Page 11 of Craving Carla

My face falls as I think about Yara and Kofi, the two magnificent arachnids I gifted to Anora and Amir. They’re my largest children—Yara standing nearly four feet tall with legs spanning wider than a carriage wheel, and Kofi equally massive with his shiny black body like polished stone. When I announced to my children that I was offering them to serve at the palace,they were overjoyed. It gave them purpose, honor, a chance to prove their wort

But I know Anora wants to return them to me. I can feel it in the way she looks at them when I visit, the careful distance she maintains. She’s trying to be polite, but she doesn’t want them there. And when I take them back, they’ll return to my home in the forest feeling rejected, ashamed among their siblings.

My children will understand that humans can’t appreciate them, but supernatural rejection cuts deeper. They expect better from our own kind.

“Nothing,” I say, though my voice wavers slightly.

Leah’s expression softens. “Carla, please try and open up to me. I know I haven’t exactly been the greatest when it comes to communicating with you, and I’m sorry. But I don’t want you to be closed off or feel unwelcome here. You are a daughter of Wintermoon. This is your home.”

Daughter of Wintermoon. The title feels hollow. Sure, I have citizenship, a job, a place to sleep. But daughters belong. They’re welcomed, celebrated, embraced. I’m tolerated. There’s a difference.

“I’m going to step into Midnight Moon to see how Ackley’s doing,” I say, waving her off.

I expect her to teleport in front of me again, to press the issue. Instead, she huffs and lets me go. Part of me is grateful; another part wishes she’d pushed harder, proved that someone actually cares enough to make me talk.

The humans scatter as I cross the street, some literally jumping out of my path. Their exaggerated fear would be comical if it wasn’t so predictable. I can hear their whispered comments—“That’s the spider witch,” “Don’t get too close,” “Why do they let her patrol here?”

Each word is a tiny cut, but I’ve learned to let them roll off me. Mostly.

I walk down the short hill to Midnight Moon, the nightclub that serves as a bizarre intersection between supernatural and human worlds. During the day it’s nearly empty, but come evening, it transforms into a twisted playground where humans offer themselves as feeding fodder for vampires, thinking it’s some exotic thrill.

The building looks smaller in daylight—just a two-story structure with blacked-out windows and a neon sign that isn’t lit. But come nightfall, it’ll be packed with curious humans and hungry supernaturals.

As I approach the entrance, a group of human women notice me and start snickering. They hold up their phones, trying to be subtle about capturing pictures or video. My fists clench at my sides. The urge to hiss at them burns in my throat, but I swallow it down.

I can’t afford another incident report.

I pull open the heavy door and step inside, letting it shut behind me with a solid thunk. The interior is dimly lit, with strategically placed lighting that creates pockets of shadow and pools of amber light. The main area consists of a central dance floor, a DJ booth that’s currently silent, several seating booths with black leather upholstery, and a large bar that dominates one wall.

Two women work behind the bar, both exceptionally beautiful in that calculated way that screams “I’m here to catch a vampire.” Fresh bite marks dot their necks like twisted jewelry, and they whisper to each other while shooting nervous glances my way.

These are new ones—I give them maybe another week before they realize the harsh reality of being a vampire’s toy. The turnover rate at Midnight Moon is stupidly high for exactly this reason. These women come seeking danger andpassion, but they leave broken-hearted and drained—literally and figuratively.

The double doors to the kitchen swing open, and Ackley strides through, hefting a case of beer that probably weighs more than most people can lift comfortably. He sets it on the counter with a grunt, then notices me sitting at the bar.

His face lights up in a way that makes me flutter unexpectedly. He’s one of the few people whose expression brightens when I walk into a room—aside from King Amir, who seems genuinely pleased by my presence.

“Hey, Spider girl,” he teases, approaching with that easy smile I’ve come to appreciate.

He’s what most would call average-looking, but there’s something appealing about his nerdy aesthetic. Tall and fit but not intimidatingly so, with long twists pinned up loosely at the back of his head. His thick-rimmed glasses sit slightly crooked on his face, and his beard is trimmed but still has that slightly messy, academic look. His light brown eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, and his skin tone is a few shades lighter than mine—a rich, warm brown.

He leans against the counter, pulling the hair tie from his wrist to secure his twists more thoroughly. “How are things, good friend?”

Something in his tone is different today. There’s a teasing quality I haven’t heard before, a hint of something that makes my pulse quicken.

“Still keeping me in the friend zone, huh, spider girl?” he says, then has the audacity to wink at me.

My mouth snaps shut, heat rushing to my cheeks. Is he—is Ackley flirting with me? The thought is so foreign, so unexpected, that I can barely process it. No one flirts with me. Ever. I’m the spider witch, the strange outsider who controls creatures most people find repulsive.

Ackley doesn’t seem to notice my sudden speechlessness. He moves behind the bar, already preparing my usual drink. Fresh lemonade, with light sugar added—he remembers exactly how I like it. The gesture feels impossibly thoughtful.

He sets the glass in front of me, and I grab it gratefully, using the excuse to drink so I don’t have to respond to his comment immediately. The tartness of the lemons makes me pucker slightly, but I love the clean, natural taste.

“What’s up? You’ve been a stranger since last week,” he says, leaning against the counter again.

I set down the empty glass—I drank it way too fast—and shrug. “I’ve been kind of bummed. Sick of desk duty. And the humans get so weird whenever I try to visit you at the employee community, so I stay away. It’s bad enough they give you trouble for the tarantulas you keep in your apartment. I don’t want to cause you any problems.”

His expression shifts, darkening with what looks like anger on my behalf. “Fuck them,” he says with more vehemence than I expected. “They talk shit about me being the nerdy spider boy and you being the scary spider queen, but none of them complain about how easy it is for you to find my pets when they break loose. They come right to you without question.”

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