Page 36 of Salem’s Rise

To be fair, I don’t think I could resist even if I tried, because his smile… it’s absolutely breathtaking. It eases the cruel lines of his face and warms the darkness behind his black eyes, transforming him into a completely different man.

He actually looks nice when he smiles.

But then he notices Rowan beside me and whatever weird moment just passed between us vanishes. Disgust rolls over his face. The woman at Silas’s side follows his gaze, her eyes landing on me. She takes her time looking me over, from my face to my clothes and back again, taking inventory without any attempt to conceal it. While she studies me, Silas whispers something in her ear and she laughs.

“Should we get another round?” Rowan asks, rising, the empty pitcher in his hand. “Maybe some shots too? My treat.”

“Spoken like a man with inherited wealth,” Jonah says, lifting his nearly empty glass. “By all means, Ashcroft. Have at it.”

Rowan looks at me. “Help me carry the drinks back?”

“I thought rich men paid people for that sort of thing.”

“Sorry. It’s my butler’s day off,” he jokes.

At least… I think he’s joking.

We quickly find a spot at the crowded bar. People are packed in from edge to edge, but a group of students from SFU quickly move aside to let Rowan in when they see him come over. They bump fists with him and give him high-fives, everyone calling out his name eagerly, just like when we were walking through town.

It’s funny.

People react so differently to him than they do to Silas. They both wield the same kind of influence that comes with good looks, wealth, and family prestige, but Rowan wins people over with effortless charm while Silas rules using fear.

While we wait, Rowan leans against the polished wood of the bar and turns toward me. “I don’t want to sound presumptuous, but you seem like you’re actually having fun tonight.”

I smile despite myself. “I am,” I admit. “It still doesn’t mean I trust you, though.”

“I understand. But maybe one day soon.”

Rowan is funny and charming and attractive in a way that feels manageable. I didn’t come to Salem’s Fall looking for romance, and I certainly don’t believe in love—not the kind people write songs about anyway. Romantic love is just obsession with better branding. It makes intelligent people reckless, then leaves everyone else to clean up the wreckage.

But sex is different.

A distraction might even be healthy. A few drinks and a night with a man who looks like Rowan Ashcroft could do wonders for my stress levels.

Rowan reaches for the tray as the bartender sets two pitchers and a dozen shots in front of us, but another hand gets there first.

“Thanks for the round, sport,” Silas says, holding the tray and giving Rowan a cold, careful smile. The woman in cream stands beside him, leaving barely an inch between them. Up close, she’s even more striking. Her features are delicate but not soft, her gaze cool and sharp.

Rowan’s smile stiffens. “Buy your own drinks, Blackhollow.”

“I could.” Silas glances at the tray and then shrugs. “But this is far more convenient.”

“You’ve always confused convenience with entitlement,” Rowan says.

Silas’s dark eyes flash. “And you’ve always confused charm with permission.”

“Now, now, boys. Settle down.” The woman with Silas regards them with faint amusement before turning to me. “You must be Jacqueline Mercer.”

I frown. “You know who I am?”

“Of course. I always make a point of knowing who enters my town,” she says.

“Your town?”

She smiles at me with faint condescension. “One develops a certain… proprietary feeling after enough generations here in Salem’s Fall.”

I understand instantly. She must be from one of the old families in town. A founding family?