebrow. “Ordering for me now?”

He leans in, voice dropping. “You’ll enjoy the salmon. It’s fantastic.”

“How do you know I didn’t want the filet, like you?”

He gives me a look. “You don’t eat red meat.”

I swallow back my retort because he’s somehow right about me. I’m not sure how he knows, but it’s true. I haven’t touched red meat in years, not since my mother died. Something about knowing an animal was butchered—imagining the slaughter, the blood—became too much for me after her death.

“Well, maybe I was in the mood for something else.” I look down at the menu again. “The mussels, for example. They sound great.”

His smirk widens. “Perhaps next time.”

I roll my eyes. The thing is, I really would rather have the salmon than the mussels, but it’s infuriating how sure of himself he is. He walks into every situation like he belongs there, commanding attention, exuding power.

Even more annoying is the part of me that can’t deny how attractive it is.

I’m always the one taking care of everyone else.

Maddie. Lucky. Even myself. But with Damien, it feels like for once I don’t have to be in charge.

He’s taking care of me, even if it’s in this obnoxiously domineering, overprotective way.

After the waiter leaves, Damien’s expression turns serious. “I meant what I said before, back at your hotel. You need to leave Salem’s Fall.”

I snort into my fancy water goblet. “I’m not running away just because some nutjob sent a stupid email.”

“This is the second threatening message you’ve gotten,” he says. “Whoever sent them is watching you. And these people don’t play around.”

“It’s just someone trying to mess with my head.” I shrug, trying to play it cool even though I’ll admit, the emails don’t exactly give me the warm fuzzies.

“And if they try to mess with your life next? Or did you already forget how I had to save you last night? Not to mention your dead colleague, Mark.” He exhales, almost nonchalantly. “Though if I’m being honest, that one doesn’t seem like a great loss. I never did like the way he talked to you.”

Unease prickles through me at the easy, almost casual way he dismisses Mark’s murder. I’ve got no love lost for Mark either, but still, that doesn’t mean he deserved to die.

“He wasn’t that bad…”

“Forget Mark. He’s inconsequential,” Damien says, his gaze sharpening. “You, though? I might miss not having you around, pain in the ass though you might be.” His voice drops lower, edged with more than a hint of concern. “When will you start taking these threats seriously?”

He’s probably right. This is risky—even I know that—but admitting that to Damien feels like I’m losing some invisible battle between us.

“I’ll be okay.”

“And what about your sister Madison? What will she do if something happens to you?” he prods. “Think of her at least.”

“I’m always thinking of Maddie,” I snap.

“What she needs is a roof over her head, college tuition, and dinner on the table. This job lets me give her that.” I grab my glass and take a sip of the delicious but overpriced wine, leveling him with a look.

“How do you know about Maddie anyway? Big mouth Quinn tell you that too?”

“She’s all over your Instagram.”

I almost spit out my drink. “Now you’re stalking my social media?”

He rests an elbow on the table, fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass. “I simply eyeballed a few things. I like to be well-informed about the people who work for me.”

“But my Instagram is private.”

He grins. “Not for me.”

I’m surprised and a bit flattered. Damien Blackhollow doesn’t seem like the kind of man to spend time on social media sites. He certainly doesn’t have any public profiles of his own. Okay, so maybe I’ve stalked him a bit too, but there was nothing there to see.

“Well, if you aren’t going to be safer for Maddie, at least do it for Lucky.” He studies me carefully for another moment. “How would the little guy take care of himself if something happened to you?”

“Lucky is fine.”

“Hmmm, I suppose I could adopt him.” His dark brow furrows as if he’s seriously giving the idea consideration. “He did seem to take quite a liking to me, don’t you think?”

“You’re ridiculous,” I say, a laugh slipping out despite myself. “Listen, I promise I’ll be careful, but I can’t go back yet. I’m getting closer to figuring this out. I need to see Professor Hargrove again tomorrow and ask him about what I learned at the Hollow?—”

“Hargrove?” Damien’s eyes flash and I feel the shift instantly. “Don’t bother. I already told Quinn you’re wasting your time with that quack.”

