Page 53 of Tower of Ash and Darkness (Tower of Ash #1)

LAILAH

A s the night unfolds, the music swells and the air thickens with desire.

The dance floor is alive, every movement a delicate balance between elegance and restraint.

But it’s me they watch, their eyes never leaving me, as if I am the entertainment for the evening—a prize to be won.

Every gaze is heavy with lust, each of them wanting to hold the king’s daughter, just to say they did.

The vampire holding me is strong, his arms guiding me with a fluidity that none of the others had managed.

Unlike the others, there’s no pretense in his movements, no lingering touch meant to unsettle or seduce.

If I had to guess, I’m not the one he’s interested in tonight.

A small, amused smile tugs at my lips as I catch the refreshing indifference in his attention.

My previous partners, each one masked and impossibly beautiful, their features otherworldly beneath their elaborate disguises.

The first wore a black mask adorned with crimson accents, its edges angular and severe.

It framed his raven-black hair, which gleamed like polished onyx beneath the chandelier’s glow.

His pale skin and crimson eyes, stark against the darkness of his attire, burned through the mask’s slits with an unrelenting intensity.

His hold on me felt almost possessive, his touch lingering too long.

Every step felt like a challenge, as though he wanted to unravel me entirely.

The next was shorter but no less striking, his mask a shimmering gold that caught the candlelight with every turn.

It was delicate, almost playful, complementing his golden hair that curled softly at the edges.

His roguish grin beneath the mask never quite reached his cool blue eyes, which sparkled with calculated mischief.

His laughter was soft and smooth as he spun me faster and faster, his teasing words brushing against my ear like a whispered game.

His flirtation felt practiced, his charm almost forceful, his gaze assessing me as if searching for the cracks in my composure.

Then there was the third—tall and statuesque, his mask a deep silver adorned with intricate vine-like patterns, framing his chiseled features.

His dark curls spilled just slightly over the edges of the mask, and his storm-gray eyes gleamed like steel beneath it.

His alabaster skin seemed even more stark against the muted gray of his attire.

He moved with an unsettling control, his steps precise, his hand at my waist heavy with unspoken intent.

There was no warmth in his touch, no softness in his gaze—only a quiet, predatory focus that made my skin crawl.

But now, in the arms of this partner, it’s different.

His mask, bronzed and understated, reflects the warm hues of his skin and the smooth lines of his jaw.

His movements are fluid and confident, but there’s no edge, no game.

His gaze isn’t on me at all, but on the other men in the room.

The faintest smile crosses his lips when his eyes meet theirs, his interest evident without a word.

It’s refreshing, this detachment, and for the first time tonight, I feel at ease.

There’s no pressure here, no test to endure or wall to defend.

The music swells, his movements natural and unforced, and I let myself relax into the rhythm of the dance.

This partner is unlike the others, and I find I prefer it this way.

But then, as the music shifts and I’m spun into another embrace, a scent surrounds me—sweet, laced with leather, darkly inviting.

It seeps into my senses as though it’s meant to linger not just on my skin, but within my very soul.

A cold, electric quiver races down my spine, both a warning and a promise, daring me to stay.

His grip is strong, his hands commanding as one captures mine, while the other settles at the small of my back.

There’s nothing casual about the way he holds me; it’s intimate, possessive, as though the dance is merely an excuse to pull me closer.

His warmth surrounds me, overpowering and undeniable.

I don’t need to look up to know who it is, but my gaze lifts anyway, compelled by an allure I can’t fight.

My eyes meet his—smoldering with something that feels almost forbidden.

His magnetic gaze pulls me into a place where reason falters.

His black mask, detailed with intricate, almost thorn-like patterns, obscures part of his face, framing his angular jaw and high cheekbones, curling around him as though he wears the night itself.

His hair falls in soft curls, catching just enough light to reveal its depth, like polished obsidian softened at the edges, a delicate contrast to the intensity of his presence.

His tan skin glows faintly under the light, as though he carries the last remnants of a fading sunset.

Casper .

There’s a haunting beauty to him, a quiet precariousness that hums beneath the surface, as though his every move is calculated to unravel me.

