Chapter 16 #3
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.”
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.