Page 108 of Craving Carla

“Thank you again for dinner,” I say to Damon and Selene, my voice barely holding steady.

Damon clears his throat and starts to rise, but I’m already walking away, moving as fast as I can without breaking into a run.

I head to the hostess stand to retrieve my jacket, but the woman is busy with angry customers demanding a refund for being “forced to dine with supernaturals.” One of the men notices me and turns, his face contorting with disgust.

“Look at this,” he snarls, getting in my face. “Another dirty supernatural. A witch bitch.”

He’s a big man, at least a head taller than me, dressed in an expensive suit. Two women stand behind him—one older, likely his wife, and a teenage girl, both in elegant dresses.

“I’m the last person you want to mess with,” I warn him, pushing him away from me.

His hand curls into a fist, and he steps closer. “I’m not putting up with this shit or these disgusting supernaturals.”

I close my eyes and brace myself for the impact, already feeling the sting of tears threatening to spill. This night has gone from beautiful to disastrous in a matter of minutes.

Just before his fist connects, a familiar voice rings out sharply through the restaurant.

“Touch her, and it will be the last thing you do.”

37

Amari

“Touch her, and it will be the last thing you do.”

My voice rings out through the restaurant, cold and commanding. The human’s fist stops mid-air, just inches from Carla’s face. I adjust my suit jacket, eyes locked on my mate as I move toward them with calm, purposeful steps.

“Are you okay?” I ask, positioning myself between her and the asshole who dared to threaten her.

She huffs, refusing to meet my eyes. “I’m just trying to get my jacket so I can get out of here.”

Her tone hits hard—hurt, betrayal, anger. This isn’t what I wanted for our first date. Allison just had to show up, right when I was finally starting to make progress with my mate.

Goddammit!

The large man shoves his way into my space, his alcohol-soaked breath hitting my face as he snarls, “Back off, you filthy dead vampire. You and your kind need to be wiped off the planet.”

I look back at Carla, confusion knitting my brow. “Why are you allowing radicals on the island?”

Damon approaches, Selene moving like a shadow at his side. “The stupid non-discrimination policy applies to us too,” he explains with a grimace.

I roll my eyes. Behind me, Carla slips past to grab her jacket from the coat rack, sliding her arms into the sleeves. When I catch her gaze, she’s glaring daggers at me.

“Stand down,” Damon says, laying a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll handle this.”

I remain unmoving, my eyes tracking the man’s every breath. “He called my fated mate a bitch. I’m not leaving without something.” I bare my fangs slightly. “His head, perhaps?”

Damon groans.

The man pushes against my chest, a futile gesture that wouldn’t move me if I were made of paper.

“Hey!” Carla shouts, her voice cracking with unexpected protectiveness.

I chuckle as I step back, allowing the illusion that his force affected me. The man’s size matches my height—he’d be a worthy opponent if I were human.

But I’m not.

He throws a wild punch, which I dodge with minimal effort. I decide to play along, launching a quick three-punch combo—jab to disorient, cross to stagger, uppercut to lift him off his feet. My fist connects with his jaw, then his midsection, and finally under his chin with barely restrained force. I grab his neck, lifting him until his feet dangle above the floor.

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