Page 112 of Craving Carla

Verde and Petra are coming home. And soon, if I have anything to say about it, the veil will be lifted from my mate, and she’ll feel the bond that ties us together for eternity.

Until then, I’ll wait. I’ve existed for over a thousand years—patience is something I’ve learned well.

For Carla, I would wait a thousand more.

38

Carla

The SUV rumbles to a stop in front of the patrol cabin. Amari puts the vehicle in park and cuts the engine, leaving only the sound of my ragged breathing. My head spins like I’m caught in a whirlpool, dragging me deeper with each passing moment. The tarp in the trailer behind us contains what remains of Verde and Petra, and the knowledge sits like a stone in my gut.

Amari turns to me, his eyes filled with concern. “Are you okay to do this now?”

“Yes,” I croak, my voice sore and raspy from crying. “If we don’t do it now, the children will flip.”

He nods in understanding, then gets out of the SUV and rounds to my side. When he opens the door, I nearly fall into his arms, my legs shaky beneath me. His hands steady my hips as he guides me toward the trailer.

I freeze when I spot one of their legs dangling out from under the tarp—a grim reminder of what we’re about to do. It’s like feeling their deaths all over again, that same ripping sensationinside. I place my hand over my heart, trying to calm myself from having a full breakdown.

The forest around us seems to hold its breath. Wind rustles through the trees, stirring the branches gently. What we’re about to do presses in from all sides, making each step feel like wading through mud.

Amari carefully pushes the leg back under the tarp, and I look away as he lifts it down, making sure it doesn’t hit the ground too hard. Even the gentle sound it makes as it settles seems louder than it should be.

“Are you sure?” he asks, searching my face.

I nod, unable to form words, and start leading the way into the forest. Behind me, I hear the soft scrape of the tarp as Amari drags it carefully over the uneven ground. I focus on putting one foot in front of the other, following a path I’ve walked countless times before.

The smell of damp earth and decomposing leaves fills my nostrils as we venture deeper. Pine needles brush against my bare feet. I normally find comfort in these familiar sensations, but today they only remind me that I’m leading a funeral procession for my own children.

The trees grow denser as we move deeper into the forest. Branches crowd overhead, blocking out much of the sky. My children slip through gaps between trees, climbing down from the canopy. They walk ahead, leading us to a small clearing.

Some of the smaller ones, no bigger than dinner plates, scuttle ahead to clear the path of debris. Others hang from silken threads overhead, their many eyes watching our progress. I can feel their grief; it settles in the spaces between the trees.

Amari drags the tarp to the center of the clearing and carefully opens it. The sight knocks the air from my lungs. Verde and Petra lie side by side, their bodies cut open, examined, violated. Pieces of their bodies have been removed, several oftheir legs cut off, and each of their fangs extracted. They’ve been mutilated beyond recognition, reduced to specimens rather than my beloved children.

Verde’s emerald body, once bright and vibrant, now lies dull and lifeless. The intricate patterns across his abdomen are barely visible through the cuts and incisions. Petra’s deep purple exoskeleton, once full of color, is now cracked and faded. They don’t even look like themselves anymore.

I fall to my knees beside them, running my hand over Verde’s once-beautiful emerald body. “They mutilated them,” I whisper, my voice breaking.

My fingers trace the edges of the cuts, feeling the places where pieces have been removed—samples taken for study, for experiments. The violation of it makes bile rise in my throat. These weren’t just specimens to be dissected; they were my children, living beings with thoughts, feelings, and identities.

Amari bows his head, and Tofi and the others begin to circle around us, their legs tapping a mournful rhythm against the earth. The sound builds slowly, starting as a gentle patter and growing into something like a heartbeat—steady, rhythmic, alive even in the presence of death.

I sob as I lean down to kiss each of their bodies, the pain so raw it feels like my heart is being torn apart all over again. My tears fall onto their broken forms, mingling with the dew already settling on their exoskeletons.

“My babies,” I choke out. “My sweet, brave babies. I loved you from the moment you hatched.” I stroke what remains of Verde’s head, remembering how he used to nudge against my hand, seeking affection. “I remember how you would always bring me the prettiest leaves you could find, Verde. How you would sit with me during storms when the thunder scared the smaller ones.”

I turn to Petra, whose body is even more damaged than Verde’s. “And you, Petra, always so fierce, so protective. You never let anything frighten you.” A sob escapes me as I recall how she would position herself between me and any perceived threat, no matter how large. “Thank you for your sacrifice, for your protection, for your love.”

My words dissolve into incoherent sobs as my hands move between them, trying to commit every detail to memory. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you. I’m sorry I failed you.”

The children around us move closer, their legs touching mine in quiet support. Some of the smaller ones climb onto my shoulders, nestling into my hair, their tiny bodies vibrating with shared grief.

Tofi and Noki slowly approach, their movements steady and solemn. They begin to pull their siblings’ bodies away from me, preparing for the burial. Amari comes to my side, gently pulling me to my feet and holding me against him as we watch the funeral begin.

My children work together in a way that speaks of ancient ritual. The smaller ones spin silk, creating delicate threads with an opalescent quality. The strands reflect subtle hues of blue, purple, and pink as they shift and move.

Tofi directs them, her legs moving in patterns I’ve never seen before, orchestrating the creation of two beautiful cocoons. She taps instructions to the others, who respond with immediate understanding. Some gather moisture from nearby plants, mixing it with the silk to create a stronger, more resilient material. Others weave intricate patterns into the growing shrouds, symbols I don’t recognize but somehow know are meant to offer guidance and peace in the journey beyond.

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