Page 31 of Salem’s Fall (Dark Seasons Thriller #3)

I wake up with Lucky on my pillow, his little paws reaching forward before he curls back up with a low rumble.

My head is still tangled with thoughts of Quinn’s confession last night about his feelings for me.

Not that I didn’t suspect there could be something more than just a professional fondness there—I’ve felt it too for some time now—but that Quinn would give in to the feelings and want to give this a shot? That, I didn’t see coming.

I try to imagine a life with him. A beautiful, stable life with the one person who’s been there for me since my very first day at the firm, steady and trustworthy, the very definition of everything I should want.

Reliable, intelligent, kind. Always respectful of boundaries.

He’s a good man. Someone to lean on. Someone who will always put me first. He’d be the kind of partner who’d never let me fall.

And then there’s Damien.

The very thought of him sparks something deep inside me.

What a terrible idea it would be to follow that flame, yet it flares within me all the same.

I know I shouldn’t be anywhere near Damien Blackhollow.

The fact that I’m even entertaining the thought of him, no matter how remote, is a whole new level of recklessness.

Damien is dangerous. Ruthless. Quite possibly a brutal serial killer who makes a game of targeting the women who love him—even his own fiancée.

And yet, every time I’m around him, it’s like gravity pulling me in, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.

It’s borderline insanity, but there’s a magnetic pull there I can’t ignore.

My phone vibrates beside me on the nightstand, and I glance over to see a text from Quinn:

Breakfast. Downstairs in 30.

It’s a command, not a question.

My stomach tight with nerves, I swing my legs out of bed and rush to get ready.

I feed Lucky first, his bowl clinking as he scarfs down his breakfast like it’s the first meal he’s had in years.

He finishes and looks at me, then his empty bowl, and starts whining.

I chuckle, leaning down to pet the top of his little head.

One thing about Lucky, he’s never satisfied with a single meal.

If I let him, the cat would weigh one hundred pounds.

It’s one small certainty in my otherwise completely uncertain life.

When he realizes no more food is coming, he gives me a look somewhere between disappointment and disgust before jumping onto the windowsill to watch people and sulk. I roll my eyes and head for the bathroom to get ready to see Quinn.

Well, as ready as I can get for something like this.

Whatever awaits me at breakfast, at least I can look presentable.

I brush my hair and put on a dark cerulean blue sweater that brings out the color of my eyes.

Quinn always notices those things. Then I swipe on some mascara and a soft pink lip before giving myself a last look in the mirror. It’s subtle but enough to show I care.

“Alright, be back soon, boy. Wish me luck,” I murmur to Lucky on my way out the door. He ignores me, still pissed no second breakfast is coming .

I spot Quinn immediately as I walk into the dining area of the Cottage.

He’s seated by a window in a crisp gray shirt and tailored blazer.

He stands the moment he sees me, his eyes softening.

He’s so handsome, all clean-cut lines and that understated confidence he wears so well.

It’s the total opposite of Damien and everything I’ve been caught up in these past few weeks.

“Good morning,” he says, every bit the gentleman as he helps me into my seat. “You look nice.”

“Thank you.”

He nods at the server as she pours a steaming cup of coffee for each of us. He hands me mine first, no sweetener or milk. Always efficient, always thoughtful.

“So…” He lets the word hang in the air, his gaze intense as it searches mine. “I hope I didn’t freak you out last night.”

I shift a bit in my seat and take a slow sip of coffee.

“You did hit me with a lot…”

“I understand.” He nods slowly, his eyes never leaving my face. “But I needed you to know how I feel. I came here because I think you’re in serious danger. This case, this town—it’s not worth risking your life, Woodsen.”

There’s something in his eyes I haven’t seen before, and it unnerves me. He’s frightened … for me .

“Quinn, I told you last night. I can’t just walk away.” I sigh. “There’s more to this case. It could change everything for me.”

“You think I don’t understand ambition? Career moves?” He leans forward, his hands clasped tightly. “But this case is different. It’s not safe, and honestly, I don’t trust Blackhollow. He’s not who you think. I’ve been hearing things—things that could ruin careers and far worse.”

