Page 40 of Tower of Ash and Darkness (Tower of Ash #1)

The lie I’ll weave tonight will paint her as nothing more than a fleeting thought, a meaningless part of the game.

I’ll have to look at her, desire burning beneath the surface, and pretend she means nothing.

I grip the edge of the table, my fingers digging into the wood as I force the thoughts away.

The plan has to work. It’s the only way to stop Clyde.

But tonight, when I see the hurt flicker in her eyes, I know it’ll take everything I have not to break, not to reach for her and burn the whole damn plan to ash.

Gwyn exhales, shaking her head. “And if there’s nothing in that office? If you’re wrong?”

“I’m not wrong,” I snap, turning my glare on her. “Clyde wouldn’t send me to retrieve the stone if he didn’t already know how to use it. He doesn’t take risks without ensuring the deck is stacked in his favor. There’s something in that office, and I’ll tear the place apart to find it.”

The words are harsher than they need to be, but I don’t care.

“I’ve always given you the truth. Every secret, every plan—I’ve turned it all over. We don’t lie to each other. We don’t hold secrets. And I sure as hell don’t hold you to my plans,” I say, my voice cold and unwavering. “If you’re out, then say it. I’ll do this on my own.”

Gwyn’s brows pull together, her features etched with concern, her fingers brushing absently at the edge of the desk as though she’s considering saying something—but she doesn’t. Her silence carries more weight than any protest could, and it only makes the quiet heavier.

My gaze shoots to Callum as his smile widens, his head tilting slightly, his expression growing smug, amused, and infuriating.

“On your own?” he drawls, his tone laced with mockery. “Now, wouldn’t that be a sight?”

Gwyn sighs, rolling her eyes as she shakes her head. Without a word, she steps closer and places her hand gently over mine. I don’t look at her, but the warmth of her touch cuts through my cold resolve.

“We’re family,” she says softly, her voice steady and sure. “Always.”

Her words hang in the air for an instant before she pulls her hand away and backs off, pushing past the others with a determined gesture.

“Out. All of you,” she snaps, leaving no room for argument.

Alias breathes out deeply, the sound heavy with relief as he nods and brushes a hand over his buzzed head.

“I’ll fetch your woman for you,” he says quietly before turning and heading for the exit.

The sound of the tent flap shifting barely registers as the others leave, their footsteps fading into the night.

My focus narrows to the one person who hasn’t moved.

Callum remains exactly where he is, leaning casually against the pole with his arms folded.

The scar over his brow pulls slightly as his expression morphs into that familiar, infuriating blend of mirth and disapproval.

My frustration boils over as I cross my arms, locking my gaze onto his.

“Do you ever actually do what you’re told?” I snap.

Callum shrugs, tilting his head as if the question doesn’t even warrant a response.

“I have to admit, it’s fascinating watching you dig your own grave.”

My jaw tightens, his words gnawing at me. Callum pushes off the pole and takes a slow step closer .

“She’ll turn on you the moment she realizes it’s all a lie,” he says, his tone casual, almost conversational, but every word strikes like a hammer.

I didn’t need to ask who he meant. Vanessa .

She’d been clinging to me since the night we shared a bed a century ago.

It had meant nothing to me, but to her, it was everything.

She had warmed my bed while I took her body, nothing more.

Yet she had clung to that night, her obsession growing with every rejection, every denial.

Now, I needed her, and that made her threatening.

“I’m giving her what she wants.”

Callum’s eyes gleam cruelly.

“No, you’re not,” he says, drawing out each syllable and savoring it.

Before I can respond, he turns and strides toward the tent flap. He doesn’t need to linger; he’s said exactly what he wants to say. The flap swings shut behind him, leaving his words hanging in the air.

My jaw tightens as I turn back to the map, my fingers gripping the edges of the table until the paper crinkles beneath them.

He’s right. Of course he is. This is a dangerous game, one where every move comes with a price I can’t predict.

Vanessa is a tool, but tools have a way of cutting their masters if handled recklessly.

The weight of it all presses down on me—the plan, the lies, the constant risk of losing control. But there’s no going back. Not now.

I force myself to focus on the map, trying to push Callum’s words from my mind, but they linger, gnawing at the edges of my thoughts. He always knows how to find the weakest point and drive the blade in deep. And he’s always right.

When the flap opens again, I turn, bracing myself.

Vanessa steps inside, her long hair falling over her shoulder, her face softened only by the wicked curve of her lips. Her dark eyes lock onto mine, confidence radiating from her like heat from a bonfire.

“You wanted to see me, Commander?” she asks, her voice dripping with mockery and temptation.

