Page 89 of Tower of Ash and Darkness (Tower of Ash #1)

CASPER

M alachi leans against the tent pole, his posture relaxed, but the intent focus in his gaze betrays him.

His silence weighs heavily in the room, not demanding attention but commanding it all the same.

Jason paces the room a few feet away, his arms crossed, his body taut.

He looks between us like he’s calculating his next move, deciding how much to reveal—or if he should say anything at all.

“You’re asking me to hand over everything,” Jason says finally, his voice tight with barely restrained anger. His eyes meet mine, blazing with distrust. “Everything my father has built, everything he’s kept hidden. Do you think I don’t know what you’re really after, Ghost ?”

“I’m not after your father’s secrets,” I reply coolly, keeping my tone measured. “This isn’t about him, and it sure as hell isn’t about me. It’s about the stone, Jason. The only thing that matters is keeping it out of the wrong hands—your father’s, Clyde’s, and Sarris’s.”

Jason stops pacing and fixes me with a hard glare.

“And whose hands are the right ones, Ghost? Yours?”

I take a step closer.

“This isn’t a game, Jason. You know what that stone can do. It’s not about power or alliances. If Clyde or Sarris gets it, they’ll burn this world to the ground. You know that as well as I do.”

Jason’s jaw tightens, his fists clenching at his sides. He looks away, his eyes dark with conflict.

“You don’t understand,” he says quietly, his voice cracking just slightly. “He’s my father. I know the kind of man he is, the things he’s done. But he’s still my father.”

His words hang in the air, heavy with emotion, and I can see past the anger and into the turmoil he’s trying to hide. Jason loves his father, but that love is tangled in a web of loyalty, resentment, and fear.

“I’m not asking you to betray him,” I say, my voice softening. “I’m asking you to do the right thing. You know as well as I do that he’s playing with fire, and if he gets that stone, there’s no coming back from it—for him or anyone else.”

Jason exhales, his shoulders slumping slightly.

“You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t see what he’s doing, what he’s capable of? But you don’t know him like I do. He’s not like Clyde or Sarris. He doesn’t want to destroy the world—he just wants to protect what’s his.”

“And what happens when that protection comes at the cost of everything else?” Malachi’s voice cuts through the room, calm but firm. His obstinate gaze locks onto Jason.

Jason shakes his head, his gaze locking onto mine with a mix of frustration and guilt.

“So, you're expecting me to betray my father just like you've betrayed Clyde?” Jason's voice cuts through the silence, accusatory. “How do you think Clyde would react if he knew about your secrets—your hidden ambitions?”

My eyes narrow, my voice turning cold.

"Careful, Jason. My reasons are mine alone, and none of them involve taking the stone for myself. Clyde's ambitions are not mine.”

Jason steps closer, dropping his voice to a whisper.

“From where I stand, everyone wants that stone—Clyde, Sarris, my father, and now you. Tell me, Ghost, what exactly sets you apart? ”

I meet his intense gaze steadily.

“The difference is that I'm not willing to sacrifice innocent lives to obtain it.”

My voice drops low as I step toward him.

"Do you honestly believe she’d survive if Sarris or your father got the stone? They’ve already tried to kill her once. Do you really think that was an accident?"

Jason doesn’t move. I can see the unease bristle beneath his skin.

“You need to ask yourself who they'll come for first. Who they'll break just to send a message."

His breath catches, eyes locked on mine, searching—desperate for reassurance, for something that might prove him wrong. Denial, maybe. Hope. But I offer him nothing. Only the brutal, unrelenting truth.

A slow breath drags through my teeth as I step back, forcing the frustration to settle. My jaw tightens, irritation thrumming just beneath the surface. He still doesn’t see it. Still insists on framing this as loyalty, as legacy—like it’s about kingdoms or thrones.

It’s not.

This is about her.

My gaze hardens as I study him, every muscle tight with restraint. He stands there, too proud or too afraid to admit what he knows. My voice comes low and even, each word carved from cold truth, meant to cut through whatever delusions he’s still clinging to.

"Unless you don’t care for her at all," I say, the words a final blow meant to wound.

That’s when he steps back, as if the thought itself strikes him clean in the chest. Jason's gaze drops to the ground, his posture faltering. For a moment, he’s silent—unguarded in a way I’ve never seen before.

