Page 57 of Salem’s Rise

Maybe this time, with his guard down and the liquor doing the heavy lifting, he’ll finally give me the answers I’ve been waiting for. His lips part, but whatever response is there, he can’t seem to say it.

Instead, his hand finds my jaw and his gaze drops briefly to my mouth. Everything inside me goes perfectly still. I don’t even register what’s happening until his mouth is on mine.

Then Silas Blackhollow is kissing me like he’s been waiting a lifetime for exactly this, slow and certain in a way that makes my knees unsteady. One hand slides up into my hair, tilting my head just enough to deepen it, and every rational thought I own goes up in smoke. This is what a first kiss is supposed to feel like—the kind people write songs about, the kind I stopped believing existed outside of movies. And God help me, it’s the best kiss of my entire life.

His tongue brushes against mine, tentative at first, as if testing my reaction. When I don’t pull away, it turns assured. Controlled, deliberate, the kind of unhurried confidence that makes it obvious he knows exactly what he’s doing. My mind flashes, unbidden, to what that same type of attention might feel like somewhere else entirely. Heat floods low between my thighs, sharp and shameless.

His breathing turns rough and uneven, hungrier. One hand slides from my waist to grip my hip, his fingers pressing in, possessive and sure. He pulls me the last inch closer, and it’s the hard press of him against me that finally jolts my brain back to functioning.

Wait—what the hell am I doing?

I hate this man.

And he hates me too.

Reason crashes back into place, and I jerk away so abruptly I almost pitch backward in my rush to escape him.

“Silas!” I hiss. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

Panic seizes me.

Oh my God. Did anyone see us?

My eyes dart around the ballroom, searching faces for some flicker of recognition, some proof that we’ve just been caught. But, thankfully, no one is looking our way.

Silas blinks, like someone suddenly awoken from sleepwalking, and then he smiles. It’s the cruelest smile I’ve ever seen.

“Relax, Mercer,” he says, his voice lethal in its quietness. “I was simply curious.”

“Curious about what?”

“Whether you’re as desperate as you look.” His eyes drop to my mouth, slow and deliberate, like he’s already decided the answer. “You’ve been so easy for Ashcroft. Practically begging for it. I figured it was only fair I got a turn before he wears you out completely.”

My palm connects sharply with his cheek. The crack echoes through the music, but Silas barely reacts to the slap. He turns his face back toward me with maddening composure, a faint red mark blooming across his cheekbone. Then he straightens his jacket as though nothing has happened.

“I suppose that answers my question,” he says.

The orchestra swells back into motion as he turns and strides away without a backward glance, dancers closing the gap he leaves behind like he was never there at all.

What the hell was that?

A joke, presumably. A bet, perhaps. Some private amusement between rich, bored people who have spent their entire lives inventing new ways to humiliate anyone unfortunate enough to wander into their orbit. There is no other rational explanation for Silas kissing me the way he did on the dance floor at the Blackhollow Ball.

Before tonight, he had never shown anything even remotely resembling attraction or affection toward me. Contempt, absolutely. Irritation, definitely. Reluctant tolerance when circumstances had forced it, certainly. But actually wanting me in that way?

Yeah, no.

Anger quickly replaces any heat from his touch that still lingers beneath my skin. He’d said he wanted to see whether I would let him. Maybe Georgina put him up to it. Maybe Van did. Maybe half the room is in on it, hiding their laughter while I stand here alone wondering why my heartbeat has not yet returned to normal.

A few people glance at me, curiosity sharpening their gazes, but most of the ballroom remains absorbed in its own glittering performance. Champagne still flows. Candles still flicker. The conversation rolls on as though nothing at all has happened, while my entire world has quietly tilted off its axis.

I look around for a familiar face, suddenly desperate to find my friends. I search for Lena first. She and Jonah had been by the dessert tables only moments ago, but neither of them is there anymore. My gaze continues around the ballroom, expecting to find them somewhere else in the crowd, until I realize, with a creeping sense of dread, that they aren’t the only ones missing.

Lucien has disappeared. The Ashcrofts are gone. Georgina and her parents. Lena and Jonah and their families. Even Van. They’ve all vanished without my noticing, and although Silas hasn’t returned since I slapped him, his absence feels less personal and more like part of the same pattern. The ballroom is still crowded, but suddenly, it feels strangely hollow, as though the people who mattered have quietly left and everyone else has been placed here as decoration.

Only Rowan remains.

The relief that moves through me upon spotting him is immediate. After everything that has happened so far tonight, Rowan feels like the closest thing I have to solid ground.