Page 116 of Tower of Ash and Darkness
Malachi turns back toward the stairs, speaking once more, his tone matter-of-fact.
"Jason will be occupied for the remainder of the evening. He has meetings with Clyde concerning his future within the palace."
The mention of Jason only makes my longing worse, but it also sparks something else—curiosity. What is Jason after with her? And why does it feel like he’s pulling strings in a game I can’t see?
I glance down at the floor, aching with the desire to see her again. To make sure she’s okay. The urge to be near her, to hold her, grows stronger with every second that passes. Before I can even think it through, my feet are already moving toward the stairs. Without a second thought, I’m heading to her. I don’t know if I’ll find her, or if she’ll even want to see me, but I need to be near her. I need to make sure she’s safe.
As I tread carefully across the darkened forest floor, the soft crunch of leaves beneath my boots is the only sound in the oppressive stillness. I pull my cloak tighter around me, the hood casting shadows over my face, ensuring no one sees me as I make my way toward the looming castle walls. The air is heavy with the weight of unwelcome memories that this place always seems to stir.
I’ve always hated this palace. Its towering spires and cold stone walls are a stark reminder of the hope that once bloomed within me every time I returned. Hope that was always crushed beneath betrayal, suffering, and pain.
Now, the castle feels more like a prison than a home—a cage filled with the ghosts of my past, their whispers echoing through the corridors I once knew so well. Each step closer brings a fresh ache, a longing to erase the memories this place has etched into my soul. But still, I move forward, drawn by a purpose that outweighs my own desire to stay away.
Her blue eyes flash in my mind, vivid and haunting. I see her body as it lay cold on the dungeon floor, her dark hair veiling her face, her scarred hands bloody from the bite of iron chains. My heart burns, and I shake the memory away.
A crack splits the silence beyond the treeline. My senses flare, butI know exactly who lingers in the shadows, watching where he shouldn’t. A few steps further, and Callum emerges into view, leaning casually against a tree, a slender stick of smoldering darkleaf balanced between his fingers, trailing lazy ribbons of smoke into the dusk, his cloak concealing all but the glint of his amused eyes.
“Have a nice evening?” he asks, exhaling a plume of smoke into the damp air.
“You would know,” I reply, brushing past him without breaking stride.
His deep chuckle follows, rich and knowing, as he flicks the darkleaf to the ground and falls into step beside me. Always the predator, Callum leans closer, taking an exaggerated inhale.
“She sure does smell good, doesn’t she?” he murmurs, his voice a velvety mix of teasing and hunger.
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.