And for the first time, I see his armor slip.

Just enough for something real to bleed through.

“I love her.”

His confession stuns me more than I expect, and I find myself studying him closely. He pauses, glancing toward the side as if he’s searching for the right words .

“I’m only telling you this because of her,” he continues, his tone softening.

My eyes narrow slightly, as I remain silent.

“That’s why I started sleeping with Celaena,” Jason admits, his jaw tightening as the words leave him.

“My father—he told her once, after a council meeting, that he would kill anything or anyone that wasn’t mortal.

He said it with such conviction. And Celaena…

she told me, thinking I believed in his twisted ideology, thinking I’d laugh it off with her. ”

He pauses, his fists clenching at his sides.

“She thought it was a joke, but I knew better. Lailah might be mortal, but he doesn’t see her that way. He sees her as something else. Something… monstrous .”

The words hang in the air, heavy and oppressive.

I feel the familiar coil of anger tighten in my chest, but I force myself to stay calm.

Jason’s eyes meet mine again, searching for some kind of understanding.

I nod slowly, letting the gravity of his words settle.

Malachi shifts slightly beside me, his gaze fixed on Jason, but he doesn’t speak.

We all know what this means—what it could mean for Lailah if Clyde or Sarris gets their hands on that stone.

Jason takes a deep breath, his posture stiff as he continues.

“My father is meeting with Sarris the day after tomorrow. They’ve been planning this for weeks. He’s going to take a small human guard with him this evening to ride west, toward the mountains.”

“Why west?” Malachi finally speaks.

Jason hesitates, his expression conflicted.

“That’s where they think the entrance to the stone’s resting place might be. They’ve been narrowing it down for years, and now… they think they’ve found something.”

“Is he bringing you with him?” I ask, my tone clipped.

Jason nods.

“He asked me to come,” he says, his voice tight with resignation.

I glance at Malachi, then back at Jason.

“You’re going,” I say, my tone leaving no room for argument. “If you’re with him, you’ll be our eyes and ears. You’ll find out everything.”

Jason’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue.

“I’ll go,” he says after a moment, his voice hesitant. “But if this goes wrong… if he finds out?—”

“He won’t,” I cut him off, my voice firm. “We’ll make sure he doesn’t. But you have to stick to the plan. No risks, no heroics. Just get the information and get out.”

Jason looks at me for a long moment, his expression hard to read.

“For her. ”

Jason stiffens, his frustration almost tangible as he glances back at me and Malachi. His eyes dart between us, nimble and searching. I think he might say something, but instead, his lips press into a hard line, his jaw clenching tightly before he turns toward the tent flap.

Just as he reaches for the opening, the flap moves, and Callum steps inside.

The two of them lock eyes, and the anticipation in the air intensifies.

Jason freezes, his face twisting with open disdain.

He doesn’t bother to hide it—his loathing for Callum is written in every rigid line of his body, in the way his nostrils flare and his fists curl slightly at his sides.

But Callum, ever the master of provocation, tilts his head with that maddening look, his eyes glinting like molten metal in the firelight.

Jason’s lips curl, and for a second, I think he might actually take the bait. But then he exhales through his nose, exasperated, shaking his head as if forcing himself to let it go.

“Stay out of my way,” he mutters, each word like a dagger aimed at Callum.

Callum shrugs, his smirk never wavering. Jason spares one more glance over his shoulder—at me, then Malachi. His expression is a storm of anger and frustration. Then, without another word, he steps past Callum, letting the tent flap snaps shut behind him, leaving an echo of unease in his wake.

Callum watches him go before he turns his attention to me.

"Well," he says lightly, "someone’s in a mood."

The tent is silent now, the remnants of Jason’s departure still lingering like an uninvited guest. I remain where I am, staring at the fabric walls as if they hold answers I can’t grasp. The hunger inside me is relentless, clawing at my insides like a beast desperate to break free.

Vanessa took too much. I knew it the moment I felt the sharpness of her teeth, the pull that went deeper than necessary.

She didn’t stop when she should have, her hunger overpowering her restraint.

I let her—because I needed her quiet, needed her to remain an ally for just a little longer.

But now, the decision feels like a mistake.