“I disagree. Nick was really helpful yesterday,” I say, surprised by the venom in Damien’s voice. “I think he knows more than he lets on—about Strega’s Hollow, and maybe even about the Veil. I believe he has knowledge and research that can help your case?—”

“Not likely,” he says, cutting me off. “Hargrove is obsessed with made-up stories and conjecture. Half of what he thinks he knows is pure fairytale, and the rest? All silly conspiracy theories he couldn’t even prove back when he was still a real professor.

” He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Trust me, Hargrove won’t help.

Your time will be much better spent elsewhere. ”

A small smile tugs at my lips.

“Like with you? At some extravagant, absurdly expensive dinner?”

He shrugs. “Perhaps. ”

“What’s the matter? You don’t like the idea of someone else helping me?” I tease.

His jaw tightens. “I don’t like the idea of you wasting my billable hours on wild goose chases. You should focus on real leads.”

“Oh yeah? What leads?” I scoff. “You haven’t exactly been helpful.”

Damien’s lips twitch into a small, dangerous smile. He leans in closer, his voice soft but menacing. “You want my help? You want to know the truth about Strega’s Hollow and the Veil?”

I stare at him, unsure where this is going. “Yes. I do.”

“Then let’s make a deal.”

His eyes lock onto mine with a look that makes me feel like I’m hovering on the edge of something dangerous.

“What kind of deal?”

“Quid pro quo, Counselor,” he says, his voice like silk, smooth and commanding. “You tell me something personal, and I’ll tell you something about the Veil.”

The air between us shifts, becoming heavier. This feels risky. Playing games with someone like Damien is a bad idea, but I need to know what he knows. If I’m going to figure out this case, then I need to understand the Veil.

“Okay, fine,” I say as the waiter brings our food over. I take a small bite of the salmon and have to grudgingly admit that Damien is right. It’s buttery and perfectly cooked, flaky and rich with flavor. “What do you want to know?”

“Tell me about your family. Tell me about your father.”

The question catches me off guard, and my heart stutters in my chest.

“What about my father?”

“I’ve heard about his crime and the trial, but I want to know more. I want to hear it from you,” he says, his voice cool and calculated. “You want to play in the shadows, James? You want to uncover dark truths? Well, you can’t do that without letting some darkness in, yourself. So… tell me.”

I hesitate, my fingers gripping the edge of the table. Why does Damien want to know about the worst thing that’s ever happened to me? I rarely talk about my mother’s murder.

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything?—”

“Absolute honesty or this conversation is over.”

I suck in a breath, hating how easily this man can make me feel cornered, like there’s no escape but to give in to him. But if I want to learn more about the Veil, there’s no way out of this. So I do what I’ve always done—keep moving forward, no matter how much it hurts.

“My father was convicted of killing my mother,” I say, my voice detached.

I don’t let myself feel the weight of the words.

“Which you already know, I’m sure. It’s not a secret.

It was a very public trial. But before that, he was the perfect husband and dad.

There was no warning at all that something was wrong.

Then one night, when I was in high school…

I came home and found him standing over her dead body. ”

Damien doesn’t move. Doesn’t say a word. He just watches me with that same intense gaze, waiting for me to continue.

“It wasn’t the usual type of murder you see when spouses are involved.

Not like domestic violence or a crime of passion.

” I swallow hard. “It was… ritualistic. Brutal. Bloody. There were strange symbols carved into her body… and in places around the bedroom. The police, my sister, they all believed he did it.”

“But you don’t?”

“He loved my mom more than anything. He wouldn’t have hurt her,” I say, shaking my head.

“The trial was a total sham. The judge had his own agenda. His daughter had been beaten to death by her boyfriend, which is awful, but it also meant he thought my dad was guilty from the start. And Dad’s lawyer was terrible. Completely incompetent. ”