Page 27 of Salem’s Fall (Dark Seasons Thriller #3)

T he next morning, I wake feeling like a ten-ton weight is pressing down on my chest as a flash of memory from last night hits me: Damien’s door, slightly ajar. My hands, rifling through his things. The knife. The pills. Heat rises to my face, and I groan, pressing my palms to my eyes.

Jesus, James. What were you thinking?

Breaking into a client’s room in the middle of the night? Snooping through his things like some kind of unhinged stalker?

And for what? The things I found were a tad bizarre, sure—but ultimately, nothing. A rich, powerful man having a fancy-looking knife and a prescription for Xanax? Not exactly damning evidence of any wrongdoing.

My eyes flick over to Lucky, curled up next to me. He looks so peaceful, so oblivious to the constant chaos that has now become my life. I envy him.

I roll over and grab my phone from the nightstand, scanning.

Nothing news breaking, just more missed texts from Katie and another voicemail from Quinn, wondering why I haven’t called him back and demanding an update.

Some part of my brain registers Quinn’s calls are a problem, but I don’t let it get to me.

I have bigger things on my mind than Quinn’s wrath—like how the hell I’m supposed to piece together this twisted puzzle and solve this case.

I glance toward my phone again, pulling up Maddie’s number. I still need to tell her about my conversation with our father and what I found out yesterday. She deserves to know the truth too.

My call goes straight to voicemail.

I tell myself not to worry. It’s early and she’s probably still sleeping, hungover from whatever shenanigans she got herself into last night. I’ll call again later.

I rub the sleep from my eyes and climb out of bed. There’s no time to waste.

Hargrove said there were at least two other murders tied to the Ascension Ritual before Damien’s fiancée was killed, and if that’s true, I need to learn more about them.

There may have been others back when Damien’s father, Ian, rose to leadership of the Veil years ago, too.

If I can find out more about the previous rituals and uncover commonalities and patterns in all these past killings—and my mother’s death too—I might really have something to go on.

The best shot I have is starting with the more recent murders.

Those are probably still open cases. I can try to get information about them at the local police station or the courthouse, if they occurred in Salem’s Fall.

The older, long-buried cases, the ones possibly tied to Damien’s father, will be cold cases.

That means painstaking hours of digging through dusty files and microfiche at the local library archives or old court records.

It’s going to be a long day…

I head for the bathroom, pulling my long blonde hair back into a loose but neat ponytail. Today calls for a put-together look. I’ll likely be charming police detectives, court clerks, and librarians .

I pull on a fitted blouse in a soft ballerina pink color, pairing it with high-waisted slacks that look more expensive than they are.

Over it all, I slip into my favorite cream pea coat, tailored just right, with polished buttons and a flattering collar.

It’s warm enough for the chillier weather, but still feminine and stylish.

A simple gold necklace and small studs finish the look.

After I give Lucky a quick breakfast and some ear scratches, I head downstairs to grab a much-needed cup of coffee before I start my day. The Cottage lobby is quiet as I walk in. The tourist crowd must all still be asleep. It’s so still, so calm—like the moment right before a brewing storm hits.

The scent of fresh coffee draws me toward the food counter, but then I stop dead in my tracks. Sitting in one of the old-fashioned leather armchairs, legs crossed with a casual ease, is a Blackhollow—just not the one I was secretly hoping to see.

Lucien Blackhollow.

His presence slams into me like a chilling gust of wind, setting my nerves on edge.

Cold, steely eyes lock onto mine, and for a second, I forget how to breathe.

Though Lucien and Damien share the same gorgeous features—the dark hair, the aristocratic jawline, the powerful presence—Lucien’s darkness is sharper, more menacing, like a deadly cobra snake.

Damien’s darkness is magnetic; it pulls you in. Lucien’s makes you want to run.

“Good morning, Miss Woodsen.”

Lucien stands and beckons me over with a slow, predatory smile, like he knows exactly what I was just thinking. I swallow hard, my pulse racing as I force myself to walk over to his table. Despite my fear, my curiosity is too great.

“Lucien? What are you doing here?”

“I thought we might have a chat,” he says smoothly, his voice like silk dipped in venom .

“What kind of chat?”

“About my brother,” he says, his eyes glinting with some emotion I can’t quite place as he steps closer.

