Page 52 of Tower of Ash and Darkness (Tower of Ash #1)

CASPER

T he memory of the ceremony lingers, clawing at me as I sit in Clyde’s office, the firelight casting restless shadows across the room.

I had watched from the shadows of the temple, my anger simmering with every second Jason’s hand lingered too long on her cheek.

His lips brushed hers in a fleeting kiss—calculated, yet agonizingly real.

Cheers had erupted, an empty echo of approval that felt like nails scraping against my resolve.

Lailah’s cheeks had flushed, a softness in her eyes that twisted the knife even deeper.

She had felt something. The thought of Jason’s touch stirring anything in her was unbearable, but I had forced myself to stay hidden, watching as she smiled faintly as if the moment had been real for her too.

The realization was like ice slicing through me, cold and biting.

My hands had clenched into fists, my nails biting into my palms, but I hadn’t moved. I couldn’t—not then.

Though the ceremony is behind us, its weight hangs heavily in the room.

Clyde stands by the hearth, drink in hand, watching the fire as if it holds some grand design only he can see.

Jason sits directly across from me, too poised for a man who bleeds.

The cut on his lip is still fresh, a thin, angry slash that catches the firelight every time he speaks—or clenches his jaw .

“So,” Clyde begins, swirling his glass, “have you two given any thought to a honeymoon?” His words are casual, almost jovial, but the keen edge in his tone betrays his true intent.

Jason hesitates for only a moment before replying, his voice steady.

“I hadn’t thought you’d allow Lailah outside the castle walls.”

Clyde’s laughter cuts through the quiet.

“Nonsense,” he says, waving a dismissive hand. “Why wouldn’t I? She’s a married woman now, with responsibilities to fulfill—and soon enough, I expect grandchildren.” He leans forward slightly, his smile thinning as his tone hardens. “Many grandchildren.”

Jason’s expression remains unreadable, though I catch the faintest trace of unease in his eyes.

“Of course,” he says smoothly. “Whatever pleases you, Your Grace.”

Clyde studies him, his gaze narrowing.

“Good,” he says finally, his voice thick with authority.

“I know this might seem strange to you, being a human, but us vampires, we are creatures of excess. We crave and long for our desires. And I want my daughter to know nothing but that. No softness, no innocence. I want her to be immersed in the depths of what we truly are."

Clyde's gaze hardens as he leans forward.

My grip tightens around my glass, my knuckles whitening as bile rises in my throat, but I force myself to remain still. The image of Jason touching her—claiming her—fuels a rage so potent it nearly consumes me, but I focus on the fire, its flickering flames my only anchor.

Jason chuckles softly, the sound almost mocking.

“You’ve made yourself clear, Your Grace. I’ll do everything in my power to meet your expectations.”

Clyde’s grin widens as he pours himself another drink, his satisfaction unmistakable.

“Good,” he says again, his tone lighter now, almost amused. “Now go. Dance the vampire waltz. Find your wife quickly—I wouldn’t want you delaying your… obligations this evening.”

Jason rises smoothly, his movements calculated, his faint cocky grin lingering as he strides toward the door without so much as a glance in my direction.

Clyde turns to me, his gaze cold and calculating as he massages his temples, his earlier joviality dimmed.

“I swear,” he mutters, his voice laced with irritation, “if that boy so much as looks at anyone else before the night is through…” He doesn’t finish the thought, but the venom in his words is clear.

Clyde moves toward his chair, settling into it slowly. The firelight dances over his features, amplifying his expression. He doesn’t speak immediately, swirling his drink in lazy circles before locking his gaze on me.

“Tell me, Ghost,” he begins, his tone deceptively casual, but I know better than to mistake it for anything other than a test. “Do you think something is… off about Lord Striden and his son?”

The question is deliberate, his narrowed eyes already betraying the certainty behind his suspicion. I let the moment stretch, giving the air between us weight before I respond.

“Do you believe they know about the stone?” My voice is measured, each word chosen carefully, though I know they land exactly as intended.

Clyde exhales slowly, rubbing his jaw as he leans forward in his chair. His elbows rest on the armrests, his hands steepling beneath his chin. He stares into the fire for a long moment, the flames reflecting in his eyes, before he finally speaks.

“Perhaps,” he mutters, the word heavy with implication. “Perhaps they know more than they’re letting on.”

He sits back, narrowing his eyes as he considers the possibilities. The suspense in the room builds, but I don’t look away. Finally, he sighs audibly, his decision made.

“I want you to stay close to him,” Clyde says. “I want to know what Striden and his son are hiding.”

My brow furrows as I study him .

“We are to depart tomorrow, as per your orders,” I remind him, calm but pointed.

Clyde’s lips twitch into a faint smirk, one that cuts deeper than any blade. “Don’t tell me you’re eager to leave, Ghost,” he says.

