Page 39 of Tower of Ash and Darkness (Tower of Ash #1)

CASPER

S eeing Lailah at the ball last night was everything I had craved, a bittersweet indulgence that cut deeper than I’d anticipated.

Her presence haunted me from the moment I left her, a relentless ache that dug its claws into me and refused to let go.

Even when I fell back asleep, she invaded my dreams, vivid and unrelenting.

I pictured her beneath me, her body arching, her soft moans ringing in my ears. It was the kind of dream that burned itself into my mind, so real that waking up felt like being ripped from something I could almost taste.

Their chime cut through the silence, a slow, echoing toll that vibrated through the stone walls. Wedding bells. A cruel reminder of what was coming—of what she would be to someone else soon enough. The sound seeped into my bones, dragging me back to a reality I wanted no part of.

I lay still, staring at the ceiling, willing myself to move. The temptation to close my eyes, to sink back into the dream where she was still mine, was almost unbearable. But I knew better. Reality would not wait, and neither would my plan .

With a steady breath, I forced myself upright. The dream was over. Now, I had to follow through.

Which meant facing Clyde.

And so here I stand, staring at Jason as the reality of his future with Lailah tightening like a noose around my throat. The sound of Clyde’s voice drags me further into the present, every word about her wedding landing like a strike against raw flesh.

The hatred grows, twisting itself deeper into my core.

The urge to kill him isn’t a fleeting thought—it’s a desire rooted in my core, a steady burn I can’t extinguish.

“Ghost,” Clyde bites, snapping me from my thoughts.

My gaze shifts from Jason to Clyde, then to Lord Striden. The disgust in his eyes mirrors my own; he doesn’t need to say a word to remind me what he thinks of my kind. His bloodline and title mean nothing to me. If anything, they make me want to rip him apart even more.

I rise from my seat with measured movements and make my way to the cellarette in the corner of the room.

The clink of glass punctuates the tense silence as I pour myself a bourbon.

The amber liquid catches the light as I bring the glass to my lips, letting the slow burn coat my throat and steady my fraying nerves.

Anything to keep the hunger at bay, the anger restrained.

Behind me, Clyde continues, his voice slick with authority as he addresses Lord Striden.

“The guards and rangers will be set to travel during the next phase of the moon. Ghost will accompany you to your lands, Lord Striden. Please utilize him.”

His words curl in the air like smoke, biting and calculated. I don’t need to turn to see the look Striden is giving me—a mix of superiority and distrust. Jason’s gaze lingers as well, and I can feel the smirk tugging at his lips, like he finds the entire situation amusing.

I take another slow sip, making a show of indifference as the fire of the amber settles in my chest. The truth, of course, is far different. Beneath the surface, my mind races, already crafting plans to counteract whatever scheme Clyde thinks he can manipulate me into .

“At your service,” I say finally, raising my glass and turning just enough to flash a venomous smile.

“Good,” Clyde says, his voice clipped as he strides toward his desk. He pulls out a sealed parchment, the faint rustle of paper breaking the charged silence.

He hands it to me, his expression hardening.

“Here are the orders. I expect you to make the necessary arrangements immediately. This transition needs to be seamless—no delays.”

The parchment in my hand feels heavier than it should. It’s not the paper or the ink—it’s what it represents. The lives he thinks he controls. My fingers tighten around the scroll as I nod, the gesture curt, and turn to leave.

As I reach the door, Clyde’s voice follows me, his tone laced with amusement.

“Now, let’s discuss the wedding festivities this evening, shall we?”

The thought of him discussing Lailah with Jason and Lord Striden as if she’s a prize to be won makes my jaw clench. My steps quicken, the polished stone beneath my boots carrying me away from this suffocating castle.

By the time I reach the camp, the air has cooled, the scent of smoke and pine needles wrapping around me.

The fire at the center of the campsite crackles, its embers dancing in the dark.

Without hesitation, I pull the parchment from my pocket and toss it into the flames.

The wax seal melts instantly, the paper’s edges curling and blackening as they’re consumed.

The heat from the fire ghosts over my skin as I turn toward my tent.

Inside, it’s the same scene as always: Alias perched on the edge of the desk, sipping something strong.

Gwyn, as usual, has her dagger out, lazily pointing it at Alias’s throat like she might actually use it.

Malachi sits on the cot, his head in his hands, already tired of their nonsense.

