Page 100 of Tower of Ash and Darkness
The jealousy rips through me, consuming, turning every breath into a ragged gasp, as if I’ve been torn open and left bleeding by what should have been mine.
I should havetakenher away, shown her the truth of it all—the darkness, the lies, the endless web of deceit that binds us all together. I should have stripped it all bare, told her everything I’ve kept hidden, every shadow that haunts me. But I couldn’t.
I couldn’t force her into a choice.Not like this.
There’s a part of me that wants her to choose me—reallychoose me—freely, with all of herself, without any obligation hanging over her head. I want her to choose me because she wants to. Because her heart and soul crave me just as deeply as mine crave her. Every part of me burns with that bitter thought, and it only fuels the storm rising beneath my skin.
The hunger curls up alongside it, just as relentless.
I haven’t fed, and it shows—the ache coils inside me like a beast begging to be unleashed. My fangs throb with it—a constant pressure that settles behind my jaw and refuses to ease. I haven’t slept. Not truly. And it’s not the hunger alone that drains me—it’s the restraint. Of holding back when every instinct screams togo to her, to take what I want. And her—gods, the thought of her only heightens it. The memory of her scent, the imagined warmth of her skin, the beat of her pulse beneath my tongue—it drives the hunger into something darker.
Something I can barely contain. The emotions I’ve tried to smother are bleeding through now, wearing me down from the insideout. I should have known better. I never should’ve stepped into that hall—into the dance—without feeding first.
But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not again. Not after Vanessa.
Ever since I fed from her, every mouthful of blood has tasted like guilt—rotten and acrid. And now the very thing that keeps me alive feels like poison.
I hear a soft sound near the tent flap, a movement that makes my senses flare, pulling me from my thoughts as I move instinctively toward the desk. Grabbing the bottle of amber, I pour myself a drink, downing it quickly. The burn of the liquor hits my throat like a welcome distraction, the heat spreading through me.
Another sound. A shift in the air behind me.
I turn slowly, glass in hand, knowing exactly who it is before I even see her.
Vanessa.
She stands there, eyes dark with desire, her gaze flicking up through her lashes. Her lips pull into a small, teasing smile as she bites the tip of a fingernail. I watch, transfixed, as she slides it out of her mouth, daring me to fold.
Before I can say anything, she steps forward, pressing her hands to my chest. The heat from her touch seeps through the fabric, and I find myself instinctively stepping back, unable to look away as she backs me into the room. Her eyes never leave mine, each step purposeful, each move calculated. With every step she takes, the icy feeling inside me tightens, creeping up my spine.
I tilt my head, feeling uneasy.
This isn’t what I agreed to. Not at all.
I step back, sinking onto the edge of the desk, my gaze fixed on her. Vanessa begins to lift her dress over her head, the fabric slipping from her shoulders, leaving her breasts bare. My eyes trace the movement of her hands as she unties her lace undergarments, slipping them down to her ankles. Her actions betrays a power she’s fully aware of. My gaze flickers from her hands back to her face, finding something daring in her eyes.
“Is this not nice enough?” she bites her bottom lip, as she steps in between my legs.
“You’ve said you don’t care for nice things, but I feel the need to correct you on that.” She reaches down and grips the fabric of my dark pants, unbuttoning them slowly, her gaze never leaving mine.
“I never said I didn't appreciate nice things," I murmur, my eyes drifting down to where her fingers brushed against me.
Vanessa steps closer, her breath warm against my ear, her tone low and mocking.
“Oh yes… I remember,” she purrs, her lips brushing against my neck. “You said you don’t like sweet things.” Her fingers trail along my chest as she tilts her head, a wicked grin playing on her lips. “Well… I’m not sweet.”
Her words hang in the air, baiting me, but I keep my gaze steady on her, refusing to give her the reaction she’s seeking. She moves closer, her hands resting on the edge of the desk as she leans toward me, her body brushing mine.
“Vanessa,” I say, my voice a low warning, “don’t.”
Her grin widens.
“Don’t what?” she murmurs, her fingers reaching for my collar. “Don’t make you feel something? Don’t make you forgether?”
The venom in her tone cuts deep.
“I know you felt it when you fed from me…” she purrs, her voice like velvet. “That pull. That hunger that wasn’t just for blood.”
Her hand slides down, possessive, claiming.
