Page 127 of Craving Carla

“It’s magnificent,” I murmur, unable to contain my admiration.

The Academy’s soaring arches and intricate stonework remind me of the universities of Granada during the height of Moorish civilization. Those majestic institutions of learning—Madrasa Yusufiyya with its ornate courtyards, the libraries of Al-Andalus with their honeycomb-patterned ceilings—were once the intellectual jewels of my world before it all burned to ash. This building captures that same spirit of knowledge and beauty, though rendered in a style that blends the old with the new.

Delicate lattice work adorns the windows, reminiscent of the mashrabiya screens that once filtered sunlight into our greatest halls of learning. The main entrance features an archway thatlooks like it could have been taken from the Court of Lions, its geometric patterns intricate and mesmerizing.

Carla watches me with a small smile playing at her lips. “House of Zorah did good work,” she says, clearly amused by my reverence.

I adjust my tie and shut the passenger door, taking another moment to appreciate the craftsmanship. “Yes, they certainly did. The attention to detail is remarkable—those weren’t easy patterns to recreate.”

Carla grabs my hand, her fingers warm against mine. I look down at her, smiling, but detect the nervousness in her scent—a subtle sharpness beneath her usual peach sweetness.

I pull her close against me. “Don’t worry. I can handle it.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” she replies, her eyes scanning the Academy’s facade.

A movement catches my attention—two familiar forms crawling along the building’s exterior. Kemnebi and Moria slip from the shadows, their many legs finding purchase on the stonework as they descend toward us. Carla frowns at the sight of them and moves forward to meet them as they reach the ground and approach her feet.

“Go,” she commands, pointing toward the forest. “Get out of here. You know how Angie feels about you.”

Moria remains motionless for a moment, then sends me images—a beautiful Black woman with striking features and a perpetual scowl, followed by the words “mean” and “bitch” spelled out clearly in my mind.

I burst into laughter, harder than I have in a very long time. The sound rings out across the Academy grounds as I clutch my belly, unable to contain myself.

Carla looks back at me with confusion, but I can’t stop laughing.

“She really doesn’t like Angie,” I manage to say between bouts of laughter, pointing at Moria.

“Well, I don’t expect her to,” Carla replies dryly. “Angie did try to spray her with bug spray.”

This sends me into another fit of laughter, tears forming at the corners of my eyes. Moria taps her front legs against the ground irritably, sending me images spelling out “not funny.”

I finally calm myself, approaching Moria and Kemnebi as I stand beside Carla. “Sorry, Moria,” I say with a sigh. “I understand why you aren’t fond of her.”

I crouch down to their level. “But you need to listen to your Mommy. We need to find out more about Mommy’s origins with limbo, so we can figure out how to make you comfortable enough to lift the veil.”

I reach out, not touching them but offering my presence. “I will be close and protect Mommy.”

Moria hesitates, then turns and scuttles into the forest, Kemnebi following close behind.

Carla watches them go, her brow furrowed. “I wonder why they won’t lift it. They trust you, that’s evident, but it doesn’t seem to be enough. Why?”

I lean in and plant a kiss on her cheek. “Does it even matter?”

She narrows her eyes at me, and I clear my throat, adjusting my tie.

“What I mean is that you love me, despite the mate bond. The power of our love when you do eventually feel it will be amplified.”

“But I’m essentially powerless too,” she argues. “And I want to feel the mate bond. I want to claim you.” She slaps my chest playfully, and I chuckle, stepping back. “So that these women know to stay away from you because you belong to me. But they don’t know that because I haven’t claimed you yet.”

I grin at her, unable to hide my pleasure at her possessiveness. “Well, now that you put it that way...”

Carla rolls her eyes and walks toward the Academy’s entrance, pulling open the heavy door. I step forward and hold it for her, following her inside.

The inside is even more impressive than the outside. The ceilings are high and supported by curved columns. Stained glass windows line the walls, and wrought iron chandeliers hang from chains above, their lights glowing steadily.

Despite its grandeur, the Academy undeniably feels like a school. Bulletin boards display student artwork and announcements. Classrooms branch off from the main corridor, their doors labeled with plaques indicating subjects both mundane and magical. The walls are lined with portraits of distinguished witches, warlocks, and elder shifters, their eyes seeming to follow us as we pass.

The place is quiet now, the children presumably asleep in their dormitories.

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