Page 156 of Tower of Ash and Darkness
“Death,” he says simply, the word heavy, final.
A soft laugh escapes me, though I can’t shake the unease his answer stirs.
“That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
Callum leans forward slightly, the shadows deepening across his face, his eyes like molten gold in the firelight.
“Doesn’t death put you on your knees? It lets something greater take hold of you, forces you to sacrifice yourself for something…more.”
The words ripple through the air, heavy and haunting. I feel the pull in his voice, something deep and raw that shouldn’t be there, something that wraps around me like a chain. The way he speaks—it's as if he’s not just telling me this, but showing me, baring some unspoken truth that neither of us dare acknowledge aloud.
“There are two things in this world you can’t control, Your Grace,” he says quietly, his voice soft, yet brimming with something darker. “Death and love.”
His words linger, unsettling and yet strangely captivating. For a second, I can’t respond, his gaze pinning me in place.
“I’ve killed many men by my blade,” he continues, his tone low and steady. “And in the end, they all beg for the same thing.” He pauses, the silence punctuating the impact of his words.
“More time with the woman they love.”
I don’t move as his words settle over me, their truth digging deep. A chill brushes my skin as I realize he’s right—those are the only forces that truly demand surrender. And the way he says it, like someone who’s felt the weight of them both, leaves me unbalanced. He won’t admit it, but it’s as if he knows what it’s like to be brought to his knees by love, even if he fights it. And maybe I do too. I think of the moments I’ve felt that pull, the ache of losing control, and the way it lingers, demanding more of me than I’m willing to give.
“You’re a vampire,” I remind him, my firm voice a defense against the twisting sensation in my chest. “I’m sure death doesn’t scare you.”
“No,” he says, his eyes narrowing as they meet mine with pointed intensity. “Butlovesure as hell scares you.”
I feel my jaw tighten, his observation cutting deeper than I care to admit.
“Well, that’s definitely the place you’ll be going when you die,” I retort, forcing a smile, trying to mask the way his words rattle me.
Callum hums under his breath, the sound low and wicked, as if he’s amused by the very idea. His lips curl into a soft, infuriating smile, and his gaze shifts to the fire, watching it as if it holds secrets only he understands.
“Only if I see those beautiful blue eyes before I go,” he says lightly, the coy edge in his tone making my stomach twist.
He leans back then, folding his hands behind his head as if dismissing me entirely. His eyes close briefly, but then, as if drawn back, they open slowly. His gaze meets mine, steady and intent, as if he’s memorizing me, carving every detail into his mind. My heart skips, but I push the feeling down.
I roll my eyes, more at myself than at him, hating the way his words stick, the way the banter pulls me in against my will.
“Yeah, because I’ll be the one to put a dagger through that cold heart of yours,” I call, the annoyance in me rising.
Callum tilts his head slightly, his gaze still fixed on me.
“Don’t tempt me, Your Grace. I might just hold you to that.”
With a flick of his wrist, he twirls his dagger once before letting it rest at his side, his expression smug and infuriating. The firelight dances over him, highlighting the angles of his face, and I hate that I can’t look away.
34
CASPER
Malachi leans against the tent pole, his posture relaxed, but the intent focus in his gaze betrays him. His silence weighs heavily in the room, not demanding attention but commanding it all the same. Jason paces the room a few feet away, his arms crossed, his body taut. He looks between us like he’s calculating his next move, deciding how much to reveal—or if he should say anything at all.
“You’re asking me to hand over everything,” Jason says finally, his voice tight with barely restrained anger. His eyes meet mine, blazing with distrust. “Everything my father has built, everything he’s kept hidden. Do you think I don’t know what you’re really after,Ghost?”
“I’m not after your father’s secrets,” I reply coolly, keeping my tone measured. “This isn’t about him, and it sure as hell isn’t about me. It’s about the stone, Jason. The only thing that matters is keeping it out of the wrong hands—your father’s, Clyde’s, and Sarris’s.”
Jason stops pacing and fixes me with a hard glare.
“And whose hands are the right ones, Ghost? Yours?”
