Page 57 of Tower of Ash and Darkness (Tower of Ash #1)

CASPER

T ossing my jacket onto the bed, I stand before the small mirror on my dresser, anger simmering beneath my skin.

The thought of their wedding night burns through me, the blood in my veins turning to molten fury.

How Jason had claimed his right to her, as if she were nothing more than an object, something he was entitled to possess.

But it wasn’t just his sense of ownership—it was Clyde’s twisted request that poisoned everything.

The demand to conquer Lailah’s body, to make her part of his dark scheme, had cast a shadow over their union.

It wasn’t love, it wasn’t desire—it was cold entitlement, a debt to be paid, a conquest to be won.

The image of them entwined, tangled in a union not born of passion but of duty, tears through me.

But as that rage swells inside me, another feeling rises, one far more unsettling.

I can’t forget the way Lailah’s cheeks had flushed when their lips met at the altar, that brief, intimate moment when her eyes closed as if she were surrendering to him fully, completely.

The thought tightens in my chest, but then another strikes me with brutal clarity: Lailah’s firm declaration.

I am in love with Jason. I always have been, and I always will be.

The thought crashes into me, each word carving deeper into the wound.

I see him take her hand as they dance, his arm pulling her close, her letting him.

Her laughter, soft and unguarded, was his to hear.

Her smile, radiant and effortless, belonged to him, a truth as undeniable as the pain it leaves behind.

It’s unbearable. She chose him. The jealousy that gnaws at me now isn’t just about possession—it’s about losing her. I can almost feel Jason’s hands on her, the intimacy of it all, and it stirs a bitter rage within me.

How dare he claim what was never his to take?

The jealousy rips through me, consuming, turning every breath into a ragged gasp, as if I’ve been torn open and left bleeding by what should have been mine.

I should have taken her away, shown her the truth of it all—the darkness, the lies, the endless web of deceit that binds us all together. I should have stripped it all bare, told her everything I’ve kept hidden, every shadow that haunts me. But I couldn’t.

I couldn’t force her into a choice. Not like this.

There’s a part of me that wants her to choose me— really choose me—freely, with all of herself, without any obligation hanging over her head.

I want her to choose me because she wants to.

Because her heart and soul crave me just as deeply as mine crave her.

Every part of me burns with that bitter thought, and it only fuels the storm rising beneath my skin.

The hunger curls up alongside it, just as relentless.

I haven’t fed, and it shows—the ache coils inside me like a beast begging to be unleashed.

My fangs throb with it—a constant pressure that settles behind my jaw and refuses to ease.

I haven’t slept. Not truly. And it’s not the hunger alone that drains me—it’s the restraint.

Of holding back when every instinct screams to go to her , to take what I want.

And her—gods, the thought of her only heightens it.

The memory of her scent, the imagined warmth of her skin, the beat of her pulse beneath my tongue—it drives the hunger into something darker.

Something I can barely contain. The emotions I’ve tried to smother are bleeding through now, wearing me down from the inside out. I should have known better. I never should’ve stepped into that hall—into the dance—without feeding first.

But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not again. Not after Vanessa.

Ever since I fed from her, every mouthful of blood has tasted like guilt—rotten and acrid. And now the very thing that keeps me alive feels like poison.

I hear a soft sound near the tent flap, a movement that makes my senses flare, pulling me from my thoughts as I move instinctively toward the desk.

Grabbing the bottle of amber, I pour myself a drink, downing it quickly.

The burn of the liquor hits my throat like a welcome distraction, the heat spreading through me.

Another sound. A shift in the air behind me.

I turn slowly, glass in hand, knowing exactly who it is before I even see her.

Vanessa.

She stands there, eyes dark with desire, her gaze flicking up through her lashes. Her lips pull into a small, teasing smile as she bites the tip of a fingernail. I watch, transfixed, as she slides it out of her mouth, daring me to fold.

Before I can say anything, she steps forward, pressing her hands to my chest. The heat from her touch seeps through the fabric, and I find myself instinctively stepping back, unable to look away as she backs me into the room.

Her eyes never leave mine, each step purposeful, each move calculated.

With every step she takes, the icy feeling inside me tightens, creeping up my spine.

I tilt my head, feeling uneasy.