“I’m eager to get away from the vampire court,” I reply with a dry laugh, each word betraying far more truth than I should probably reveal.

Clyde chuckles, the sound low and rasping, as if my frustration is a source of endless entertainment.

“Of course you are,” he mutters, his grin lingering as he takes another sip of his drink. Then his expression shifts again, his tone shifting as he tilts his head. “Where is your pretty guest?”

His question is baited, his smile widening, almost predatory as he studies me.

He raises his glass to his lips, taking a slow sip while his eyes remain fixed on mine, waiting.

I mirror his motion, lifting my own glass and letting the amber burn its way down, steadying me for the conversation I know is coming.

“She is pretty , isn’t she?” I reply, the smirk on my lips matching his, a silent challenge hanging in the air.

Clyde chuckles under his breath as though he finds private enjoyment in my words. He doesn’t respond right away, instead swirling the liquid in his glass as his gaze drifts to the fire. Finally, he speaks, his voice smooth and measured.

“I’m going to suggest that Jason and my sweet take their leave for a honeymoon.”

The muscles in my jaw tighten instinctively, and I force myself to keep my expression neutral. Clyde rises slowly, crossing the room to pour himself another drink. The sound of liquid splashing against crystal fills the room, loud in the stillness.

“And what more fitting way to spend their honeymoon,” he continues, his tone taking on an edge of mockery, “than on the far side of our eastern borders, in Striden territory.”

I narrow my eyes at him, a tightness coiling in me that I can’t suppress. Clyde turns to me like a predator about to pounce .

"You want them to travel with us?" I ask, my tone dry, frustration blooming beneath the surface.

“We can’t afford to stop our search for the stone,” he says. “And I don’t trust Jason or Striden to do what’s best for us without… oversight .”

His gaze hardens as he takes a sip of his drink.

“What better way to kill two birds with one stone than to have you be my ghost ? You’ll keep an eye on them both.”

I stare at him, my fist clenching at my sides as a flood of unwanted images rushes through my mind.

The thought of Jason touching her, of their voices tangled in whispers and moans under the same stars that hang over our camp—it makes my stomach twist. The rage is suffocating, and I force myself to speak before it consumes me.

“You want me to watch them,” I say flatly, my voice colder than I mean it to be.

“Exactly.” Clyde’s smile deepens, satisfaction glinting in his eyes. “You’ll go wherever they go. You’ll see what Striden and Jason are hiding. I want a report, Ghost, and I want it thorough.”

My throat tightens, the images refusing to leave. The idea of trailing them, of hearing her laugh with him, of seeing her smile meant for him—it’s too much. I force my gaze back to Clyde.

“And if they’re hiding nothing?”

Clyde chuckles again, downing the rest of his drink.

“They’re hiding something. They always are.” He sets the empty glass down with a firm clink, his eyes narrowing. “You taught me that, Ghost. Everyone has secrets. What is yours ?”

I take a slow breath, forcing the tightness in my chest to remain hidden, though it grows with every second that passes. I manage to keep my voice steady, my words controlled.

“When would you like us to depart?” I ask, betraying nothing of the fire raging beneath. It’s a twisted game Clyde is playing, and I can feel the strings he controls binding me to a role I can’t escape.

Clyde’s grin widens, the predator in him showing as he savors the moment.

“By week’s end,” he says casually, swirling his drink like he’s already won. His eyes gleam as they drift back to the fire, the flames reflecting his satisfaction.

“I’ll inform my sweet of the plans… after her long, hopefully satisfying night. I imagine Jason will make the most of his wedding bed.”

I can see the enjoyment in his eyes, the way he relishes watching me unravel at the edges. My voice doesn’t falter as I reply, though it takes everything in me to keep my tone even.

“I’ll do as you wish, Your Grace.” The bitterness crawls up my throat, but I force myself to swallow it down.

Clyde’s grin widens, pleased with my compliance.

“Good.” He moves back to his chair, settling into it with a casual confidence.

I nod, my jaw locked tight as I turn to leave.

The fire crackles behind me, but it does nothing to thaw the ice spreading through my veins.

The irrepressible thought of Jason and Lailah together—alone, tangled in each other—grates against my skull like nails on stone.

My teeth grind as the image takes root, uninvited and infuriating. His hands on her, his mouth— fuck .

Every step toward the ballroom feels heavier, my boots hitting the stone like a drumbeat. The distant sounds of laughter and music only make it worse, as though the entire castle is mocking me. My hands curl into fists at my sides, the urge to break something still burning hot beneath my skin.

By the time I reach the towering doors of the ballroom, my blood is boiling.

I push them open without hesitation, the sound of music spilling out like some twisted reminder of what’s waiting inside.

My chest tightens, my rage coiling tighter, and I step into the room with one thought beating through my mind.

Lailah .