Page 82 of Tower of Ash and Darkness (Tower of Ash #1)

The air grows heavier, suffocating, as a memory claws its way to the surface—a truth I’ve fought to forget.

A power like that… My magic can do that.

Shame coils in my chest. Casper’s expression softens, his eyes searching mine as if he can sense the turmoil inside me.

But he couldn’t possibly know. No one does—except my father and stepmother, who know the reality of what I did as an infant.

“How do you know this?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

Pain flickers across Casper’s face, exposed and unguarded. It catches me off guard, leaving me wondering why this topic affects him so deeply. I feel an odd urge to reach out, to understand the source of his pain, but I can’t quite grasp it.

“There was a witch,” Malachi says quietly, his voice steady, yet burdened. “She came to the King’s castle before your arrival. Do you know of her?”

I shake my head, though his words stir something faint and distant within me.

My father’s voice echoes in my memory, carrying the only story he ever shared about the one who came before me.

He never said more, never lingered on it.

But I held onto that single thread, because it was all he ever gave me.

“All I know,” I begin softly, “is that she lived for centuries. My father said she was powerful, that she held the wards around the vampire keep through times of war and unrest. They endured because of her—until the day they didn’t.

After she was gone, the wards began to fail, and the world was left waiting.

When a witch dies, the fates choose who will be the next vessel.

It used to be through bloodlines, but centuries of fear drove witches into hiding.

They stopped bearing children, and their bloodlines died out.

That’s why it took so long for my father to find me. He had to search everywhere.”

I pause, the memory of being found by my father washing over me like a cold wave. The feeling of being adored, of being told I was different, was powerful.

“I don’t even know her name,” I admit softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

Casper looks at me, his brow furrowed. The others follow his gaze, but Malachi doesn't move.

He continues to stare at me intently. Then, subtly, Malachi steps closer to Casper, leaning in to whisper something low in his ear.

Casper gives a small nod, his expression blank, and Malachi turns to leave .

I watch him go as he moves through the tent with the ease of someone who has mastered hiding every emotion, every thought. It’s a skill, I realize, one that makes him impossible to read. And yet, as he slips past me, I wonder: What does he hide beneath that mask?

“We’ll stay here tonight instead of leaving,” Casper says, his voice steady but his expression troubled. “We’ll tell the army and Lord Striden that you and Jason requested to stay until the waning crescent moon is at its peak.”

I can feel the confusion clouding my face, and Casper catches it. He sighs and tries again, his words more careful this time.

“We’ll tell them that you and Jason wish to…” He stops, biting the inside of his cheek, unable to finish the sentence.

“Fuck,” Callum mutters, his voice laden with disdain.

He drives the dagger he had been fiddling with into the map beside him.

The superstition he’s referencing is well-known.

To lie together beneath the waning crescent moon is to invite the unseen to bear witness.

It is a time when the goddess does not grant nor deny, but lingers at the threshold of fate, watching as what is sown either withers or takes root in the darkness.

A time of endings and quiet reckonings—where what is left unsaid festers, and what is taken cannot be undone.

The thought clearly disgusts Casper, and a deep, low growl emanates from him as if he loathes even the idea of Jason touching me.

The possessiveness in his growl ignites something deep within me, an overwhelming surge of desire that I struggle to suppress.

I clench my jaw, fighting to keep my composure, battling the urge to speak—to beg for some time alone with him, to finally have the conversation I’ve been yearning for.

Alias rises and gives a subtle gesture toward Callum, who hesitates for only a moment before standing. Gwyn follows after Alias, shaking her head at him before casting me a brief, apologetic smile—wordless acknowledgment of whatever trouble he’s stirring.

Callum lingers unhurried before finally moving past me with a slow, even stride, as if savoring the moment.

He leans in just slightly, close enough for his breath to brush against my skin, the faintest inhale like a secret meant only for him.

But I refuse to move, refuse to acknowledge the quiet challenge lingering between us.

His eyes catch mine, a smirk curving at his lips—mocking, knowing—before he finally steps out, leaving just Casper and me alone.

As the flap falls behind them, the silence in the tent deepens.

Every breath I take seems louder than the last, my heart racing as I stand frozen in place.

A magnetic pull stirs a longing inside me that I can’t suppress.

I wonder if he feels it too—the same pull, the same desire.

His gaze is intense despite his detached expression, and I can't help but wonder if beneath it all, there’s something more.

Something waiting to break free, like a dam on the edge of bursting.

I draw in a slow, shaky breath, fighting to steady myself as the silence grows heavier, wrapping around me like an iron shroud.

Casper’s gaze catches mine, and I freeze as his eyes shift, darkening to an endless pitch-black void.

I want to reach out to him, to anchor us both in something tangible.

But just as the thought takes hold, he closes his eyes, his jaw tightening as if wrestling with something within.

When his eyes reopen, they’re green once more, and there’s a fragility in his restraint.

“We’ll discuss our plans tomorrow. You need to head to your tent, so the guards see you in there with Jason,” Casper says, his voice low and distant, like he’s pulling himself away from me.

I breathe in slowly, trying to calm the rush of emotions within.

Stepping back, I move toward the entrance of the tent, the sound of my footsteps almost too loud in the stillness.

I pause before leaving, hoping he’ll stop me.

Hoping for a moment, just a moment, where we can be alone and talk without all the unnecessary strain between us.

But nothing comes. With a quiet, reluctant sigh, I turn toward the tent where Jason is waiting.