Page 75 of Salem’s Rise

“You sent the dress? Why?”

His gaze locks with mine, and I see a flash of heat in his dark eyes.

“Because I wanted to see you in it.”

This. Fucking. Man.

He’d told me not to come to the ball, spent half his time acting like he hated me, and all the while he’d secretly sent me the most beautiful dress I’d ever seen, simply because he wanted to see me wearing it. Nothing about him makes sense. Every time I think I understand him, he does something that proves I don’t.

For one suspended moment, neither of us speaks. I become acutely aware that I’m barefoot in my pajamas, alone in my bedroom with him. That he is close enough for me to see the faint silver in his eyes, and that whatever look is there isn’t remotely fading—it’s simmering hotter, like he’s deciding whether to let me see more of it.

Something electric moves slowly beneath my skin, unwelcome but impossible to dismiss. Suddenly, I can think of nothing but that earth-shattering kiss we shared at the ball. His mouth on mine. How completely I lost myself in him.

But then I remember his cold dismissal after. He’d said he was simply curious that night. Maybe this is just more curiosity. Maybe everything is a game to a man like Silas Blackhollow.

“I’m going to ask you one more time, and I suggest you answer truthfully for once,” I demand. “Why do you want to partner with me, Silas?”

He just stares at me. For one impossible second, I think he’s going to walk away.

Instead, he explodes.

“I don’t fucking know!” he roars, the words tearing out of him, his composure breaking completely for the first time since I’ve known him. “You complicate everything. You occupy more of my attention than you should. When I should be focused, I think about where you are and what you’re doing. I worry about which rule you are about to break or whether you’ve managed to get yourself hurt while I’m occupied elsewhere. The idea of you dying in The Rites makes me so crazy, I want to kill them all just for making you participate. The way I feel about you is inconvenient. It is distracting. And I hate myself for it.” He looks away as though thoroughly disgusted by his admission. “But most of all, I hate you for causing it.”

I am shocked into silence. Because unless I’ve completely lost my mind, Silas Blackhollow just told me he likes me. Or whatever deeply dysfunctional version of liking someone Silas is capable of.

Despite everything, a laugh escapes me. “That may be the worst declaration of affection anyone has ever made.”

“It was not a declaration of affection. It was a statement of my temporary insanity.” He steps closer, narrowing the distance until the tension between us feels like a living, breathing thing. “I am not asking you to trust me, Jack. I know that’s impossible,” he says. “But I am asking—no, I am begging—you to work with me.”

I look at the beautiful monster in front of me and see every reason I should refuse. The kidnapping. The threats. The secrets he still keeps. The Blackhollow name. Lucien and the Veil always surrounding him like a shadow with a pulse.

But I also cannot forget what happened in the tunnels. I almost died because I refused help from the one person who understood the trial. Worse, I almost lost my chance to find Josh because I was too suspicious to distinguish help from danger. Whatever else Silas is, he understands the Veil in ways I don’t, and right now, that knowledge may be more valuable to me than trust.

Silas is not safe.

He may never be safe.

But he may be necessary.

“What would this alliance involve?” I ask.

His shoulders relax, relief passing through his eyes. He knows he’s got me.

“Sharing information. Coordinating strategy when it serves us both.” He fixes me with a look that makes it clear this next part isn’t negotiable. “Obeying me when I tell you to, though I realize doing what you’re told is particularly difficult for you.”

“I’ll consider obeying.”

His mouth curves, the hint of a smile slipping through. “You’re going to be unbearable, aren’t you?”

“Hey—you came to me, remember?”

“Yes,” he agrees. “I did.”

“If we’re going to do this, no more secrets.”

“That is unreasonably broad,” he says. “I can agree to no deliberate omissions regarding immediate threats.”

“Fine.” I hold out my hand. “But this doesn’t mean I trust you.”