Page 38 of Tower of Ash and Darkness (Tower of Ash #1)
The kiss is warm, commanding, and disorienting. The world tilts on its axis as one of his hands slips around my waist, guiding me back until my spine meets the wall behind me. His body presses against mine, and a soft moan escapes me before I can stop it, betraying everything I’ve tried to bury.
His grip tightens slightly, anchoring me, pulling me closer still.
My heart thrums, its rhythm frantic and deafening in my ears.
When his tongue brushes against mine again, I shudder—an involuntary tremor of want that curls in my stomach and blooms outward.
My fingers clutch at his shirt, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my palms.
For a breathless moment, I let go. I let myself feel it—the fire, the gravity of him, the way his touch unravels everything I thought I could control.
But then, clarity strikes.
The haze of confusion lifts, and my body stiffens. Jason senses the shift immediately, pulling back just enough to meet my gaze. His breath is uneven, his lips slightly parted as he searches my face for a clue to the sudden change.
“Are you okay?”
I step away from him, the distance a necessity. My gloved hand rises to my lips, still tingling from his touch, as a tremor ripples through me. The once-comforting air of the library feels oppressive, as if unseen eyes are watching, waiting for my next move.
“Don’t do that again,” I say firmly, cutting through the suffocating silence. My eyes lock onto his, daring him to challenge me.
“Lailah,” he murmurs, his voice rough, barely above a whisper. It’s not a plea, not an apology—just my name, spoken like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth. Jason steps forward cautiously, but I raise my hand to stop him, leaving no room for argument.
His face pales, the color draining as the realization dawns. He’s afraid of me.
Good.
“If you want to claim me,” I continue, “then you need to be honest with me. Until that happens, this is nothing more than a marriage of convenience.”
Jason exhales slowly, his fingers brushing over the stubble on his chin as if trying to find the words, his eyes welling with frustration and regret. Finally, he looks at me, the gravity of his next words evident before he even speaks.
"We’re to be husband and wife by tomorrow evening," he says softly, laced with quiet urgency and a trace of desperation. His words feel final, inescapable, stealing the breath from my lungs. "Is this really how we’re going to leave things before then?"
I stare at him as reality sinks in. My lips part to respond, but the bitter bile in my throat surges first. He wants to talk about the future—our future—when he still refuses to address the one thing that hangs between us.
“Do you plan on fucking her before then too?” I ask, my voice steady, but razor-sharp. “Or after?”
Jason flinches as if I’ve slapped him, his jaw clenching as he visibly recoils from the venom in my words. He takes a step back, his gaze darting away from mine, and I know I’ve hit exactly where I intended.
“Lailah,” he starts, his voice strained, almost pleading, but I cut him off before he can weave together some half-hearted excuse.
“Don’t you dare say my name like it means something to you right now,” I snap, stepping forward, my anger surging like fire in my veins.
He looks up at me, his expression unguarded, the regret etched into every line of his face. Just when I think he’s going to try to defend himself, he stops. His shoulders sag, and when he finally speaks, his voice is quieter, almost defeated.
“I haven’t seen her,” he says, his gaze dropping to the floor.
The anger inside me coils tighter, but I force myself to keep my composure.
“How noble.”
He flinches again, but he doesn’t deny it. Instead, he lifts his head, his golden eyes meeting mine, and I see his guilt reflected there.
“I know I hurt you,” he says, his voice at last laden with remorse. " I know I betrayed you, and I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But tonight, and tomorrow, we stand before the court, and we can’t?—"
My magic hums to life, a soft thrum beneath the surface of my skin. The air grows cooler, and the candles flicker. Jason’s words die on his tongue, his brow furrowing as he pauses.
He looks at me then, really looks, as if he's just realized how much has changed. The room seems to hold its breath, waiting for what he was about to say—what he always says—to collide with the reality of what’s already broken.
He lets my words hang in the silence before he speaks again.
“She meant nothing to me,” he says quietly. He sounds—and looks—defeated, worn.
I stare at him, his words cutting through my anger like a double-edged blade. They leave me feeling far more vulnerable than I want to admit.
“Prove it,” I finally say, quiet but firm, before stepping back, putting more distance between us.
Jason doesn’t move right away. He stays rooted in place, his eyes locked onto mine as though searching for an answer, a reprieve, a way to undo the damage. His brows knit tighter, his face contorted in frustration and regret as his breath becomes shallow. But he doesn’t say a word.
Jason studies me a little longer, his brow furrowing deeper as though he’s trying to make sense of the mess he’s created.
Then, slowly, he exhales, his breath shaky and uneven.
He steps back, the tension in the room shifting as he increases the distance.
His hand brushes the back of a chair, his fingers gripping it tightly, briefly before he releases it.
When he finally turns, he doesn’t look at me again.
He slowly makes his way to the stairs, the weight of his retreat washing over me. When he reaches the bottom step, he pauses, one hand resting on the banister.
“I thought of you,” he stammers, barely audible.
Tears begin to prick at my eye s
“Even when I tried not to,” he continues, his voice lower now. “Even when I told myself it didn’t matter anymore.”
A breath, shaky. “It did. Gods, you did.”
He shakes his head then, a quiet exhale escaping him—as if admitting the truth costs more than he expected.
I break, letting the tears fall, blurring the edges of his face.
Without another word, he climbs the stairs, each step echoing in the quiet library, and I watch him retreat into the shadows. When he finally disappears, the stillness left in his wake feels suffocating.
I sink back into my chair, my breath shuddering as I try to steady myself.
I feel my magic stir, restless and demanding, feeding off the anger and confusion that churn inside me.
It prickles at my skin, cold and electric, testing the barriers I’ve built to contain it.
I grip the edge of the table, my gloved hands trembling as I fight to hold it back.
My breath comes fast and shallow, and I close my eyes, trying to focus on the rhythm of the fire’s crackle.
But it’s no use. The emotions roil inside me, too powerful to suppress, and my magic flares in response, an electric current that sends a chill through me.
“ Control ,” I whisper hoarsely, the words trembling on my lips as I force myself to take another deep breath.
The firelight reflects off the pages of the book in front of me, but I can’t bring myself to read. My vision blurs with the sting of shed tears, and I press my palms flat against the table in a futile attempt to ground myself.
I’m supposed to marry him tomorrow. The thought churns in my stomach like spoiled wine.
The traditions are meant to be beautiful, a story of love and trust woven across three days of ceremony.
But to me, they feel suffocating. Tonight, the court will watch as we eat together, dance together, and present ourselves as the picture of harmony.
They’ll look for signs of devotion, of joy, of the unity they expect us to embody.
And I’ll have to pretend. Pretend that the rift isn’t growing wider with every passing moment. Pretend that I’m not bracing myself for a life I no longer know how to want. Pretend to be someone I am not.