Page 72 of Salem’s Rise

No. Silas Blackhollow doesn’t flirt.

Silas insults, intimidates, and mostly ruins my life while looking supremely satisfied about it. Silas does not say things like you’d know it in a low, unhurried voice like he’s thought about doing unspeakable things to me and what that might feel like.

But then why does heat pulse low in my stomach, sharp and unwelcome, and my legs suddenly feel distinctly less reliable than they did thirty seconds ago?

I clear my throat, praying my voice sounds steadier than I feel. “You just won the First Trial. Why would you want to help your rival?”

“I want to form an alliance.”

His words are so unexpected, I almost laugh. “With me? Yeah, right,” I say. “You’ve spent months threatening me, lying to me, and making every effort to drive me out of Salem’s Fall.”

“To be fair, I did not make every effort.” Wicked amusement glints in his eyes.

“Silas—”

“You are tenacious, and… determined.” He says it reluctantly, almost painfully, like the words are being physically extracted from him. “But that will not be enough to get you through The Rites. You need information. Things you cannot learn simply by being stubborn. You need someone who understands how the trials work, what rules to follow and what rules to break, and how these people respond when they’re cornered.”

I let the silence stretch, watching him. The compliment sits strangely between us, sincere enough to unsettle me. But I know Silas didn’t seek me out to boost my confidence. Whatever brought him here, it isn’t generosity.

“Perhaps I do,” I say. “But you’re not here for what I need. What is it, exactly, that you need from me?”

Silas doesn’t answer immediately. He looks nervous, which is absurd, because this is Silas Blackhollow. Even under the cemetery with the tunnels collapsing around us, he never lost his composure.

“You said you want an alliance, but an alliance requires honesty,” I say, taking a step closer. “You don’t do favors. You certainly don’t do them for me.” I pause. “So what do you get out of this?”

“You’re… intelligent. Perceptive,” he says. “You see patterns other people miss.”

“Wow. Flattery.” I rock back on my heels. “That’s new from you.”

“It was not intended as flattery.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Of course not.”

“You reached the final chamber before anyone else,” he continues. “Without training. Without experience. You recognized the structure of the tunnels faster than claimants who have studied The Rites since childhood.” He pauses, his jaw tightening. “I think you could be… useful to me.”

Useful.

It’s an interesting choice of words. Silas does not give praise accidentally. If he says I am useful, he has evaluated me and found something worthy. I hate how much I enjoy hearing it. I don’t want to be like everyone else in this town who cares about this man or what he thinks of them.

“I’m touched. Really,” I say sarcastically. “But I don’t see how this could possibly work. I could never trust you.”

His expression shifts toward impatience. “What exactly have I done to earn your distrust?”

I stare at him.

“Are you serious?”

“Please.” A hint of dry amusement slips into his voice. “Enlighten me.”

I let out a disbelieving laugh. “Are you fucking insane? You and your sadistic friend Van sliced my arm open and knocked me unconscious!” Fresh anger flares as the memory comes rushing back. “Do you really not remember, or are you in the business of assaulting women so often that the incidents blur together?”

Silas goes very still.

“I did no such thing.”

“Someone did.”

“I know that.” His gaze hardens. “But do you really believe that was me?”