The ache I feel is a reminder of my miscalculation, the gnawing emptiness she left behind more profound than I’d anticipated.

I rake my hands through my hair, the tightness in my body refusing to ease.

Sleep won’t come, not like this—not when the craving is this strong, and the thought of Lailah looms over everything else.

Her scent is still faint in the air, teasing me, reminding me of the connection I crave but can’t have.

Not yet. Not when everything is so precariously close to falling apart.

Callum’s voice cuts through the silence, breaking my spiraling thoughts.

“She took too much from you.”

I glance at him from the corner of my eye. He’s leaning against the post near the tent flap, arms crossed. He doesn’t wait for me to respond before continuing.

“You won’t make it through the night, let alone tomorrow, if you keep ignoring what you need.”

“I’ll manage,” I say through gritted teeth, though the strain in my voice betrays me. I don’t want to admit that he’s right, that the ache is spreading, making me weaker by the hour.

Callum smirks, pushing off the post and taking a step closer.

“Feed, or this entire plan falls apart before it even begins.”

My fists clench at my sides, frustration boiling just beneath the surface, but before I can respond, Malachi steps in, his calm presence diffusing the chaos before it can break loose.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t need to. The look he gives me is enough—a silent reminder that my pride is a liability we can’t afford right now .

I sigh, running a hand down my face. They’re both right, as much as I hate to admit it. I need to feed. Vanessa took too much, leaving me teetering on the edge of control. But the thought of leaving Lailah alone just to satisfy my own hunger—I won’t allow it.

Callum shakes his head, muttering something under his breath before stepping toward the exit. He slips out of the tent, the flap snapping shut behind him. Malachi lingers for a breath longer, his steady gaze meeting mine. He doesn’t say anything, but his expression speaks volumes.

“I’ll be fine,” I say, my voice low but steady. “I just need to rest. I’ll feed when we get to the territory—when I know she’s safe.”

Malachi doesn’t move, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he’s gauging whether or not to believe me. But then, he gives a curt nod. He turns and steps toward the exit, pausing just long enough to cast one last look over his shoulder. It’s not a glance of trust—it’s a reminder, a warning.

And then he’s gone, leaving the tent in silence once more.

The emptiness of the tent wraps around me like a vise.

My legs feel like lead as I move toward the bedroll, exhaustion clawing at every fiber of my body.

I sink down onto the edge of the makeshift bed, leaning heavily against the wooden post beside it for support.

My head feels light, the world seeming to tilt slightly as the hunger gnaws at me with an intensity I can’t ignore.

I grip the edge of the bedroll, my knuckles white as I force myself to steady. My breaths come faster, shallow and uneven, the weight of my hunger threatening to pull me under. But then it hits me—a faint, familiar scent curling through the air, subtle but unmistakable.

Lailah .

The scent of her skin, warm and impossibly sweet, reaches me like a lifeline and a curse all at once.

The ache in my fangs intensifies, fiercer now, almost unbearable.

It’s maddening—she’s not even here, not really.

She’s somewhere close, asleep, blissfully unaware of the havoc her presence is wreaking inside me.

I close my eyes, leaning my head back against the post as the hunger claws deeper, more insistent.

The image of her floods my mind—her blue eyes challenging me, her lips parting as if ready to speak some cutting retort.

The thought alone sends a rush of heat through me, mingling with my gnawing need.

I growl low in my throat, the sound rumbling through the quiet like a warning to myself. I can’t lose control. Not here, not now. Not with everything at stake. I press my palms into my thighs, forcing myself to breathe, to focus, to remember why I have to hold it together.

But the scent lingers, teasing me, taunting me, wrapping around me like a siren’s song. My fangs ache so badly I can barely think, my body screaming for what I can’t allow myself to take.

“Just a little longer,” I murmur to the empty tent, my voice hoarse and strained.

My vision blurs as I finally let my body sink onto the bedroll, my head falling back against the thin pillow. The exhaustion pulls at me, threatening to drag me under.

As my eyes flutter shut, the scent of her still lingers, filling my senses, haunting me. She’s my torment and my anchor, the one thing that keeps me grounded even as it threatens to unravel me completely.

And as sleep finally starts to claim me, all I can think about is her.