Page 37 of Salem’s Fall (Dark Seasons Thriller #3)

I wake slowly, my mind pulling through layers of thick fog. My head throbs in rhythm with my heartbeat, the pain dull but persistent, settling like a weight on my temples. For a disorienting moment, I can’t remember anything. But then memory floods back.

Hargrove’s death.

The figure in the mask, chasing me.

And then… nothing.

I blink groggily, my vision swimming as I take in my unfamiliar—but undeniably opulent—surroundings.

An imposing four-poster bed looms around me, draped in impossibly soft bedding, its heavy canopy falling like a shroud.

Soft candlelight from crystal sconces flicker around the room, casting shifting shadows across dark hardwood floors.

A plush, intricate tapestry rug stretches beneath me, while deep burgundy velvet curtains hang heavy over the windows, sealing out daylight.

It’s all so beautiful and grand, but with a sinister edge, like something straight out of a Gothic horror novel.

“You’re awake… Finally.”

My heart skips as I whirl around to find Damien Blackhollow sitting in a leather chair on the other side of the room. Arms crossed over his muscular chest. Dark, piercing eyes fixed on me. His face holds a look that’s both anxious and… relieved?

But then my attention shifts, and I blink again, certain I’m hallucinating because Lucky is nestled in Damien’s lap.

The cat who hates pretty much everyone but me seems completely at ease, eyes closed in utter contentment, purring as Damien scratches behind his ears.

At the foot of the bed, I notice my bags from the Cottage, neatly stacked in a row.

“Where… where am I?” I ask, my throat raw as if it hasn’t been used in weeks.

“Blackthorn Manor, of course,” he answers simply, like that explains everything.

A mix of emotions swirls inside me. Confusion. Alarm. Worry.

“How did I get here?” I cough, my chest achy and rattling. I’m sore all over, like I’ve been hit by a Mack truck. My right arm throbs, and I glance down to see someone has bandaged it where Hargrove’s knife cut me. “And Lucky? My luggage?”

Damien leans back, one eyebrow arching with a hint of smugness. “Oh, you mean how did I retrieve a cat and a few bags from the B&B? Not exactly hard when you’re a Blackhollow. Let’s just say nobody raised an objection.”

He gently sets Lucky down on the floor and advances a few feet toward the bed, stopping just short. A spark of anger simmers just beneath his controlled exterior, his voice hardening.

“You were attacked , James—again! Do you have any idea what would’ve happened if I hadn’t shown up when I did?”

I blink, startled. “You… you saved me?”

A muscle twitches in his jaw, dark eyes flashing.

“Yes,” he snaps. “I saved you. And it seems like I’m constantly having to save you, doesn’t it?

Because you’re too damn foolish and stubborn to listen.

” He closes the distance between us, his voice rising now.

“I warned you to be careful in Salem’s Fall.

I told you not to go to the professor. But you—” His jaw flexes. “You never listen.”

I push myself upright, a hot spike of anger surging through me.

“Wait—you think this is my fault? You think I wanted this to happen?”

“No, of course not, but your stubbornness has nearly gotten you killed. Twice! ” His voice is rough, but something else flickers behind his anger, something I wasn’t expecting. Fear. “Damn it, James! Why couldn’t you just listen to me?”

I stiffen, my hands curling into fists in the sheets as I think back to the Wandering Raven and the mask hanging on the wall, displayed like some kind of sick trophy.

The mask my attacker wore my first night in Salem’s Fall—and the night I was attacked at Hargrove’s shop.

The same mask connected to the Veil. I still don’t have all the answers, but I think I’m finally starting to put some of the pieces together.

“I don’t listen, because all you keep doing is lying to me!” My voice shakes with emotion. “That mugging my first night in Salem’s Fall was the Veil, wasn’t it?”

Damien’s entire body tenses and I see it—hesitation. Guilt. It’s barely there, just a flicker before he schools his expression, but I catch it. And it’s all the confirmation I need.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?—”

“Don’t.” My voice drops, low and accusing. “That man… he was wearing the Veil Ritual Mask, wasn’t he? I know it’s all connected somehow.”

“James—” A muscle feathers in his jaw, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Let me explain.”

I fold my arms across my chest.

“Please do.”

“That first night… yes, that was me. Or rather, Bennett.” His voice is clipped, reluctant. “I told him to make sure you un derstood how dangerous this place is. That you didn’t belong here.”

A cold, bitter laugh escapes me.

“You set me up.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I wanted to scare some sense into you. That’s all.”

“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.”

“He what ?” 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 have lived 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 and haunted 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.