Chapter 21
Salem
I woke up tangled in the rough sheets, the morning sun sneaking through the cracks in the boarded-up windows of the farmhouse. The place didn’t seem so scary in the daylight. Just... hollow. Like me, I guess. The events of last night played on repeat in my head—the storm, the creeping shadows, and the way Heresy’s hands felt on my body, rough and desperate like he needed me to survive.
But morning always brought clarity. And regret. I shifted on the bed, feeling the coldness in the space where Heresy had slept beside me. He was already awake, pulling on his shirt, the muscles in his back flexing with every movement.
Neither of us spoke for a minute. I watched him from under my lashes, feeling the weight of unspoken words hanging between us like a noose. Last night had been... wild. Passionate. More than I’d ever let myself feel for anyone. And I hated that it had been him, a damn Slayer, of all people.
Finally, Heresy turned to me, his face expressionless but his eyes saying something else entirely. “I should get out of here before your sisters show up.” His voice was cold, detached, like the heat from last night had frozen over in the morning light.
I nodded, biting my lip to keep from saying anything stupid. “Yeah. Wouldn’t want them to think I’ve gone soft.” I forced a smirk, but it felt hollow.
He pulled on his boots, lacing them up with slow, deliberate movements. I could tell he was thinking, but he wasn’t about to let me in on those thoughts. Finally, he stood, looking down at me, his face set in stone. “This—” he gestured between us, “—it can’t happen again, Salem. You know that.”
I forced myself to sit up, pulling the blanket around me, even though the warmth of his body still lingered on my skin. “I know,” I said, the words coming out sharper than I intended. “I’m a prospect. Being patched into the Hell on Heelz is the most important thing to me right now. I can’t... I won’t fuck that up for anyone. Especially not you.”
Heresy’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with something that almost looked like hurt before he buried it under layers of indifference. “I’ve got a reputation to think about too. Can’t be seen messing around with one of you.”
One of you. Like I was just another name on his list of mistakes.
“Good. Then we’re on the same page.” My voice was icy, and I felt the weight of those harsh words settle in the pit of my stomach. I hated how easy it was to hurt each other with words we didn’t really mean. Because deep down, we both knew this wasn’t nothing. It was something.
But neither of us was about to admit that. Right?
Heresy nodded, his face giving nothing away, and without another word, he turned and walked out of the farmhouse. I listened to the sound of his footsteps fade away, the door creaking shut behind him, leaving me alone in the morning light.
I lay there for a minute longer, staring up at the ceiling, the smell of dust and old wood filling my lungs. The house didn’t seem haunted anymore, but maybe that was because the real ghosts were in my head now.
By the time I dragged myself out of bed and got dressed, the sound of motorcycles rumbling outside told me my sisters were here. I took a deep breath and stepped outside, pretending nothing had happened. Pixie was the first to greet me, her colored hair blowing in the wind as she pulled off her helmet.
“Survive the night, Witch?” she cackled.
“Barely,” I muttered, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jacket. “Place was creepy as hell, but I handled it.”
“Good,” Pixie said, swinging a leg off her bike. “But just because you survived doesn’t mean you’ve earned your patch yet. If you get it, it won’t be until after Halloween.”
I bit back my frustration, knowing better than to push. “I can wait. But I earned it.”
She raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything else. The others were gathering around, talking about the next event, but I couldn’t get my mind off the note we found in that damn trunk last night. I still had it tucked into my jacket, the cryptic words haunting me more than any ghost ever could. Yeah, after Heresy left, I went and ripped it out of the journal. Something about it felt unfinished, like there was more to this house, more to the curse tied to it.
I couldn't rid myself of the idea that Heresy and I were part of it now.
Back at the Roost, everything returned to its usual chaos, but my head wasn’t in it. I went through the motions—helped with whatever needed doing, rode out with the crew when called—but my mind kept wandering back to that night. To Heresy.
To what we found in that house.
I wanted to forget him. I needed to focus on getting patched in. But the thought of him leaving that morning without a word, acting like it hadn’t meant a damn thing... it clawed at me. I was a Heel dammit. I wasn’t supposed to be falling for a Slayer.
But as Halloween crept closer, that note in my jacket seemed to burn a hole in my pocket, and the memory of Heresy’s touch kept crawling back, despite my attempts to shake it.
And I was starting to wonder if the real danger wasn’t the haunted house after all... but what I was letting myself feel.