His gaze sweeps over me, boldly assessing.

There’s something in the way he looks at me.

It’s like he’s cataloging every reaction, every breath.

A slow, deliberate study. Not unlike Damien, but different.

Damien watches me like he’s trying to understand me. Lucien watches me like he already does.

“Okay, but first, I want to know why you sent me to see my dad.” I cross my arms, glaring at him. “You wanted me to find out about his connection to the Veil. Why?”

“I’m sorry. I’m sure that must have been very painful.” Lucien sighs, almost regretfully, though I’m not sure I believe he really feels badly. “I wanted you to learn about the connection my brother has to your family’s… tragedy. I thought if you knew, you’d understand how dangerous he is.”

“Why do you care what I think about Damien?”

“You shouldn’t be with him,” he says. “It’s not safe for you.”

A surge of anger flares up inside me. Because, of course, this is what people always assume, and I’m so damn sick of it!

The partners, the associates, the judges.

They take one look at me and decide I must be sleeping my way to the top.

That I can’t possibly be where I am because I worked my ass off.

That I can’t be in the same room as a man like Damien Blackhollow without falling into his bed.

And now Lucien is doing it too.

It’s infuriating.

“I’m not with your brother, Lucien! He’s my client.” I clench my fists, my frustration boiling over.

Okay, yes, Damien Blackhollow is hotter than sin and maybe there is some weird, annoying, undeniable attraction between us, but I’m a professional! Why does everyone just assume I’m some dumb, weak woman who can’t resist Damien’s charms?

“Oh, I know you’re not with him—yet.” He grins coldly. “But my brother always gets what he wants, and for once, he shouldn’t.”

I narrow my eyes. “What are you trying to say? You think Damien wants me ?”

“Oh, I’m quite certain he does.” His tone is mocking, but there’s something sharp beneath it, something dangerously close to admiration. “Someone like you—smart, brave, beautiful—I think you could actually be the one to make him happy. I imagine you could make a lot of men happy.”

His gaze flickers, heavy with suggestion, sending a wave of heat curling low in my stomach.

It’s the kind of reaction I don’t want to have—don’t want to acknowledge.

I hate the way he watches me, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Like he enjoys knocking me off balance. He’s toying with me, and the worst part?

My own damn body is betraying me. Because, objectively, Lucien Blackhollow is as gorgeous as his brother.

There’s no denying it. And like his brother, he knows exactly how to use that sharp-edged charm to his advantage.

Seriously, what the hell is in the Blackhollow gene pool? Do they breed them to be this insufferable?

I grit my teeth, shoving down the spark rising in my chest. I refuse to play along with whatever messed up game this is.

“What’s your point, Lucien?”

“My brother doesn’t deserve to be happy.” Lucien leans closer, and I instinctively take a step back. “Damien isn’t what he seems. He’s a cold-blooded killer.”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I stumble back, grabbing the edge of a chair to steady myself.

“What?” I whisper. “Are you saying he killed his fiancée?”

Lucien tilts his head, considering me with those icy, cold eyes. “Damien is responsible. One way or the other. ”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to. You just have to understand how dangerous he is.” His voice drops, calm and deliberate. “And it’s not just his fiancée. He’s responsible for our father’s death too.”

“But I thought that was an accidental drowning?”

“Oh, it was no accident, I assure you.” Lucien’s eyes flicker with a strange satisfaction as he watches me process everything he’s just said. “Don’t let him play you, Miss Woodsen. Leave this place, while you still can. Go back to Boston where it’s safe.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I’m not going anywhere. Not until I get to the bottom of this.”

Lucien’s gaze hardens, a flash of anger crossing his face, but it’s gone just as quickly. His lips part, as if he’s about to say something else. Something important. But then he only shrugs, seeming to change his mind.

“Suit yourself,” he says. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He turns on his heel and strides out of the lobby, leaving me standing there, reeling from everything he’s just dropped on me.

I exhale, my pulse erratic, skin still prickling from the intensity of his presence.

Both Blackhollow brothers are terrifying but in very different ways.

Damien’s danger is fire—it consumes, burns, pulls you in with its warmth even as it threatens to destroy you.

But Lucien? Lucien is a blade. Cold. Precise. Sharp enough to cut through bone.

I don’t know which scares me more.