Page 67 of Tower of Ash and Darkness (Tower of Ash #1)

I stop abruptly and turn to face him, my expression blank save for the faint tilt of my head. Callum thrives on games—twisted, calculated games—but I give him nothing. My silence is a weapon I wield well against him.

His smirk widens as rain begins to fall, soft at first, then steadily heavier.

He pushes his hood back, revealing dark curls quickly dampened by the drizzle and the long scar that cuts across his brow, a mark as familiar as his predatory gaze.

There’s something in that gaze—a reflection of the darkness we both carry.

We aren’t brothers by blood, but by bond, forged in centuries of shared suffering.

I’ve known Callum and Malachi for nearly two centuries, a steadfast presence in the long expanse of my two hundred and thirty-four years on this godsforsaken world.

His company and Malachi’s are the ones I have kept the longest. Gwyn and Alias joined our makeshift family later, but it’s Callum and Malachi who have borne witness to every scar, every shattered piece of me.

Alias, with his humor, would only deflect the weight of my burdens. Gwyn, the most brilliant killer I know, carries a compassion too pure to bear my truth. And Malachi—he has absorbed my pain in silence, burying it deep, but I see it in his eyes every time he looks at me .

Callum, though, is different. Stubborn and fiercely protective, he doesn’t pity me.

He burns too hot with his own hunger for vengeance to wallow in anyone’s pain.

He understands suffering on a level few could, and our shared pact to exact revenge on those who’ve wronged us is the thread that binds us.

“Don’t play games with me, Callum. What do you want?” I ask, my brow arching in mild impatience.

He chews the inside of his cheek, his mouth fading into a thin, serious line.

“That was reckless tonight,” he says bluntly.

I tilt my head, studying him. A smile tugs at my lips despite myself.

“Are you jealous, brother?”

His eyes narrow, but a ghost of a grin lingers.

“And who would I be jealous of, brother ?” he counters, coy as ever.

I let out a low, rumbling laugh as I shake my head and turn toward the east side of the castle walls. The rain falls harder now, soaking into my cloak, but I don’t hear Callum until he steps in front of me, blocking my path.

“What?” I ask, arching a brow as I push my hood back.

"You can’t be foolish," he says, his voice quieter, yet no less harsh.

He’s right. I shouldn’t go to her—not to her shared bedchamber.

But the thought of leaving her, of not letting her know how deeply she has rooted herself into my soul, is unbearable.

I feel as though I’ve told her a hundred times in a hundred ways, but my actions, my plans for revenge, always seem to speak louder.

If only she knew. If only I could tell her everything.

As if reading my thoughts, Callum’s voice breaks through.

“You can’t tell her, Cas.” His tone softens, just barely.

And in that moment, the bitter truth sinks in deep.

He’s right—I can’t drag her further into this, can’t let her shoulder the burden of my choices.

She can’t know. Not yet. The thought twists in my chest, a cruel knot of guilt and desperation, but I force it down.

Jaw clenched, I shove past him, the distant glow of the castle lights cutting through the rain like a beacon .

“I know,” I mutter, more to myself than him.

The rain soaks through my cloak, dripping off the ends of my hair as I move across the castle grounds, but I don’t feel it.

All I can think about is her. Her skin, her scent, the way she moaned my name like she couldn’t get enough of me.

And gods, I couldn’t get enough of her either.

My body aches for her like she’s carved herself into me, like I’ll never be whole without her.

I stop beneath her tower, staring up at the faint glow from her balcony, a hunger clawing at me that no amount of space or time can dull.

I want her. I want her so badly I can hardly breathe.

The flicker of movement inside catches my eye, the shadows shifting with the light, and I can’t stop myself from imagining her—bare, still flushed from my touch, her lips swollen and parted, her chest heaving as she struggles to catch her breath.

I rake a hand through my hair, jaw clenched against the raw need coursing through me.

It’s ridiculous how much I want to tear through the walls of this damn tower, to pull her back into my arms, to hear her say my name again in that way that makes my blood burn.

She’s just up there, so close, and it’s driving me fucking insane.

The rain pounds harder, but I don’t move, watching the faint glow of the flame, the shadows behind it proof she’s still there.

I don’t need to see her to know she’s inside, but it doesn’t stop me from craving it. Craving her.

Finally, I force myself to turn away, every step back toward the camp weighted with frustration, her scent still clinging to me. It burns through me like a tether I can’t sever no matter how far I walk.

Fuck .

The walk feels longer than it should, suffocatingly quiet, broken only by the crunch of our boots on the damp dirt trail.

Normally, the stillness might have been grounding, but tonight it does nothing to dull the heat twisting inside me.

Then it hits—a smell so strong it nearly stops me in my tracks.

A sickly, unmistakable, floral cloud hangs heavy in the air, wafting from my tent and creeping into my lungs. My steps falter as my stomach turns, and I glance toward Callum, who raises his eyebrows in mock innocence before shrugging .

