Page 91 of Tower of Ash and Darkness
18
CASPER
The memory of the ceremony lingers, clawing at me as I sit in Clyde’s office, the firelight casting restless shadows across the room. I had watched from the shadows of the temple, my anger simmering with every second Jason’s hand lingered too long on her cheek. His lips brushed hers in a fleeting kiss—calculated, yet agonizingly real. Cheers had erupted, an empty echo of approval that felt like nails scraping against my resolve.
Lailah’s cheeks had flushed, a softness in her eyes that twisted the knife even deeper. She had felt something. The thought of Jason’s touch stirring anything in her was unbearable, but I had forced myself to stay hidden, watching as she smiled faintly as if the moment had been real for her too. The realization was like ice slicing through me, cold and biting. My hands had clenched into fists, my nails biting into my palms, but I hadn’t moved. I couldn’t—not then.
Though the ceremony is behind us, its weight hangs heavily in the room. Clyde stands by the hearth, drink in hand, watching the fire as if it holds some grand design only he can see. Jason sits directly across from me, too poised for a man who bleeds. The cut on his lip is still fresh, a thin, angry slash that catches the firelight every time he speaks—or clenches his jaw.
“So,” Clyde begins, swirling his glass, “have you two given any thought to a honeymoon?” His words are casual, almost jovial, but the keen edge in his tone betrays his true intent.
Jason hesitates for only a moment before replying, his voice steady.
“I hadn’t thought you’d allow Lailah outside the castle walls.”
Clyde’s laughter cuts through the quiet.
“Nonsense,” he says, waving a dismissive hand. “Why wouldn’t I? She’s a married woman now, with responsibilities to fulfill—and soon enough, I expect grandchildren.” He leans forward slightly, his smile thinning as his tone hardens. “Many grandchildren.”
Jason’s expression remains unreadable, though I catch the faintest trace of unease in his eyes.
“Of course,” he says smoothly. “Whatever pleases you, Your Grace.”
Clyde studies him, his gaze narrowing.
“Good,” he says finally, his voice thick with authority.
“I know this might seem strange to you, being a human, but us vampires, we are creatures of excess. We crave and long for our desires. And I want my daughter to know nothing but that. No softness, no innocence. I want her to be immersed in the depths of what we truly are."
Clyde's gaze hardens as he leans forward.
My grip tightens around my glass, my knuckles whitening as bile rises in my throat, but I force myself to remain still. The image of Jason touching her—claiming her—fuels a rage so potent it nearly consumes me, but I focus on the fire, its flickering flames my only anchor.
Jason chuckles softly, the sound almost mocking.
“You’ve made yourself clear, Your Grace. I’ll do everything in my power to meet your expectations.”
Clyde’s grin widens as he pours himself another drink, his satisfaction unmistakable.
“Good,” he says again, his tone lighter now, almost amused. “Nowgo. Dance the vampire waltz. Find your wife quickly—I wouldn’t want you delaying your… obligations this evening.”
Jason rises smoothly, his movements calculated, his faint cocky grin lingering as he strides toward the door without so much as a glance in my direction.
Clyde turns to me, his gaze cold and calculating as he massages his temples, his earlier joviality dimmed.
“I swear,” he mutters, his voice laced with irritation, “if that boy so much as looks at anyone else before the night is through…” He doesn’t finish the thought, but the venom in his words is clear.
Clyde moves toward his chair, settling into it slowly. The firelight dances over his features, amplifying his expression. He doesn’t speak immediately, swirling his drink in lazy circles before locking his gaze on me.
“Tell me, Ghost,” he begins, his tone deceptively casual, but I know better than to mistake it for anything other than a test. “Do you think something is… off about Lord Striden and his son?”
The question is deliberate, his narrowed eyes already betraying the certainty behind his suspicion. I let the moment stretch, giving the air between us weight before I respond.
“Do you believe they know about the stone?” My voice is measured, each word chosen carefully, though I know they land exactly as intended.
Clyde exhales slowly, rubbing his jaw as he leans forward in his chair. His elbows rest on the armrests, his hands steepling beneath his chin. He stares into the fire for a long moment, the flames reflecting in his eyes, before he finally speaks.
“Perhaps,” he mutters, the word heavy with implication. “Perhaps they know more than they’re letting on.”
