Page 137 of Tower of Ash and Darkness
He tilts his head, his devilish smile never faltering.
“What areyoudoing, Your Grace?” His voice is maddeningly smooth, a blend of mockery and coyness that sets my teeth on edge.
He wields my title like a weapon, twisting it into something intimate, something that feels like it belongs to him alone. The way he says it sends a ripple of unease through me, as though he’s peeling back layers I’d fought to keep hidden. His fingers glide through the water, tracing idle, lazy patterns that feel far too intentional, his gaze locked on mine as if daring me to stop him. My pulse quickens despite myself.
“Isn’t it strange,” he murmurs, “to be bare and vulnerable like this, with a man who isn’t your husband watching you?”
My breath hitches, and the heat rising to my cheeks has little to do with the warmth of the water. His gaze sweeps over me, unapologetic and shameless, pausing just long enough to make me feel exposed in every way imaginable. His lips curve into a slow, predatory smirk.
“What would he think, Your Grace?” he continues, his voice quieter now, almost intimate, but no less biting. “Knowing I’ve seen more of you than he has?”
My stomach twists, the words hitting their mark with brutal precision. My cheeks burn hotter, and despite my flaring anger, there’s a feeling in my stomach that I can’t ignore. He knows. The smug glint in his eyes makes it abundantly clear—he knows Jason and I haven’t been intimate. And he’s reveling in it.
Callum stands slowly, the water rippling in the wake of his movement, the tent suddenly feeling too small. He steps back with an air of unhurried confidence as he begins to walk toward the tent flap.Just as he reaches it, he pauses. His hand brushes the fabric aside, but instead of leaving, he turns back to me. Slowly, he lifts the finger that had been trailing through the water to his mouth. His eyes lock onto mine as his tongue flicks over the tip. The gesture is maddeningly slow, as though he’s savoring the moment.
“I wonder whereheis?” he muses, his voice a velvet thread of insinuation.
The faint smirk tugging at his lips deepens, his gaze still holding mine, as if he can see every thought I’m trying to bury. And then, without another word, he slips through the tent flap, disappearing into the night.
The space he leaves behind feels suffocating, his parting words replaying over and over in my head. They claw at the edges of my mind, the insinuations weaving themselves into every vulnerable corner. I sink deeper into the water, hoping its warmth might wash away the frustration he’s left in his wake. But it doesn’t. The heat only amplifies the restlessness he’s ignited, leaving me angry and disturbingly aware of every lingering trace of his presence.
Callum’s parting words—“I wonder where he is?”—are like a thorn, small yet impossible to ignore.
He wasn’t just here to rattle me. Not entirely, at least. Yes, his flirtation continues to disarm me, leaving me flushed and off-balance, but Callum doesn’t waste words. He never has. Beneath the teasing and the sly remarks, there’s always something more. A truth hidden beneath the surface, waiting for me to uncover it. My gaze drifts to the lantern light dancing across the canvas of the tent. I picture him smirking again, his voice low and wanton as he said,
“Isn’t it strange? To be bare and vulnerable like this, with a man who isn’t your husband watching you?”
I clench my jaw as the realization settles like a stone dropped into a pond.
30
LAILAH
Afine mist begins to fall, soft yet persistent, mingling with the smell of damp earth and rain-soaked leaves. Though the sun is hidden, its faint glow presses against the cloud cover, an ominous reminder that even vampires can walk beneath its muted gaze if they are determined enough. The droplets cling to my cloak, beading on the fabric as I pull the hood over my head, shielding myself from the rain. The camp’s muffled sounds fade behind me as I step beyond its edges.
It’s been hours since I last saw Jason. Long enough to wonder where he went—and why he hasn’t come back. I told myself he needed space, maybe time alone, but the longer the silence stretches, the more I find myself questioning. Not out of fear, but out of curiosity, sharp and persistent.
The distant roar of the river grows louder with each step, guiding me forward like a beacon. The path is muddy, slick from the rainfall, and the occasional snap of a twig underfoot reminds me how far I’ve strayed from the safety of the camp. I crouch low to the ground, my fingers sinking into the damp earth as I let my magic extend. Tendrils of energy unravel from me, weaving into the landscape, searching for the path to the river.
My magic hums in response as it reveals the way forward.
Rain pelts harder now, turning the dirt beneath my boots into slippery mud as I reach the tree line. My magic recoils suddenly, snapping back to me with force. Something is ahead. Slowing to a cautious walk, I approach a large boulder with a narrow opening carved into its center.
I pull my hood down, glancing back to ensure I’m alone before slipping through the rocky passage. The sound of rushing water growing louder as I navigate the winding path. My chest tightens as faint sounds—a soft moan, a muffled sigh—drift from around the next bend. My pulse quickens, dread and curiosity warring within me.
Jason is kneeling, his body pressed against the blonde servant whose back is arched against a moss-covered boulder. Her hands are tangled in his hair, clutching him with a possessiveness that turns my stomach. The moan that escapes her lips is one of shameless pleasure as she tilts her head back, her flushed face exposed to the muted sky above. His head is bowed before her, the intimate proximity between them unmistakable, his hands gripping her thighs as if she’s the only thing grounding him.
The shock steals the air from my lungs. My stomach churns violently, nausea rising in a cold, unrelenting wave. It isn’t just jealousy that grips me—it’s something colder, something that cuts deeper.Betrayal. Whatever feelings I might have harbored for him are now buried beneath layers of it and indifference.
I step back, retreating silently, only to collide with a solid figure. My breath catches, and I turn to find myself face-to-face with evergreen eyes.
“Hello, Princess.”
The word, spoken like a private endearment, sends a shiver through me. Even under this indirect sunlight, his restraint is remarkable, despite what must be an uncomfortable burn. The sun’s muted rays don’t sear his skin, but they sting—like a constant throb of pain that would send most vampires retreating into shadows.
I step back instinctively, but his hand darts out, grasping my wristwith surprising gentleness. My scarred wrist. I hadn’t even realized I’d left without the gloves. My heart stutters as my eyes drop to his fingers, wrapped securely around the marks I always hide. Tears prick at the corners of my vision. No one touches my hands. No one ever wants to.
His expression shifts, concern flickering in his eyes, but there’s something else there too—curiosity, tenderness, and perhaps even a quiet defiance of the boundaries I’ve tried to erect. Slowly, Casper removes his gloves, then takes my scarred hands in his bare ones. The leather is warm as he slides his gloves over my fingers, encasing my hands in their protective barrier. I’m too stunned to protest, my mouth slightly ajar as he secures them with care. Then, as if to solidify the moment, he lifts my gloved hands, pressing them against his chest.
