Page 90 of Tower of Ash and Darkness (Tower of Ash #1)
LAILAH
A s the first light of dawn breaks over the horizon, I notice Jason emerging from Casper’s tent.
He walks briskly, followed by Callum and Malachi, both of whom stop and glance at me.
Their eyes briefly meet mine, and I can see the concern etched across their faces as they move toward their own tent.
Callum lingers just a moment longer, his gaze holding mine with a strange intensity, as though he’s trying to remember something about me. It feels like he’s saying goodbye without saying the words. I frown, unsure of what to make of it, and watch him leave, confused and unsettled.
I glance back toward Casper’s tent, my mind restless as I wait for him to appear.
Gwyn and Alias left a few hours ago to feed, and my thoughts drift to the intricacies of their hunts.
How do vampires feed when humans aren't available? The idea of them going after deer or small creatures feels out of place. No, I’ve always imagined them hunting larger prey—predators for predators.
Wolves, bears, big cats. Something that matches their power.
But then my thoughts drift back to Casper, to the image of him feeding from that woman.
My stomach tightens with a familiar yearning—the desire to be wanted by him in that same way.
I sigh, feeling the heat rise, a deep longing I can’t ignore.
I try to shake it off, blinking away the thoughts.
The pull to go to him, to offer myself, even though I don’t understand why, is like an ache in my bones that won't go away, no matter how hard I try to distract myself.
I stand up, needing to break free of the discomfort, and head toward the royal tent.
But before I even reach the entrance, I catch the unmistakable scent of Celaena and Jason—the scent of their arousal still hanging in the air—and something inside me twists, a deep repulsion rising.
The heaviness of it, the way their connection lingers in the space, makes my skin crawl.
I take a step back, my breath hitching as I turn away, unable to go through with it. I don’t want to be near that.
The camp feels too small, too close, as I walk away from the royal tent, uncertain of where to go. I just need space. Somewhere away from their presence, where I can gather myself.
As I wander further into the camp, my steps lead me toward the edge of the forest. The soft sighs of guards drifting into slumber, their voices tinged with secret affections and laughter that seems to mock the weight of the world upon us.
I move past them, the sun still a reluctant guest, peeking through the clouds in hesitant bursts, as though unsure whether it should make itself known.
I feel the touch of its rays on my face, and for the briefest of moments, I am reminded of the warmth of sunlight—a thing so rare in my life now.
The burn of it stirs something deep within me, a forgotten sensation that clings to the edges of my skin, like a distant memory.
My reflection from earlier flashes in my mind—those faint red blotches on my cheeks, a sign of something so simple and natural, yet so alien to me.
The sunlight is too foreign now.
I blink back the thoughts that surge with it, images of a child with burnt skin and ragged clothes.
The little girl who used to work alone in the harsh light, with her stepmother’s cold orders echoing in her ears, the children who tormented her, throwing stones, calling her a monster.
The sting of it all resurfaces, and I pull my brows together in an attempt to keep it at bay .
But the moment is fleeting. The sun’s warmth still calls to me as I step into the forest’s embrace, letting the darkness swallow me whole.
Then I see him. Zander, the black stallion with a coat so dark it shimmers in the pale light.
He’s standing in the clearing, his elegant form still as he sniffs and huffs at the apples scattered on the ground before him.
His presence brings some much-needed levity, and for a moment, the past slips away.
The memories of pain, of being hunted by my own fears, fade into something lighter and gentler.
I approach him slowly, my heart beating a little easier now, and I slip off my glove, feeling the air against my scarred hand as I reach out to touch Zander’s sleek coat.
His mane feels like silk beneath my fingers, and I place my face close to his, inhaling his earthy scent.
He feels like a strange part of my childhood that I can’t fully grasp.
He’s always been there in some way, a presence that haunts the corners of my mind, like a forgotten story that I can’t remember the beginning of.
I don’t know how he became part of my past, yet there’s a comfort in him, a bond that pulls at something deep within me.
“You can keep your secrets,” I whisper, the words slipping out like a secret of my own.
Zander tosses his head in response, his eyes warm, and I smile softly, stroking him again, allowing myself to feel something familiar, something peaceful.