She stands near the entrance, her aura filling the tent, savoring the moment as her gaze sweeps over me like I’m prey.

I don’t respond right away, gritting my teeth as I keep my eyes on hers.

She thrives on this—the charged silence, the way she can pull a reaction from anyone if she waits long enough.

Her smirk deepens as I stay silent, her head tilting slightly as though she can already read my thoughts.

The air seems to grow heavier as she moves slowly toward me, the sound of her boots against the ground adding to the tension blooming between us.

She stops just out of reach, her mouth widening into a sly smile as her gaze lingers on my face before trailing down my body.

“You’re so tense,” she whispers, her voice dripping with mock concern. “I thought you’d enjoy seeing me again. Or have you forgotten how much you used to?”

Vanessa doesn’t wait for a response. She closes in, resting a long, manicured nail against my chest, sharp and teasing as it trails downward, scraping lightly over the fabric of my coat, dragging over my ribs and down my stomach.

Her nail pauses at my belt as she tilts her head, looking up at me through her lashes.

Vanessa’s lips curve into a wicked smile. Her dark eyes flick back to mine, daring me to react, to break the control I hold so tightly.

“Still pretending, are we?” she murmurs, her breath brushing against my skin. “You’ve always been so good at lying.”

Before she can say more, my hand shoots out, gripping her throat with a force that silences her instantly. Her lips part as she gasps—not in fear, but in delight. Her smirk doesn’t falter as she leans into my touch, her breath hitching as my fingers press harder.

“It’s been a while since you touched me like this,” she purrs, her voice laced with satisfaction. I force my expression to remain cold, detached, though her words grate against my nerves.

“You’re here because I need you for the plan, not because I want to touch you.”

Her laugh is soft, mocking, her lips curling into a wicked smile. My grip tightens, silencing her. She gasps softly, far too pleased for my liking. I hate how she feeds off every ounce of control I exert, twisting it into something intoxicating.

“Still the same plan?” she purrs, eyes gleaming like polished crystal. “ After all these years, you still only want one thing , don’t you?” Her voice lowers, sultry and poisonous.

“Tell me, how long has it been since you last touched me, Cas? Confided in me? Hmm?” She leans in, her breath brushing my lips, and I taste the memory I have spent years trying to erase. “Since you let someone see you, the real you?”

My jaw clenches. I want to rip the words from the air and shove them back down her throat.

“You don’t know me.”

Her wicked grin deepens, slow and cruel.

“Oh, but I do know you like this.” Her eyes lock on mine. “Your power. The way I give myself to you when you touch me like this. You think I don’t know how much you enjoy it?”

I lean closer, my voice cold and scathing.

“The only thing I enjoy is knowing you’ll do exactly what I tell you to.”

She’s relishing this. She tilts her head back, exposing her neck, her pulse racing beneath the delicate skin.

Her body leans further into my grip, goading me, daring me to lose control.

My fangs ache, the primal hunger clawing at my resolve, but it’s not her I crave.

It never has been. The sight of her bare throat, the inviting line of her neck—it does nothing but make my stomach twist. Her scent, warm and cloying, mixed with the acrid tang of her pleasure, turns my revulsion into something physical.

I tighten my grip slightly, enough to remind her who’s in control, though I know she relishes it. I’m not going to give her the satisfaction. She laughs softly, her dark eyes darting to mine with a victorious gleam.

“Tell me,” she whispers, her voice dripping with satisfaction, “what do you need?”

I clench my jaw, hating her arrogance. She craves control, thrives on the way she pulls strings to make others dance. Yet I know what she wants. It’s the same thing she’s always wanted—to see me break, to see me crawl.

The words sit heavy on the tip of my tongue, waiting to slip free.

My throat tightens with the weight of what I’m about to say, the enormity of what I’m about to ask.

I hate her for coaxing me into this moment, hate myself even more for needing to go through with it.

Every part of me screams to hold my silence, to turn away.

But I can’t. I must do what needs to be done, even if it tears apart everything I care about.

When I finally speak, my voice is low and strained, barely more than a whisper.

“I need you .”

The words taste like ash, bitter and vile, and they cling to the air like poison. Vanessa’s victory is sealed.

“There it is,” she purrs, stepping even closer, her presence wrapping around me like a vise.

I hate that I’ve given her this power. I hate that I’ve let her see my desperation.

But most of all, I hate that I’ve set something in motion that I may never be able to undo.

The consequence of this evening could cost me her —and I know, deep down, it will.

And yet, even knowing this, I’ve made my choice.

The die is cast, and there’s no turning back.