He doesn’t just look at me—he invades me, his gaze sinking into places I thought I’d hidden away.

The music becomes a distant murmur, its melody fading into insignificance compared to the rhythm he commands with his nearness.

He tilts his head slightly, his gaze firm.

My breath falters, my heartbeat quickening under the weight of his attention.

But as my eyes drift away, they catch on a woman across the room.

Her dark black hair falls straight and sleek to her waist, a curtain of shadow that gleams under the candlelight.

Her dark eyes glint behind her mask, and her smile is almost predatory, as though she and her partner are orchestrating some silent game at my expense.

A subtle flutter of her fingers—a gesture so small yet so calculated—sends a chill racing through me.

My breath hitches and heat blooms across my cheeks, embarrassment rushing forward unbidden.

Casper’s hand tightens on me, his grip firm as if he can sense the strain rippling through the air.

Without a word, he pulls me closer. I draw in a steadying breath, straightening my back in an attempt to project calm indifference, though his warm embrace makes it impossible to ignore the effect he has on me.

“Well, well. The Ghost decided to show,” I say. There’s no warmth in my voice, only thinly-veiled disdain.

Casper grins, that damnable dimple carving into his cheek, and my heart betrays me with a skipped beat. His eyes hold mine before drifting, as if committing every inch of me to memory.

“You’re breathtaking.”

I glance up, confusion knitting my brows as his words catch me off guard. Breaking his gaze, I turn to the room, though the pull between us grows stronger with each passing moment.

“I thought you were supposed to be leaving,” I say, my words edged with bitterness.

Before I can retreat, he spins me, pressing my back to his chest. His lips graze my ear, his voice low and tense.

“Do you want me to leave?”

My breath falters, words slipping away unformed as my gaze shifts to the woman across the room.

Her dark eyes rake over us, her smile harsh and hungry, as though she’s reveling in the sight of us together, feeding off the suspense.

Frustration flares within me, a bitter realization settling in—this is nothing more than a performance to them.

A spectacle. A show.

I don’t answer. Casper takes a moment to spin me again, pulling me even closer than before.

His forehead rests against the curve of my neck, and I feel the heat of his breath against my skin.

He inhales deeply, drawing me into him. His hand slides lower on my waist, then drifts upward, making me tremble.

I lean into him instinctively, the warmth of his body pulling me closer, as if it's the only thing that makes sense in this chaos .

"I didn’t think you cared for what I wanted," I murmur, my voice low, barely audible over the music.

Casper’s expression shifts slightly, but he holds his ground.

"For I know well what it is you desire above all else." I say, my voice calm, almost too measured. I glance toward the woman still watching us, her presence like a thorn burrowing deeper, a reminder of what he’s already chosen.

Casper tenses at my words but pulls me closer, guiding us to the shadowed corner as the music darkens and slows, urging us to follow its rhythm.

Without hesitation, he twirls me, the motion so fluid it feels as though the world has melted into the rhythm.

In one seamless movement, he lifts me, my feet leaving the floor as though gravity itself has surrendered to his command.

For a fleeting, breathless moment, I hang suspended, weightless, before he dips me low, pulling me firmly into the curve of his arm.

My back arches effortlessly into his hold, my skin brushing his, the warmth blazing through the thin barrier of fabric. His forehead presses lightly against mine, dark curls tumbling over his eyes, their piercing intensity locking me in place.

"Don’t believe everything you see, Princess," he says softly, his voice carrying a quiet edge that only fuels my frustration.

More questions rise to my lips, desperate to escape, but I bite them back. Instead, I turn my gaze away. Anger surges through me, hot and consuming, flooding every corner of my mind as the silence deepens.

"What else should I believe?" I snap, my voice trembling as I shake my head.

Sensing my retreat, his grip tightens, grounding me. The waltz flows like a whispered secret, each step a play between dominance and surrender. The music swells, pulling us closer, until the space between us dissolves into nothing.

"Do you think I want this?" he growls, his grip tightening. I gasp as his intensity sinks in. "Do you think I take this lightly?"