I feel a twinge of anger. I don’t know why, but I feel oddly protective of Damien. Even if I suspect him of all the same sordid things Quinn probably does, I don’t like to hear Quinn talk badly about him. We’re Damien’s attorneys. Even if no one else has Damien’s back, we should.

“He’s our client,” I say. “It’s our ethical responsibility to zealously advocate for him, no matter our personal feelings.”

Quinn lets out a slow breath, leaning back in his chair. “Are you certain this is just about your feelings of professional responsibility? You sure there isn’t more going on here?”

A beat of silence stretches between us as he watches me, his jaw tight.

“More? Like what?” I ask, even though both of us know exactly what he’s hinting at.

“Like something… romantic… between you two?”

“He’s a client, nothing more.”

I force my tone to stay even, keeping the defensiveness and hurt out of my voice.

Okay, yes—maybe there’s some crazy, unspoken attraction between Damien and me.

But the idea that I’d act on it is, frankly, insulting.

For Quinn to suggest it, knowing firsthand how hard I’ve fought against those kinds of insinuations at the firm, stings even more.

“I’m sorry, but it is Damien Blackhollow.

You wouldn’t be the first beautiful woman to fall for his charms.” Quinn’s fingers press into the bridge of his nose like he’s holding back something sharper.

When he drops his hand, his expression is tight and controlled, but his eyes burn with irritation.

“He wants you to attend the All Hallows Gala with him tonight.”

“What?” I frown. “I told him not to go to that.”

“Well, not only is he attending, but he’s insisting you go with him,” Quinn says with a sharp, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “Says it’s crucial to the case that you’re there—claims it’s for recon. Layout, timeline. His alibi hinges on being at the Gala, remember?”

“You can’t be serious.” Heat rises to my face. “This is completely unprofessional. Of course I’m not going to some ridiculous ball. ”

Quinn watches me carefully, his expression guarded. “You sound awfully sure about that.”

“Because I am.”

Yet even as the words leave my lips, something uneasy coils inside me. It’s not just unease, though. It’s something else. Something I don’t want to name.

Would I go… if I could?

I’ve never been to anything like the All Hallows Gala before.

Growing up, my family had exactly zero ties to high society.

No private school balls, no charity fundraisers, no glitzy social events where the elite sipped champagne and pretended the rest of us didn’t exist. Even when I was with my law school ex, William—a guy who came from old money and knew this world inside and out—he never took me to events like the Gala.

I told myself it wasn’t a big deal at the time.

It wasn’t my scene. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting a little when he always took his sister to the Gala every year with their family’s tickets.

He’d brushed it off as tradition. Nothing exciting.

No fun anyway. I’d nodded. Smiled. Pretended not to notice how relieved he looked when I didn’t push back.

Now, though…

I can almost picture it. A lavish ballroom.

Sweeping music and glittering chandeliers.

Decadent food and dancing until my feet ached.

If I’m being honest with myself, and if I wasn’t in the middle of the most high stakes case of my entire life, the All Hallows Gala is something I’d love to attend.

And if he wasn’t my client—if there weren’t murder charges and a lethal secret society hanging over us—Damien Blackhollow might be exactly the sort of man I’d want to go with.

I can’t help but smirk to myself. And William would absolutely die if he saw me at the Gala with someone like Damien. But then I shake my head, pushing the thoughts away before they can take root .

“I promise you, Quinn, it’s strictly professional between Damien and me.

” I pause, hesitating. I’m not sure how much I should tell Quinn about my family, but it feels like something has changed between us since last night.

Even if he is my boss, he really does care about me.

I feel like I can trust him. “But you’re right, there is something different about this case.

Something… personal.” I look down at my coffee cup, tracing the edge with my fingertip.

“I’ve found out things that tie me to this case in ways I can’t ignore.

Connections to my family I can’t walk away from. ”

His eyebrows knit together, expression turning cautious.

“What sort of connections?”

“I think my dad may have somehow gotten tangled up with the Blackhollows and the Veil.” My chest tightens, but I force the words out. “That maybe there’s a link between all of this and my mom’s murder.”