Chapter 3
Salem
The fire roared louder as the night deepened, its glow lighting up the trees and throwing wild shadows across the faces of everyone gathered around it. I watched the flames dance, trying to shake the strange, eerie feeling that had settled over me ever since we got to this haunted-ass farmhouse. It wasn’t just the wind or the stories. It was the way Heresy kept looking at me, like he knew something I didn’t, something dangerous.
“Salem, you good?” Pixie’s voice broke through my thoughts as she leaned over, her eyes glinting with mischief.
I gave her a shrug. “Yeah, just soaking in all the spooky bullshit.”
“Better soak in a few more beers, too.” She tossed me another can, and I cracked it open, letting the cold fizz distract me from the creeping feeling in my gut.
It wasn’t the fire or the house that bothered me. It was the Slayers. I didn’t trust any of them, especially Heresy. He had this way about him, this quiet intensity that made me feel like he was always two steps ahead. And right now, he sat with his brothers across the fire, but his eyes stayed locked on me.
I took another swig, trying to ignore him, but it was impossible. The dude was like a shadow that wouldn't let go. Dark, brooding, and way too intense for my liking. And yet, every time I felt his gaze, it was like a challenge, like he was daring me to figure him out.
Fuck that. I wasn’t here to play guessing games with a Slayer.
I stood up, dusting off my jeans. “I'm getting some air,” I muttered to no one in particular, stepping away from the fire and walking toward the old barn. I needed a minute to clear my head, and away from all the noise and eyes.
The night was cold and quiet, except for the crackle of the fire behind me and the distant sound of someone telling another ghost story. I breathed in the cool air, feeling a little more grounded. It was stupid, letting Heresy get to me like that. I was tougher than this. I had to be, if I wanted to survive this world and earn my patch with the Hell on Heelz.
But as soon as I turned the corner around the barn, there he was. Heresy, standing in the shadows like he’d been waiting for me. I stopped in my tracks, my heart doing a weird flip in my chest.
“You following me now, Slayer?” I crossed my arms, giving him my best tough-girl stance, even though his sudden presence made catch my breath.
Heresy stood in front of me, shirtless, all but for his cut.
Why?
Where did his shirt go?
Even in central Florida, it wasn’t exactly warm. There was a chill tonight. But damn, the man was a walking dream. Or rather a sexy nightmare.
His hair, all long and dark, hid part of his face, giving him that irresistible, untamed vibe that made my heart skip a beat every damn time. Dude boasted a broad chest and muscles that appeared to be made of rock. He had that kind of raw power that came from living life on the edge, and it showed in every inch of his body.
Tattoos covered his arms, with the ink trailing down like a map of his past. On one arm, wolves ran in a pack, fierce and wild, their eyes almost glowing against his skin. Just below them, skeletons played guitars, grinning like they knew some secret about life and death that the rest of us were still trying to figure out. It was dark, dangerous, and exactly the kind of thing I’d expect from Heresy.
On his shoulder, roses wrapped around a mystical woman, with her eyes half-closed as if she were caught between a dream and reality. Or having an orgasm. I couldn’t quite tell. But the detail in the piece was unreal, the thorns of the roses almost sharp enough to feel. She looked like she belonged in another world—a dangerous one, no doubt—just like Heresy.
He adorned his fingers with unique silver rings, and he painted his nails black, which were chipped from the road but somehow made him look even more dangerous. Everything about him screamed chaos, from the wild ink covering his skin to the fierce look in his dark eyes. He was a storm in human form, and I couldn’t stop myself from wanting to get swept up in him.
I knew I should keep my distance, that letting myself fall any deeper for him was asking for trouble. But standing there, staring at that tatted-up masterpiece of a biker, keeping away was the last thing on my mind.
Heresy stepped closer, his boots crunching in the gravel. “No, I ain’t followin’ you, just makin’ sure you don’t run into any ghosts out here all by your lonesome.” His voice was low, almost a growl, and it sent a shiver down my spine.
I scoffed. “I don’t need a Slayer to protect me from a bunch of dead spirits.”
“You sure about that?” He stepped even closer, his body blocking out the dim moonlight. “This place has a way of getting under your skin. Don’t you feel it?”
I held my ground, even though every nerve in me was buzzing. “I think you're the one getting under my skin.”
His smirk widened, and for a second, I hated that it made my stomach twist in the wrong kind of way. The very best way. Heresy was dangerous, no doubt. Not just because of who he was—a Slayer—but because of the way he seemed to get inside my head without even trying.
“You don't scare me,” I said, though my voice betrayed me, just a little.
Heresy’s eyes gleamed in the dark. “Ain’t trying to.”
I didn’t know if it was the beer or the weird energy of the night, but something in me snapped. I took a step toward him, closing the distance between us until I was right up in his face. “Good, because I don’t scare easy.”
He looked down at me, his jaw clenched, and for a second, neither of us moved. There was something electric between us, something I didn’t want to name, and it pissed me off that I even felt it. This was Heresy, a goddamn Slayer. The enemy.
And yet, here we were, standing in the dark, breathing the same air like we were caught in some invisible tug-of-war.
“You should,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “You should be scared, Salem.”
I rolled my eyes, trying to play it off, but my heart was thundering in my chest. “I’ll take my chances.”
Heresy leaned in closer, so close I could feel the heat of him, the roughness of his breath. “You don't even know what you're dealing with yet.”
Before I could respond, a sharp whistle broke through the night, snapping the tension. It was Rage, calling for the club. The bonfire was dying down, and it was time to head back.
I stepped away from Heresy, my head still spinning. “Guess we’ll have to continue this another time.”
“Guess so,” he replied, his eyes still locked on mine as I turned and walked away, trying to shake off the adrenaline coursing through me.
As I made my way back to the others, I couldn't stop myself from wondering what the hell I was doing, getting caught up in whatever this was with Heresy. I was supposed to be focused on the club, on proving myself to the Hell on Heelz, not getting wrapped up in some dark, twisted game with a Slayer.
But as much as I tried to push it away, I knew one thing for sure. I wasn’t done with Heresy. And something told me he wasn’t done with me, either.