Page 5 of Tower of Ash and Darkness (Tower of Ash #1)

The tavern hums around us, alive with music and voices that rise and fall like waves.

I’m distracted, swirling what’s left of my drink in its glass, when a looming figure appears beside our table.

He’s hard to miss—a large man with auburn hair, a striking red beard, and warm brown eyes that hold an easy confidence.

A deep red mask covers the upper half of his face, its edges lined with subtle embroidery that catches the light.

His gaze sweeps the booth, pausing briefly on me before settling on Sera, who’s already leaning forward with a curious smile .

“Would you honor me with a dance?” he asks, his deep voice laced with charm as he extends a hand toward her.

Sera places her fingertips against her lips in mock surprise, her eyes sparkling.

“Oh, a gentleman,” she coos. “How rare.” She tilts her head as though considering, then says, “But, really, I couldn’t…”

I snort softly, drawing her attention. “You couldn’t?” I say, raising an eyebrow. “Since when?”

She narrows her eyes at me before turning her full attention back to the man.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to steal the spotlight,” she says, feigning modesty as she places a hand delicately over her heart. “The other dancers might get jealous.”

He grins, undeterred. “Somehow, I think they’ll manage.” His tone is teasing but steady, and I catch the gleam of amusement in his eyes.

Sera bites her lip, clearly enjoying herself, then glances at me.

“What do you think, Lailah? Should I?”

I lean back, giving the man a measured look, then say with mock seriousness, “If you’re going to borrow her, just make sure you return her in decent condition.”

He chuckles, the sound low and warm, his grin turning playful.

“Noted. Though honestly, I’m more worried about making it back in one piece.”

Sera’s laugh is light and teasing as she slips her hand into his.

“Oh, you should be,” she says, her voice dropping just enough to add a sultry edge. “I’m not exactly known for playing fair.”

I roll my eyes, standing to nudge Sera toward him. “Go on,” I say, exasperated but smiling. “Before you scare him off.”

“Not a chance,” Sera replies, tossing me a wink before letting him lead her toward the dance floor.

As I watch her disappear into the crowd, I shake my head, suppressing a small smile. The music swells, and the sound of laughter follows me as I weave through the throng of people, making my way to the bar. Another drink seems like a good idea right now—something to occupy my hands and my thoughts.

But as I glance over my shoulder toward the dance floor, I can’t help but feel a familiar weight settle in me. The kind of quiet that comes when you realize you’re alone, even in a room full of people.

The air feels heavier as I weave through the crowd, my mind still distracted by the memory of him.

The way he vanished, like smoke in the wind, should’ve been enough to let me push him from my thoughts.

Yet here I am, my pulse uneven, thinking about eyes that seemed to pierce through the room and find me.

I'm nearly at the bar when a sudden shove sends me off balance. A woman stumbles carelessly into me with a loud, raucous laugh, her drink sloshing precariously close to my dress. My feet skid against the uneven floor, my body tipping before I can catch myself.

But I never hit the ground.

A hand seizes my arm—strong, steady, and startlingly warm.

"Careful," a voice murmurs, deep and smooth, and something inside me stops .

I look up, and the air is stolen from my lungs.

There he is.

The entire room blurs around the edges, its noise fading to a distant hum. All I can hear is the deafening drum of my heart. The world narrows to his touch, the warmth of his palm burning through my sleeve.

His piercing green eyes, sharp and shadowed, hold mine captive.

They gleam beneath the dim lantern light—emeralds dipped in darkness, ancient and knowing.

His hair is not black, as I first assumed, but deep brown, faintly tousled, with a natural wave that settles in loose, unkempt layers.

And then there’s the dimple cutting into his cheek—an almost mocking detail that softens nothing, only making him more unbearable to look at.

I should pull away. I should move, speak, breathe —but I don’t. I can’t. Something in me, something unspoken and primal, knows him.

Knows him the way the ocean knows the pull of the moon.

The way fire knows the taste of air. The way something that’s lost knows when it’s been found.

The realization grips me like a vise, and my breath falters.

His gaze travels slowly over me, like he's memorizing the shape of me, committing every detail to memory.

"Are you all right?" he asks, his voice cutting through the air.

I blink, the spell fracturing just enough for me to find my voice.

"I'm fine." My words come more fierce than I intend, and I hate the way they shake at the edges.

