Page 56 of Salem’s Rise

Rowan looks at me as though he wants to say something more, but instead, he leans down and kisses my cheek before reluctantly releasing me to the wolf.

A heartbeat later, Silas’s hand closes around mine. The instant he touches me, an unwelcome thrill runs up my arm. Every nerve ending seems painfully aware of him—of the heat of his body beside me, of the steady pressure of his fingers laced with mine. I hate how my body responds to him.

He leads me to the far end of the dance floor. I avoid his gaze, trying to ignore the way his hands settle against my waist, low and almost possessive. Sparks race across my skin where his fingers press into the fabric of my dress, just firm enough that I feel it everywhere. My stomach fills with a maddening swarm of butterflies, low and insistent.

He is close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath and catch the heady scent of cedar and smoke, dark and intoxicating. Close enough that, for one reckless second, I forget why I should pull away.

It’s absolutely ludicrous.

This is Silas fucking Blackhollow.

He’s a monster.

I shouldn’t enjoy being in his arms, and I definitely shouldn’t be wondering what his hands would feel like elsewhere, or how easily a man like him could ruin me. But God help me, some reckless part of me wants to find out.

“So,” I say, forcing my voice to remain steady, “should I assume there’s a reason for this, or do you greet all your guests with a dance?”

“You shouldn’t be here tonight.”

“So you’ve told me,” I say. “Many times.”

Another couple sweeps past us, and his hand flexes against my back, a subtle tension entering his touch.

“What are you doing with Rowan?” he asks.

“Dancing—same as I’m doing with you.”

“You know what I mean,” he says. “You shouldn’t be with him⁠—”

“Yes, you’ve said that before too,” I snap. “I shouldn’t be here at the ball. I shouldn’t be in Salem’s Fall. And I shouldn’t be with your friend Rowan,” I say, anger building inside me. “I understand. You think I don’t belong. I’m not good enough. You’ve made that perfectly clear, Silas.” I grit my teeth. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I’ll ask again. What do you want?”

He sighs, his eyes unfocused and blurry. When he speaks again, his lips brush the shell of my ear, almost deliberately.

“You never seem to understand anything I tell you.”

“Great.” I stiffen my chin. “Clearly, I’m unintelligent too. Anything else you want to tell me? You seem to be on a roll.”

“My God.” His eyes flash with frustration, and his fingers curl into the fabric of my dress like he’s fighting the urge to shake sense into me—or pull me closer. I can’t tell which. “You’re the most vexing woman I’ve ever met.”

“Oh, that too?”

“Would you shut up for once and let me finish?” His voice drops to an irritated growl. “It’s not you. It’s Rowan. He’s not who you think he is.”

I laugh, though it comes out thinner than I mean it to.

“You sound jealous.”

Through his drunken haze, his eyes meet mine. Something raw flickers there, almost like concern, breaking through his usual composure. His grip on my waist tightens.

“You have no idea what’s happening around you, Mercer. He’s going to destroy you.”

The words knock the breath from me. I’ve known something was very wrong from the first day I set foot in Salem’s Fall. Everyone around me is playing some game I don’t understand, and Silas has finally all but admitted it.

“What do you mean? What do you think Rowan is going to do to me?”

He stiffens.

“Goddamn it. Tell me, Silas.”