And Callum? Callum leans against the tent pole, watching it all unfold with a crooked grin like the chaos is his personal entertainment.

None of them notice me at first. They never do.

My presence is always the quiet weight that shifts the air in the room.

I let my boots strike the ground with intention as I enter, the echo cutting through their conversation.

The tent stills, their movements freezing as they turn their attention to me.

Alias shifts off the desk, his boot scraping softly against the wood.

Gwyn sheathes her dagger with one smooth motion, the faint creak of her leather strap breaking the silence as I step forward, my gaze fixed on the table.

The plans we worked on earlier remain scattered, the inked lines and symbols now feeling more like chains binding me to an inevitable end than any real strategy.

“Are we still on for tonight?” I ask, my tone even but cold, as though keeping my voice steady will stop the emotions clawing at my insides.

For a moment, no one speaks. The silence hangs heavy. Then, Gwyn moves closer, her soft tread betraying her hesitation. She leans against the desk, her braid slipping over her shoulder, her fingers brushing the edge of the map as she studies it—and me.

“Cas,” she says, her voice low but pointed, her hazel eyes keen. “Are you sure about this?”

I turn to face her, surveying them all. Callum stands with his usual smug posture, one foot crossed lazily over the other, arms draped with false ease.

His scarred brow arches, like he’s already amused by how this will go.

Malachi, more serious, watches from the corner, his steady blue eyes searching mine, as if looking for cracks in the armor I refuse to let falter.

Alias, always the first to speak, lingers just off-center, his russet eyes shadowed with unspoken doubts.

“We’re ready,” Alias finally says, his voice steady but cautious. “If you want to move forward, we’re with you. But...”

He pauses, exchanging a glance with Gwyn.

“I trust everyone in this tent,” he says slowly, “but to add another—especially her ?” His voice carries a note of skepticism as it cuts through the quiet.

I meet his stare and arch a brow.

He lifts his hands, palms up like he’s already trying to step back from whatever storm might follow .

“Not saying it’s a bad move. I’m just saying... if this unravels, it’ll do it fast.”

Callum huffs a laugh through his nose. I turn to him, slow and measured, catching the glint of quiet amusement in his expression. Then Gwyn’s voice cuts in, quiet but sure.

“This is a dangerous game, Casper,” she says softly. “If Clyde sees through it, through her . We’re done.”

I step closer to the table, letting my hand rest on its edge.

“Then we don’t let him see through it,” I respond. “Vanessa will play her role. She’s desperate enough to know her part, and she’ll do it without hesitation.”

“She wants you,” Gwyn bites, folding her arms. “Not the plan. That doesn’t make her reliable.”

“She doesn’t need to be reliable,” I shoot back incisively, stepping toward her.

“She just needs to be convincing enough to keep Clyde’s attention.

He’s a parasite. He always has been. He’ll latch onto anything he thinks I care about just to rip it away from me.

It’s the only game he knows how to play. ”

The words taste bitter as they leave my mouth. My hand tightens into a fist against the desk, the familiar anger beginning to burn. Clyde’s obsession with control has always been his sickest weapon. He made sure I had nothing— no one . He made sure of that when he took her from me.

Callum chuckles low, the sound grating and smug, clearly amused by my frustration.

“Your gaze has a habit of wandering to what you really want, brother .” He pauses, his eyes narrowing, the smirk on his face broadening wryly. “Or should I say who ?”

His words slam into me like a physical blow, but I refuse to flinch. I won’t give him—or anyone else—the satisfaction of seeing what that comment does to me. The tent grows impossibly still, the unspoken truth hanging in the air like smoke.

“This isn’t about me,” I say finally, my voice tinged with fury.

“This is about keeping Clyde distracted long enough for us to get into his office. He knows the stone can be controlled, and if he knows, there’s something in there—notes, plans, anything—that tells us how.

We’ll find it, and then we’ll use it. But if you’ve got a better plan, Callum, now’s the time to say it. ”

Callum’s smirk deepens, his tone flippant.

“I think we both know who is really at stake here.”

My jaw clenches, a muscle twitching as I fight the urge to respond. Because he’s right. As much as I want to pretend this is all about Clyde, about the stone, the truth lingers in the pit of my stomach like poison. The person who’s truly going to get hurt in this mess isn’t me—it’s her.

Lailah.