“This is your mess, not mine,” he says, his voice smug as he walks away.

Frustration blooms, tightening my throat. Callum is infuriating at the best of times, but what makes him truly unbearable is his unrelenting honesty. As much as I’d like to deny it, he’s right—this mess is mine. All of it.

When I pull back the tent flap, my suspicions are confirmed.

Vanessa is sprawled lazily across my bed, nestled in the tangled linens.

Her legs are bent and crossed at the ankle, her back arched just enough to make the pose seem intentional.

In her hand, she flips a knife, the blade reflecting the faint light with every twist. It’s a casual act, but I know her well enough to understand it’s a warning—or a threat.

Her dark eyes lock on me, alert and assessing, as I step inside.

She doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch, as though this tent is her lair and I am the uninvited guest. I ignore her, forcing myself to concentrate on the desk across the room.

My throat feels dry, so I reach for the flask resting there, my fingers brushing the cool metal.

But before I can take a sip, I feel her.

Her arms slip around me, the heat of her body against my back. Her embrace feels suffocating, unsettling, and I recoil instinctively. Without hesitation, I grip her wrists and pull her hands away, letting them fall limp at her sides.

Vanessa sighs, loud and dramatic, before sauntering to perch herself on the edge of the desk.

“I waited for you,” she says, her voice soft but edged with frustration, like a child denied her favorite toy.

I don’t bother to respond, my focus dropping to the map spread out before me. The lines and markings—the carefully planned route to the far edge of Striden’s lands—are easier to focus on than her gaze burning into the side of my face.

But Vanessa doesn’t handle being ignored well.

Her hand shoots out, fingers gripping my chin, forcing me to face her.

Her head tilts, her dark eyes narrowing as they search mine, scanning my face for something—an answer, a weakness, a crack in my resolve.

She won’t find one. My patience snaps, and I swat her hand away, standing tall as I yank her from the desk and set her firmly on her feet.

“I don’t have the patience for you today,” I bite out.

For a moment, I think she’ll let it go. But Vanessa isn’t one to back down. Instead, her hand moves with lightning speed, driving the blade of her knife straight into the map. The tip pierces through the parchment and into the wooden desk beneath it, the abrupt thunk reverberating through the air.

Slowly, I turn to face her. Her lips curve into a triumphant smile, and there’s something in her eyes—a mix of yearning and defiance.

It’s a dangerous combination, one that speaks of a hunger she knows I’ll never truly satisfy.

Her smile widens, a reminder of the promise I made.

The one that bound her to me, to this plan.

I could have chosen anyone to play her role, but trust is a fragile thing, and within my group, it’s even more rare.

Vanessa is a snake, venomous and cunning. But snakes only bite what they fear.

She doesn’t fear me— not yet.

Her hands move to my chest, pushing me down into the chair behind me.

In one fluid motion, she straddles me, her thighs trapping me in place.

Every touch, every glance is a challenge, daring me to react.

My anger simmers just beneath the surface, barely contained by the fragile leash I’ve wrapped around it.

Her fingers trail along my shoulders, her touch searing and invasive.

My body tenses, my skin flinching at her closeness.

She is fire, harsh and consuming, but there is no warmth in her touch.

Nothing like Lailah’s. Lailah is soft, her touch a balm to my soul, a quiet light that I crave.

Vanessa leans in, her breath warm against my neck as her lips seek mine.

I turn my face away, rejecting her advance.

Her lips curl into a sly, mocking smile. To her, it’s a game. A challenge.

“You can take what you want,” I say, my voice low and hard, “but not that.”

Her eyes roll, her lips brushing against the tip of my nose as her tongue flicks out to tease.

“But it’s so much more fun when I use you,” she purrs, her voice dripping with venom .

The fragile leash on my temper snaps. My hand shoots to her throat, my grip firm but controlled, just enough to make her lift her head and meet my gaze. My eyes bore into hers, cold and unrelenting, as I lean in closer.

“I said, no.”

Briefly, she freezes. Then, something shifts in her expression. Her eyes darken, her focus dropping to my neck as her hunger takes over. Her breathing deepens, and I recognize the predator stirring within her, rabid and ravenous.

I tilt my head, granting her silent permission.

Her teeth sink into my flesh with brutal precision, the sting of her bite sending a jolt through me.

Warm blood flows, and I close my eyes against the rush of pain and the pull of her hunger.

She takes, unrelenting, as though she could consume every part of me if I let her.

I never wanted this. I never wanted her.

This game I’m playing is draining me—like a viper coiled at my throat, each breath more restricted than the last. I give Vanessa what she asks for—me.

Or the illusion of me. She thinks she can possess my heart by drinking the blood that feeds it.

But she doesn't understand that I’m already at the point of no return.

That I don't care what happens to me, not if it means Lailah stays safe.