Page 125 of Craving Carla

“I’m not trying to be controlling or anything,” he says carefully, “but I don’t have an appreciation for pork.”

I roll my eyes and burst out laughing. The sound starts as a chuckle and builds until I’m doubled over, tears gathering in the corners of my eyes.

Amari takes a step back, glaring at me, clearly offended. “I know times are different, and I’m not a Muslim anymore so I’m not under the Muslim law, but I still respect the customs.” He adjusts his tie, his movements stiff and defensive.

I finally calm down, wiping tears from my eyes. “You paid no attention when we made that quick shopping trip in the market for groceries, did you?”

Amari stares at me, his brow furrowed. “No, I didn’t. But I saw you bought a pack of bacon.”

“That was turkey bacon,” I tell him, trying not to start laughing again.

“Oh.” He clears his throat, looking slightly embarrassed.

“I knew you were a former Muslim,” I explain, “so you probably wouldn’t be able to stand the sight of it. Plus, I don’t eat pork. At all.”

Amari’s expression softens into a smile, the tension in his shoulders easing.

I place my hands on my hips, deciding to get sassy with him. “Well, since you like to make assumptions?—”

“Carla, I didn’t mean—” he starts, but I cut him off, holding up my hand playfully.

“You’ll be rubbing my feet while I eat,” I declare.

Amari gets right in my face, staring so intently that I drop my hands from my hips, suddenly nervous under his golden gaze.

“Um, I was just joking, Amari.”

He grins, the predatory look transforming into something warmer. “I was hoping you weren’t, because I’ll gladly get on my knees and do what you command of me.” He bows his head slightly. “My queen.”

“Please stop calling me that,” I scoff. “I’m not a queen.”

“But oh, you couldn’t be more wrong,” he says, grabbing my wrist gently and pulling me into the cabin. “You are a queen. Queen of Spiders. Queen of Medina Shadow Coven.”

Inside, Amari takes off his suit jacket and rolls up his sleeves before heading into the kitchen to start making breakfast. I wander around the cabin, eventually sitting down at his desk in the corner by the window, looking at the computer screen. I know how to use a computer—I work with one all the time at the station—but the one Amari has seems more... fancy.

I notice a phone by his mouse, seemingly new, and pick it up. Looking over at Amari, who’s busy cracking eggs into a bowl, I narrow my eyes at the device and tap the screen. What I see nearly makes me melt in my chair.

It’s me. I’m his wallpaper.

He took a picture of me while I was sleeping. I look like hell—hair wild, mouth slightly open, drool probably visible—but he saved it anyway. I make a mental note to convince him to take a different one later, preferably when I’m conscious and presentable.

I slump back in the chair, the reality of my situation hitting me all at once. This is real. Really real. I’ve got an army of vampires who think of me as their queen. After centuries of fighting for acceptance, I now have a community of vampires who will not only protect me and respect me, but maybe even actually like and enjoy my company.

Emotions well up inside me, and I sniffle, fighting back tears. Fate not only answered my prayers by giving me a fated mate, but she also gave me the acceptance I’ve craved for so long.

Thank you, Mother Fate.

I sit there for a moment, just processing my emotions, but look up when Amari comes around from the kitchen, holding a plate and a glass of orange juice. I stand and walk over to thelounge chair, sitting down as he sets the plate on my lap and places the glass on the end table beside me.

Then, to my surprise, he drops to his knees in front of me and begins pulling off my shoes. I try to pull my feet away, but he grips my ankle firmly, holding me in place.

“What are you doing?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

“Fulfilling my queen’s command,” he says with a smirk.

His thumbs press into the arch of my foot, and I nearly moan at the sensation. I never realized how much tension I carried there until this moment. His strong fingers work magic, pressing and kneading in all the right places, finding knots I didn’t know existed and gently working them out.

“Eat,” he encourages, nodding toward the plate.

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