Page 85 of Salem’s Rise

A faint crease appears between his dark brows. He looks almost sad for me. “You never had one?”

“Nope.” I shrug. “It’s okay. I survived all right.”

His gaze turns teasing. “Debatable,” he says, and then rubs underneath the cat’s chin. “When I was a kid, I used to rescue injured rabbits and squirrels at Blackthorn Manor and spend weeks nursing them back to health. My mother thought it was sweet, but my father and Lucien were less amused.”

“Wow.” I stare at him. “Silas Blackhollow has a heart. Who knew?”

“Try not to sound so shocked.”

“Shocked? My entire understanding of reality has just shifted off its axis.”

“Very funny.” His expression turns wry. “At one point, I told my father I might become a veterinarian. But, alas, he informed me that running Blackhollow Industries was a more appropriate career path.”

I can’t help smiling. I like this version of Silas—the boy who rescued injured animals and once dreamed of doing something with his life that had nothing to do with the Blackhollow billion-dollar empire or the Veil.

An instant later, the cat twists free of his arms, landing lightly in the snow and then running beneath the hedges without so much as a goodbye.

“See? The cat agrees.” Silas chuckles. “I suppose animal care isn’t in my future.”

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” I ask, watching with concern as the cat disappears into the night. “It’s getting cold. He shouldn’t be out here alone.”

Silas watches the hedges for a second.

“Don’t worry. He knows how to take care of himself.” He takes my hand and leads me to the car, opening the rear door before helping me out of my coat as I slide inside. “You look nice,” he says casually, almost as an afterthought.

I wait for more.

I spent almost two hours on my appearance tonight, something I never do. I even curled my hair and painstakingly applied more makeup than I ever wear. After all that effort, you look nice feels irritatingly inadequate, and I’m even more annoyed with myself for caring.

“That’s all?” I press.

His eyes move slowly over me, lingering on the way the emerald velvet molds to my curves before lifting to my face. Heat follows his gaze as surely as if he had touched me.

“Jesus, Mercer. You know you’re gorgeous,” he says roughly, swallowing hard. “You really don’t need me to say it out loud, do you?”

Something soft pulls beneath my ribs. The way he’s looking at me makes me want to melt into a pathetic little puddle at his feet. I want to fall into his arms and have him kiss me again, the way he did at the ball. And that tongue. Oh God, that tongue⁠—

Wait.

What the hell is going on here?

No. No. No.

Abso-fucking-lutely not.

Silas Blackhollow is dangerous. He has lied to me, frightened me, manipulated me, and even admitted to arranging my kidnapping. A well-fitted tuxedo and a moment of sincere flattery do not erase any of that.

I just wish my body agreed with my brain.

“Just remember, this is not a date,” I say, though I probably need the reminder more than he does.

“I’m aware.” He exhales through his nose, suspiciously close to a laugh. “I believe I was the one who established that.”

The silence between us is unexpectedly comfortable as we drive out of town. I watch Salem’s Fall pass by in a wash of snow and warm light, Gallows Street even lovelier now that winter has fully settled over it. Horse-drawn sleighs move beneath snow-covered wreaths, while horned-beast ice sculptures and Krampus figures stand guard in places Santa Claus would in any other town. Even at Christmas, Salem’s Fall never quite abandons its spooky roots.

Before long, the wrought-iron gates of Blackthorn Manor emerge from the darkness ahead, draped in garlands and thousands of tiny lights. Fresh snow blankets the estate grounds as we drive inside, ancient oak branches heavy with it. The manor stands just beyond, immense and majestic, every window glowing amber against the night. Smoke curls from the chimneys and disappears into the dark sky.

“I still can’t believe you live here,” I say, in awe of so much beauty.