Page 124 of Tower of Ash and Darkness
I lower myself into my chair, my gaze drawn to the mirror on my desk. The reflection is unkind—a weary man with shadows under his eyes and fresh bite marks on his neck, stark against pale skin. They’ll heal, but not quickly. The marks are a reminder, not just of Vanessa’s hunger, but of what I’ve allowed.
Callum’s words echo in my mind, clearer than I’d like to admit. He’s right—Vanessa doesn’t deserve my blood. Vampires don’t share blood lightly. It’s not just about feeding; it’s an act with consequences. Sharing blood can grant power, but it can also lead to something far more dangerous—an irreversible bond. Once two souls are tied, they can’t be separated. If you bond with the wrong person, it can destroy you little by little over time. The connection is meant to be sacred, reserved for those who are truly meant for each other. But power complicates things.
Sharing blood grants strength, a rush so intoxicating it’s like a drug. Some vampires lose control, becoming so consumed by the power that they accidentally form a bond. That’s why most vampires tread carefully. Sharing blood is never a casual act—it’s a gamble with eternity. Blood is only given out of love, or in moments of absolute necessity. Anything else courts ruin.
Vanessa knows nothing of restraint. She craves without caution, taking what she desires regardless of the cost. To her, blood is merely a tool—power to wield, control to assert, a path to her ambitions. But for me, it is sacred, something intimate and irrevocable, something I would never give without meaning.
Because to truly bond, both must drink.
Not in sequence, but insync.
A mirrored hunger. A moment where blood is not just taken, but offered, where it flows between two mouths, two hearts, in perfect, perilous rhythm. That is when the bond forms—when the blood is shared like a vow, mingled and unbroken, sealing what can never be undone. It isn’t the bite alone that binds. It’s the surrender. The timing. The unbearable intimacy of craving one another is enough to blur the line between giving and taking, until there is no telling where one ends and the other begins.
With Lailah, it would never be about power or necessity—it would always be about her. If she ever asked, I wouldn’t hesitate. I’d give her my blood willingly, without question or condition. It wouldn’t be an exception; it would be a claim, a tether, something binding us in a way no one could sever. The thought of her taking that part of me, of us being irrevocably tied, burns through me like it’s already been carved into my soul. Because with her, it wouldn’t just be a bond—it would be consuming, absolute. She’s in my thoughts, my breath, my very existence. She’s everything I reach for and everything I can’t let go of. The craving for her is unrelenting, the need to have her, to keep her, gnawing at me with every passing moment. She is mine, whether she knows it or not, and the idea of anyone else touching her, taking her, is enough to drive me mad.
The ballroom isa vision of opulence, drenched in hues of gold and cream, every corner gleaming with excess. Tables overflow with platters of delicacies, glistening fruits, and goblets of wine that reflect the light from the ornate chandeliers above. The air hums with the mingling sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and the soft notes of a string quartet playing in the corner. Tonight’s feast is a celebration of Clyde’s latest conquest—a territorial expansion that will see his guards enforcing his will far beyond these walls.
The grandeur of the event is a reflection of his triumph, but all I can think about is how soon I’ll see it fall apart.
As I stride forward, Vanessa’s hand curls possessively around myelbow. Her low-cut black dress hugs her body, tiny obsidian beads catching the light with every sway of her hips. She leans in close, brushing her lips against my neck, her breath warm against the fresh bite marks she left earlier.
“Behave,” I growl, low and explicit, meant for her ears alone.
She pulls back with a sly smile, her satisfaction as cloying as her perfume.
Scanning the room, I catch sight of Callum and Malachi stationed in the corner, their black attire stark against the warm colors of the feast. Their disinterest is palpable as their eyes move methodically over the crowd. Callum gives me the briefest of nods, and I know he’s already analyzing the night’s players. My gaze shifts, taking in Gwyn in a deep burgundy dress, her laughter muted as she converses with a royal vampire over wine. Across from her, Alias lounges casually on the edge of a table, his grin coaxing laughter from a courtier.
Despite the scene unfolding around me, my thoughts are consumed by her. I scan the room, searching for those unmistakable eyes—clear, vibrant, and as haunting as the moon. Lailah will come. I know she will. And when she does, I’ll have to play my part perfectly.
Vanessa tugs me toward Clyde’s throne, where he reclines with self-satisfaction, lazily plucking grapes from a golden cluster. His gaze darts to Vanessa as she bows, her movements calculated and coy. I refuse to bow, meeting Clyde’s amused stare head-on. His smirk deepens as he rises, taking Vanessa’s outstretched hand to kiss it. She hums in approval, but his pointed wink in my direction only fuels my resolve.
The grand doors creak open, and every murmur in the room falls silent. All eyes turn, as if compelled by instinct, and there she is—Lailah.
She steps into the ballroom like a vision from another world. Her satin blue gown flows around her like a river, hugging her figure in a way that’s graceful, not ostentatious. Diamonds glisten across a translucent shawl draped over her shoulders, shimmering with every step she takes, as though she’s cloaked in the light of a thousand stars.
Her hair is sleek, parted neatly and tucked behind her ears toaccentuate her delicate features. The look is simple, yet undeniably striking—a quiet kind of power, the kind that draws you in without demanding. As she moves, the soft hues of her gown and the luminous sheen of her skin catch the light, casting her in an ethereal glow. She looks less like the daughter of the Vampire King and more like a celestial being descended to walk among mortals.
Jason walks beside her, his hand resting on hers with ease, his dark blue jacket trimmed in silver complementing her perfectly. Together, they look like a painting come to life, a pair crafted to dazzle and deceive.
But my gaze is on her alone. Her steps are strong, vibrant, each one an unspoken declaration of her presence. Then, for the briefest moment, her eyes meet mine. It’s like a spark in the air, so quick and subtle that no one else would notice, but I do. Her steps falter ever so slightly, a crack in the mask she wears so well, before she recovers, lifting her chin with poise.
Her beauty is undeniable, not just in appearance but in the way she carries herself. She doesn’t just enter the room—she commands it.
I thought I had everything under control. But now, standing here, watching how flawlessly she fits into his charade—as the devoted wife, the perfect princess of the Vampire King—frustration coils tightly within me. My gaze shifts to Jason, the architect of this deceit. I know exactly what he’s after: securing Clyde’s plans, whatever they may be. The very thought makes me ill. How can she not see it? How can she not recognize the strings he’s pulling, the way he’s weaving her into his web?
Lailah and Jason bow slowly before Clyde as he rises, clapping his hands together in delight. His smile is broad, fangs glinting under the chandeliers' golden light.
“You look beautiful, my sweet. Like the moon,” he says, his voice dripping with paternal pride.
Lailah looks up at him through her lashes, soft and obedient, though she doesn’t glance my way even once. Just as I think I mightmanage to endure this display, she speaks, her voice smooth and melodic, yet pointed enough to cut.
“Isn’t it lovely, Father? Jason gave it to me on our wedding night. Diamonds from his mother’s private chest.”
She lifts her hand slightly, letting the light catch the intricate sparkle of her shawl. Jason, ever the picture of devotion, takes Lailah’s hand tenderly, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. The diamond shawl draped over her shoulders glitters under the hall's warm light, each gem sparkling like stars.
Clyde’s eyes sweep over her with a calculating glint, his lips curling wider as he lets the silence linger.
“Ah, the diamonds suit you perfectly, my sweet,” he says, his voice smooth, but there’s an edge to his tone. "But, forgive me, I find myself far more curious to know if Jason’s… talents in the bedchamber have pleased you as well as the stars that rest upon your shoulders."
