Page 62 of Where The Devil Kneels

“Three,” Silas counts down softly. “Two. One.”

Fire meets gasoline-soaked ground and the estate answers. Hidden sprinklers erupt, drenching Garrow’s men where they stand. Their planned inferno dies in seconds. Water drives them back in a chaotic, shouting retreat.

Garrow comes into view beside his black sedan, rigid with fury. His arms slash through the air as he shouts commands his drenched men ignore, too busy running from water that wasn’t in anyone’s plan but ours.

“It’s working,” I breathe, watching as confusion transforms their organized assault into chaotic withdrawal.

“This is only the beginning,” Silas cautions, though I detect a note of satisfaction in his voice. “Garrow won’t retreat for long. He’ll regroup, try different tactics.”

“But we’ve bought time,” I say, turning from the window. “Time to plan our next move.”

Light sneaks through the curtains and catches Silas’s face — cheekbones, the dark smudges under his eyes. He looks beat to hell. But there’s a spark in him I haven’t seen before, like he’s been a ghost all this time and just became real.

His eyes leave the window and find mine. It’s not that focused, problem-solving looks. It’s something else entirely. He’s looking at me like I’m the first sunrise he’s seen in years.

My voice catches. “What?” Heat crawls up my neck as those eyes stay locked on mine.

“I’ve watched over this house for twenty-three years,” he says softly. “Maintained its systems, protected its secrets, guided those seeking sanctuary through its passages. Always alone, always from shadows.”

His hand lifts, hovering near my face without quite touching, just as it did in that moment of confrontation in the tunnel. This time, though, there’s no desperation in the gesture, only wonder.

His voice drops to a whisper that barely carries over the chaos outside. “For years, I stood alone in these shadows. Now you’re here, not just tolerating this house’s secrets, but wielding them. Fighting for them. I never thought…” He swallows, eyes never leaving mine. “I never thought I’d find that.”

I reach up and catch his hand, draw it to my cheek. His breath catches. “They have no idea what they’re up against, do they?” I whisper, lips curving as his thumb traces the corner of my mouth.

Silas smiles — rare, unguarded, transforming. “Not the slightest,” he says, then leans forward with careful deliberation. His lips find mine, tentative and questioning. His fingers tremble against my cheek. When he pulls back, his eyes search mine like he’s just found something he didn’t know he was looking for. “But they’re about to learn.”

Chapter seventeen

The Town's Reckoning

Silas’slipsstillfeelwarm on mine. His hand trembles against my cheek, like he’s not sure I’m real. We stay like that for a moment — guardian and inheritor, kissing in a hidden passage while the house gets sieged. Not exactly ideal timing.

“We should check on the others,” I whisper, though my fingers betray me by curling tighter around his wrist, unwilling to break contact just yet.

Silas nods, reluctance visible in the slight tension of his jaw. “The library. Dr. Rao was treating Jonah’s cuts from the window glass.”

We pull apart and he leads us through another hidden door, footsteps quiet on stone worn smooth by every Merrick before him. My head’s still spinning — the kiss, the defences kicking in, Garrow’s guys actually falling back. For once, it feels like we might actually survive this shit.

I should know better than to jinx things.

The explosion hits without warning. One of the library walls blows inward and I’m thrown back, shoulders cracking against the opposite wall, all the air knocked out of me. Through the dust I catch Jonah diving behind a desk, Dr. Rao shielding her face as wood splinters rain down.

“Elara!” Silas shouts, lunging toward me through the debris cloud.

But another figure steps through the jagged hole in the wall first, Lyle Garrow, immaculate in his tailored suit despite the destruction, flanked by two men whose bulk suggests they eat smaller men for breakfast. His smile stretches across his face like a wound as he surveys the room, eyes settling on me with predatory focus.

“Ms. Hale,” he says, his voice as smooth as mercury, and twice as toxic. “How disappointing to find you’ve been corrupting your lovely inheritance with these… primitive defences.” He brushes a splinter from his sleeve with manicured fingers I’d love to chomp off. “Though I must say, your little water trick outside was quite impressive. Almost got my shoes wet.”

My mind races, trying to process what I’m seeing. How did he get in? How did he know about that particular passage? Silas catches my eye from across the room, his face carved with the same stunned realization. This shouldn’t be possible. The passages are the Merricks’ domain, their centuries-kept secret.

“Surprised?” Garrow’s smile widens as he reads the shock on our faces.

“Did you really think your family were the only ones who kept records?” He nods to his men. “Check the others.”

His goons move with practised efficiency, securing Jonah and Dr. Rao before they can fully recover from the blast. One wrenches Jonah’s service weapon away, tossing it across the room. The other binds Dr. Rao’s wrists with zip ties.

Silas shifts subtly, edging toward me. Garrow notices immediately.