Page 46 of Tower of Ash and Darkness (Tower of Ash #1)

Vanessa smiles, tilting her head as though basking in the attention. Her fingers brush against Casper’s chest, the gesture light but deliberate, designed to declare him as hers in front of everyone.

“Your Grace,” she purrs, her tone sweet and syrupy, “I’m flattered. But I fear Ghost might not be willing to share.” She glances up at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Casper’s remains composed as his hand slides to the back of her neck.

“Not willing to share?” he repeats, his voice low. “Perhaps. But only because I take care of what’s mine.”

The room hums with approval, scattered murmurs and soft laughter following his words. Every subtle motion from him, every touch, unsettles me. I force myself to sit still, my hands clasped tightly in my lap beneath the table.

My father chuckles, clearly entertained. He swirls his goblet lazily, his eyes settling on Vanessa.

“Oh, Ghost,” he says, his voice low and mocking, “you sound so sure of yourself. But everyone tires of their toys eventually. Isn’t that right, Vanessa?”

His words are a challenge, an attempt to unnerve, and the crowd laps it up, their eyes darting between Casper and my father like spectators at a duel.

Casper doesn’t rise to the bait, not directly. Instead, he tilts his head, his grip on Vanessa’s neck tightening ever so slightly. His lips curve into a wry smile that carries just enough heat to feel like a slap in the face.

“Perhaps,” he says, his voice soft yet cutting, “but you see… she is all I have ever desired.”

The words hit me like a blow. The room falls silent, save for the sound of my own heartbeat in my ears. Then, in a move so calculated it feels like a declaration, Casper turns Vanessa toward him, his hand sliding from her neck to cradle her jaw .

“And I never let go of what’s mine,” he murmurs, his voice dropping lower, dripping with possession.

Without hesitation, his lips crash against hers in a kiss that shatters the quiet.

It’s unapologetic, a moment so steeped in desire it feels almost nauseating.

Vanessa melts into him instantly, her hands clutching at the fabric of his coat, desperate to hold onto him.

His mouth dominates hers, his movements fierce and possessive, as if claiming her completely.

I can’t breathe.

The air in the room feels too thick, every sound muffled beneath the thunderous roar in my ears.

My gaze locks on them, unwilling and unable to look away, my body burning with something harsh and unrelenting.

His other hand slides to her waist, gripping her tightly as she arches against him, her body pressing flush to his as though she can’t get close enough.

Vanessa’s soft gasp breaks the air, barely audible over the heavy silence.

Casper deepens the kiss, his tongue sweeping over hers with an intensity that makes the crowd hold its collective breath.

His hand tightens at her waist, pulling her even closer, their bodies aligned in a way that feels too intimate for a public display.

The knot in my stomach tightens painfully, twisting with each second that passes.

When he finally pulls back, Vanessa’s lips are red and swollen, her chest rising and falling as she stares up at him like he’s the only thing in the room.

But he doesn’t stop. His lips trail down her jaw, slow and sensual, before brushing over the delicate curve of her neck.

My breath catches as his fangs glint briefly in the candlelight.

And then he sinks them into her skin.

The gasp that escapes Vanessa’s lips is followed by a low, breathy moan that cuts through me like a knife.

He pulls her back against his body, his hand splaying across her stomach to keep her in place as she grinds against him, her movements slow and desperate, as if she’s utterly lost in him.

My chest tightens further, the ache unbearable as I watch the way her body molds to his, every inch of her surrendering to him.

His eyes flutter shut as he drinks, his jaw working steadily, each movement controlled. Vanessa’s head falls back against his shoulder, her lips parted as soft sounds escape her, her entire body trembling in his hold.

Vampires don’t drink from another unless they mean to claim them; it is intimate—undeniably so—and never a choice made lightly.

I’ve lived my entire life surrounded by that truth, seen it enacted in darkened corners and candlelit halls, witnessed the way blood and silence and heat tangle together.

And through all of it, I remained untouched.

Unmoved. I never wanted it. Never needed it.

But now—watching him…

His mouth at her throat, his hands anchoring her as if letting go would undo him—something inside me fractures. This isn’t hunger. It isn’t performance. It’s an unforgiving vow, offered in full view like she belongs to him and always has.

And I sit there, breath caught somewhere between ribs that no longer feel like my own, while something unbearable begins to unravel in me.

It’s not just jealousy. Not even rage. It’s grief—for the wanting I never let myself feel, for the touch I never imagined craving, for the intimacy I never believed I deserved.

Because I had spent so long pretending I was immune to it, above it, made of something colder, fiercer, safer. But now I know the truth, and it settles into my bones. I had never let myself want it. Not until I saw him give it to someone else.

And now that I have... I don’t know how to not want it.

When he finally pulls back, his lips are stained crimson, his breath shallow and uneven as he exhales against her neck.