This isn’t what I agreed to. Not at all.

I step back, sinking onto the edge of the desk, my gaze fixed on her.

Vanessa begins to lift her dress over her head, the fabric slipping from her shoulders, leaving her breasts bare.

My eyes trace the movement of her hands as she unties her lace undergarments, slipping them down to her ankles.

Her actions betrays a power she’s fully aware of.

My gaze flickers from her hands back to her face, finding something daring in her eyes .

“Is this not nice enough?” she bites her bottom lip, as she steps in between my legs.

“You’ve said you don’t care for nice things, but I feel the need to correct you on that.” She reaches down and grips the fabric of my dark pants, unbuttoning them slowly, her gaze never leaving mine.

“I never said I didn't appreciate nice things," I murmur, my eyes drifting down to where her fingers brushed against me.

Vanessa steps closer, her breath warm against my ear, her tone low and mocking.

“Oh yes… I remember,” she purrs, her lips brushing against my neck. “You said you don’t like sweet things.” Her fingers trail along my chest as she tilts her head, a wicked grin playing on her lips. “Well… I’m not sweet.”

Her words hang in the air, baiting me, but I keep my gaze steady on her, refusing to give her the reaction she’s seeking. She moves closer, her hands resting on the edge of the desk as she leans toward me, her body brushing mine.

“Vanessa,” I say, my voice a low warning, “don’t.”

Her grin widens.

“Don’t what?” she murmurs, her fingers reaching for my collar. “Don’t make you feel something? Don’t make you forget her ?”

The venom in her tone cuts deep.

“I know you felt it when you fed from me…” she purrs, her voice like velvet. “That pull. That hunger that wasn’t just for blood.”

Her hand slides down, possessive, claiming.

“Want and need, tangled until you couldn’t breathe without tasting me.”

She leans in, her breath hot against my neck.

“Leave,” I snap.

Vanessa’s grin falters for just a second, but she recovers quickly, her eyes narrowing as I push her hands away and step back from the desk. The air in the room crackles as I move to the center of the tent. My chest rises and falls heavily as I glare at her, my words hanging in the air.

“I’m not playing your games, Vanessa. Get. Out. ”

She ignores me, choosing instead to close the distance between us. Her hands press against my frame as she shoves me backward with surprising force. My boots skid slightly on the ground as the back of my knees hit the edge of the bed.

“Do you think I came over here just to be dismissed?” she hisses, her smile twisting into something darker. She shoves me again, a little more forceful, knocking me fully onto my back.

“I came to take what’s mine .”

Before I can react, she straddles me, her weight pressing down as her nails scrape against my jawline.

“You think you can send me away like I’m nothing?” she says, her voice laced with venom. “You needed me. You said it yourself. And now…” Her eyes gleam with hunger as she grips my shirt, pulling me closer. “I’m going to remind you why.”

Before I can shove her off again, she strikes—her head dipping to my neck with a speed that leaves no room to react. The bite is brutal. Her fangs pierce deep, and pain lances through me. A hiss escapes my clenched teeth, my body jerking under her.

I snarl, grabbing her waist to shove her off, but I’m too fucking weak. I haven’t fed, and it’s catching up to me—slowing my limbs, making my skin crawl. She knows . She uses it. Her body grinds against mine, desperate and shameless, her fingers digging into my shoulders like claws.

A moan scrapes from her throat, filthy and triumphant as her mouth latches onto my neck.

She feeds like an animal, each pull scorching through me, leaving nothing but an empty, clawing hunger in its place.

I want to bite her. Rip into her skin and drink until she’s as hollow as I am.

The thought is disgusting. Revolting . And it makes me want to put her through the fucking wall.

I won’t take from her—but gods, the need is there, curling like rot in my throat. And I hate that she made me feel it.

She shifts her hips, rolling against me, her breath hitching with every movement.

“Do you feel that?” she murmurs between gulps, her voice muffled against my neck. Her nails scrape harder against my shoulders, her body grinding into me with unrestrained desperation. “This is mine, Casper. You are mine .”

The heat of her body clashes against the cold that seeps into me as my strength begins to falter. My grip on her waist weakens, my arms heavy and trembling. Blood loss dulls my senses, blurring the edges of the room, but her movements become crueler.