His lips twitch into something that isn’t quite a smirk but isn’t not one either.

A hint of delight flickers behind his eyes, almost unreadable.

His grip on my arm lingers a second too long before he lets go, and even when the space between us returns, his warmth remains—an invisible tether, an echo of a touch I’ll feel for hours.

I take a step back, as if distance will sever whatever this is, but the air remains charged. I tilt my chin up, forcing sarcasm to mask the unease in my chest.

"Do you always lurk in corners, waiting to catch people off guard?"

Something dark flits across his expression—pleasure, intrigue, or something far more dangerous.

"Only when the opportunity arises." His tone is smooth, unbothered, measured.

I cross my arms, as if that could shield me from the force of his confidence.

"How convenient for you."

His smirk deepens slightly, just enough to make my pulse jump.

"Convenient?" he repeats, as if savoring the word. Then, leaning in just enough to make the closeness unbearable, he adds, “I wouldn’t say that. But it’s hard to ignore when something is so... interesting .”

I shift on my feet, but his eyes follow my movements, lingering on my mask with an unsettling intensity. His gaze burrows into me as if he’s uncovering something hidden just beneath my skin. I can feel the weight of it, and it sends a small wave of unease through me.

“And what exactly do you find so interesting?” I ask, my voice a little too breathless.

He tilts his head, studying me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle .

“You’re harder to read than most.” The words are quiet, almost thoughtful. “That doesn’t happen often.”

I swallow, forcing my voice to steady. “Maybe I don’t want to be read.”

Something shifts in his expression, subtle but undeniable.

“That’s a shame,” he murmurs, low and thoughtful.

My breath catches, my stomach tightening. The space between us feels too small, too charged, like the air itself might crack and splinter from the force of it.

"What’s your name?" he asks, his words like a hook catching me and drawing me in closer.

I hesitate. There is something treacherous about giving him my name—something that feels like a risk. I tilt my head, letting my own smirk pull at the corner of my lips.

"I don’t give my name out to strangers."

He doesn’t react right away. He just watches me, his gaze steady. Then, after a pause, he offers, "Cas."

I raise an eyebrow. "Just Cas ?"

He leans in, his voice lowering to something intimate.

"Casper. But those I like can call me Cas."

A quiet chill runs through me, unexpected and unwelcome. I force a small, sarcastic laugh.

"Nice to meet you, Casper."

He nods slightly, accepting the formality but not playing into it. Instead, his gaze intensifies, his tone softening.

"So." His voice is quieter now. "What are you doing here?"

I lift my chin. "I came for a drink."

He steps forward. He doesn’t touch me, but I feel him all the same—the sheer gravity of him, the presence that pulls at my core.

"I don’t believe that’s the real reason," he says, the words curling through the air like smoke, a challenge wrapped in invitation.

I lift my chin, feigning indifference, though my heart drums harder with every breath.

“And what makes you so sure? ”

He cocks his head slightly before letting his gaze drift downward, settling on my bare feet.

“Most women don’t wander into taverns barefoot,” he says as his eyes return to mine. “Nor do they look like they have one foot in this world and one in whatever they’re running from.”

Heat creeps up my neck as I shift slightly, tugging at my dress to cover my feet. I square my shoulders, trying to hold steady, but my brows pull together despite myself.

He steps closer, the space between us shrinking. Then his voice dips lower, smooth yet smoldering.

"Tell me what you're really doing here."

I don’t answer. I can’t answer. Because the truth is, I don’t know. I came here hoping to vanish for just one night, to slip into shadow and be forgotten. But now, standing in front of him, I find myself aching for something more, as if disappearing was never what I wanted at all.

"I told you—a drink," I say again, as if repeating the lie will make it real, will ground me in something other than this.

The moment stretches—seconds turning into hours—then his fingers move. A whisper of touch against my skin, just below the edge of my mask. Slowly, gently, he brushes a loose strand of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear as if the gesture itself is sacred.

I freeze. My breath catches.

The touch is fleeting, barely there, and yet it feels like a spark to kindling, a thread pulled taut, ready to snap. Heat races through me. His lips hover near my ear, his breath warm against my skin. His voice—low, velvet over steel—unraveling me.

He exhales a quiet laugh, his voice dipping lower, almost indulgent.

“You can say that, but I can feel the lie in your pulse."