His forehead rests against her temple briefly, his hand still holding her firmly against him as though he can’t bear to let her go.

Vanessa clings to him, her fingers trembling where they grip his chest, her flushed cheeks and half-closed eyes a testament to the intensity of what just transpired.

The room erupts into scattered applause, the sound distant and distorted as I sit frozen, burning with emotions I can’t name. Even as he steadies Vanessa, keeping her close with a hand on her waist, his gaze never once flicks to me. He looks up, meeting my father’s eyes instead.

“Quite the display, Ghost,” my father remarks, his voice rich with mock approval. “You certainly know how to put on a show. I must say, you’ve impressed me.”

Casper doesn’t flinch. His expression is calm, his voice even as he replies, “I aim to please.”

Vanessa sways slightly, but he doesn’t release her, his grip firm as he steadies her.

She turns her face toward him, her expression one of awe and satisfaction, and he leans down to press a final, lingering kiss to her temple.

My father chuckles softly, clearly pleased, while I sit motionless, my chest tight.

The room hums as the crowd shifts back into idle conversation, but I can’t move.

My breath feels trapped in my lungs, each inhale shallow and unsteady.

Casper finally steps back, his arm still draped around Vanessa as she clings to him, her smile radiant and smug.

She looks every bit the woman who has everything she ever wanted.

He tilts his head toward my father, offering him a small, polite bow before guiding her away, disappearing into the sea of bodies that part for them like waves. The sound of her laughter lingers in the air, light and triumphant, carving into me with each fading note.

My father’s voice is distant as he continues to speak, though I don’t register the words. All I can feel is the ache that spreads as my mind replays every moment, every touch, every glance between them.

And the way he never once looked at me .

“Ah, the beauty of vampire blood,” my father’s voice cuts through my haze, dripping with amusement.

I glance up to see him leaning slightly toward Jason, his wicked grin revealing just the edge of his fangs. Jason’s jaw tightens, his golden gaze steady and unyielding as he meets my father’s icy blue eyes.

“Quite the display,” he replies evenly, though his voice is tight, controlled.

My father chuckles darkly, his voice dipping into something colder.

“And that, Jason, is why I married my sweet Lailah off to a human. You don’t have the appetite of monsters like us,” he muses, swirling the goblet in his hand. “You’re safe... restrained. A fragile little tether to her mortality.”

He takes a slow sip, his eyes gleaming as they dart between Jason and me, drawing out the tension.

Jason doesn’t flinch, but the muscle in his jaw ticks, a quiet betrayal of the unease beneath his calm exterior.

As he presses his lips together, the cut splits again—fresh blood rising at the seam, vivid against the controlled stillness of his face.

Clyde’s eyes narrow on the split in Jason’s lip, a slow, knowing grin creeping across his face.

“Is that new?” he asks, voice silky with false innocence.

The silence stretches, thick as smoke.

“I hit him,” I say, not loud, but clear. My eyes stay fixed on my goblet, the silver rim cool against my fingers. “He said something he shouldn’t have.”

The words hang there, sharp and unclaimed. A few heads turn, their gazes flicking toward me, as Clyde’s eyes land on mine. For a long moment, no one says a word. Then, slowly, his mouth curls into a grin—not warm, not kind. Just cutting.

“Did he now?”

Jason nods once, calm, composed. “She had a good reason.”

Clyde’s smile sharpens slowly.

“Then I’m sure you deserved it.”

There’s a beat of silence before Clyde lifts his goblet slightly, eyes still gleaming.

“A woman who strikes with purpose is worth fearing… and worth keeping.” He chuckles. “You’d do well to remember that, Jason.”

Jason’s eyes find mine, and for an instant, regret flickers there before he turns away.

“It’s an honor to be her betrothed.”

The loud clang of a goblet meeting the table shatters my haze. I look up, startled, to find my father studying me.

“Something wrong, my sweet?” he asks, his tone pointed.

I force a small smile .

“Nothing at all,” I reply, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. “Everything is as it should be.”

His lips curl faintly upward, but he doesn’t press further. Instead, he leans back in his chair, raising his goblet in a casual toast. I lower my gaze to my lap as the noise of the room grows louder, laughter and music drowning out the silence that rings in my ears.

Jason’s hand suddenly finds mine beneath the table, his touch warm and steady against the cold tension in my fingers. He doesn’t look at me, but his thumb brushes gently over the fabric of my glove, a silent reassurance that only deepens the ache in my chest.

I know I should rise and rejoin the crowd, but I can’t. Not yet.

Instead, I sit, petrified, forcing myself to breathe.

Jason’s hand tightens slightly, steadying me just enough to hold myself together. But the ache grows deeper with every passing moment. I push it down, burying it beneath the mask I’ve worn for so long. And as the music swells and the crowd moves, I let the facade settle back into place.

Everything is as it should be.

But for the first time, I wish it wasn’t.