It was as if I was acknowledging that we both shared a history I couldn’t fully remember, and perhaps, it was better that way.
Some memories are meant to remain hidden, even from myself.
But then the air shifts. A snap of a twig—sharp and sudden—makes me freeze.
I turn, my heart sinking, and there she stands.
Cloaked in shadows, her dark hair and eyes like pools of ink, her presence twists the air around her, suffocating the space between us.
Her lips curl into a sly, predatory smile, and she steps toward me with a carnivorous grace, like a serpent winding closer to its prey.
The forest around us seems to darken, and her aura feels like the very night itself, deep and all-consuming .
“Well, well,” her voice purrs, low and mocking. “If it isn’t the pretty little princess.”
Every step she takes is masterful, like she knows the exact effect she has on the world around her.
My heart picks up speed, and I take a step back, instinctively pulling my glove back over my scarred hand, as if to hide it from her cruel gaze.
Her eyes track my movements, and she tuts in disdain, her voice laced with venom.
“Not so pretty after all,” she drawls, taunting me with delight.
A surge of frustration and fury rises in my chest, but I suppress it. I won’t let her see me react. She sways toward me, her cloak flowing like dark silk, an extension of the darkness she carries with her.
Before I can gather my thoughts, a voice interrupts—low, dark, and lethal.
“Vanessa.”
The shift in the air is immediate, and my eyes snap to Callum. Seeing his broad shoulders and commanding stature contrast against Vanessa's slight frame, I realize how much power he truly holds.
He steps forward, his stance firm, his gaze cold.
Vanessa’s smile widens at the sight of him, but it’s not one of warmth. It’s the kind of smile one gives before a fight, the kind that promises something ugly lurking beneath. She lets out a soft laugh under her breath, like she’s savoring the suspense.
“This is an interesting turn of events,” she murmurs, relishing her own amusement as her attention locks on Callum.
He doesn’t flinch.
Instead, he reaches over his shoulders and draws his twin swords in one fluid, graceful motion. The metal sings as the blades slip free, gleaming beneath the light. Vanessa’s grins wider, more wicked, her elongated fangs bared as if daring him to take it further.
“What are you doing here, Vanessa?”
Callum’s voice is measured, but biting. No warmth.
No humor. Only the cold, cutting weight of steel.
I can feel the strain in my bones. Vanessa is formidable—there’s no question.
But Callum isn’t yielding. I see the dark flicker in his eyes, a storm that promises nothing but the harshest consequences if she doesn’t leave .
“Oh, you know... duty calls,” Vanessa says slyly, stepping forward with unsettling grace.
Callum stands his ground, and as he tilts his head, the faintest glint of amusement—or warning—flashes in his gaze.
“He doesn’t want you here,” he says evenly.
Vanessa halts, her gaze narrowing, her smile shifting from amusement to anger.
“Because she’s here?”
Callum smirks, unbothered, and her confidence falters.
“Well, maybe I’ll just take her out of the equation,” she says, her tongue darting across her fangs as she moves with predatory intent.
Vanessa draws her blade with a snarl, her fury barely contained. She lunges with deadly speed, and I flinch, instinct curling my hands into fists. The hum of my magic pulses just beneath my skin, ready to break free. But Callum is quicker. His twin swords clash with hers in a screech of metal.
She’s fast—her strikes relentless, each one meant to wound, to punish. But Callum is something else entirely. He doesn't just react—he calculates. He shifts with precision, parries with one blade while the other presses in, dominating the space between them.
She pivots, ducking low, aiming for his side. His sword catches hers, dragging it wide. Then—an opening.
Callum turns sharply. One sword cuts beneath her guard while the other drives up with lethal precision, knocking her blade from her hands.
It lands with a dull thud in the dirt. She stumbles back, chest heaving, eyes blazing with rage.
Callum doesn’t press. Doesn’t speak. He just watches her, silent and composed.
The corner of his mouth lifts. A smirk, cold and confident.
He likes this.
With unhurried precision, he sheathes both swords—not out of mercy, but invitation. His hand lifts, fingers curling in a slow, deliberate gesture.
Vanessa takes it.