Page 129 of Craving Carla

The book is magnificent—bound in leather so ancient it’s cracked and worn at the edges, its pages yellowed with age. The text is written in an elegant script that seems to shift and move, as if the letters themselves are alive. Intricate illustrations border each page, depicting creatures of myth and magic in painstaking detail. What strikes me most is the occasional glint of the ink, flecked with gold and silver that seems far too vivid to be ordinary pigment.

“I know I’m not supposed to know what’s inside of a spellbook,” I say, “but I can see the text.”

Angie looks up at me with a glare, then shifts her gaze to Carla’s neck. “It’s because you claimed her,” she says, pointing at the mark on Carla’s throat. “Just like Jacob has with me, you’ve taken some of her magic, unknowingly.”

I smile at that, proud that I have a piece of my mate living inside of me.

Angie begins explaining about Tabatha, running her finger across a particular passage. The book reveals a detailed drawing of a woman with deep brown skin and startling blue eyes, her hair twisted into elaborate braids adorned with gold threads. She wears strange earrings that seem to pulse with light, and her expression is both fierce and knowing.

“I know Tabatha,” I say, recognizing her immediately from the vision the children showed us. “But only briefly.”

Angie huffs, crossing her arms. “Please don’t say one of my descendants is on your dick roster.”

I glare at her, my amusement fading. “Absolutely not. What do you take me for?”

Kade laughs from across the room, and I shoot her a warning look.

Anora approaches, her elegant gown rustling softly against the floor. The fabric seems to shift between shades of green with every movement, creating a mesmerizing, fluid effect.

“We’ve been doing some studying,” Carla says, her fingers tracing the illustration of Tabatha. “Tabatha apparently was a key holder to limbo.”

“We sort of got that part,” I reply, remembering the vision.

Carla nods, explaining what we learned from the children’s memories—how she was killed, how Tabatha visited them in the cave and revived her under the condition that her children would protect both Carla and limbo.

“The key you’re speaking about disappeared into me and my children,” she concludes, looking up at Angie.

Angie’s eyes narrow as she studies Carla’s face. “Tabatha made you the doorway to limbo.”

She begins scanning the text again, her finger moving rapidly across the page. “It says limbo was put in jeopardy when Aya cast the curse on supernaturals. It threw many things off balance, and limbo was one of them.”

She looks up, her expression grave. “Tabatha feared that Aya would get access to the key if she caught up with her. Aya was hunting all Blackwoods and killing them because she knew we were the reset to the Bailey witches.”

“I remember that,” I say softly, the memories of that dark time surfacing. I look to Damon, who nods solemnly.

“We encountered a few Blackwood witches,” Damon confirms, “and we did what we could to help. But Aya was a force—she wanted them dead and made it so.”

Angie turns back to the book, frustration evident in her voice. “It doesn’t say anything about Carla or the deal she made with the children. It just speaks of the prayer to Fate for a savior and the sacrifice the Blackwood witches made for the prayer.”

Carla sighs, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Maybe it was kept out to keep me safe.” She looks down at the book, her expression troubled. “In the memories, Tabatha made it explicitly clear not to lift the veil until they knew I was safe. But I don’t understand my purpose for limbo.”

She moves toward the book, running her fingers over the text. As she does, something strange happens—her fingertips begin to glow with a soft pink light. Angie’s eyes widen, and she leans forward, staring at the phenomenon.

“Wait a minute,” Angie says, excitement creeping into her voice. “There’s a special coding in the text.”

She runs her own fingers over the page, and Anora approaches as well. The queen looks at Carla and Angie, then mimics their gesture, running her fingers across the book. The moment all three touch the page, the book begins to glow, the light intensifying until it’s almost painful to look at.

Suddenly, the tome starts to shake violently. They snatch their fingers back as magic erupts from the pages—not the blue-green of Angie’s power or the black and emerald of Anora’s, buta vivid, pulsing pink that reminds me of the magic Tabatha used in the vision.

The magic shoots out like living silk, wrapping around Carla in an intricate web of light. Strands of pink energy weave around her arms, her legs, her torso, creating a cocoon that lifts her slowly into the air. The threads pulse with a heartbeat-like rhythm, each one glowing with a soft inner light.

“Amari!” Carla cries out, panic evident in her voice as her feet leave the floor. Her eyes are wide with fear as the magical web continues to envelop her, lifting her higher.

I reach for her immediately, my fingers just brushing the cocoon before a searing pain shoots up my arm. “Fuck!” I yank my hand back, wincing as blisters form where I touched the magical web.

“Just wait, Amari,” Angie says, placing a hand on my arm. “It’s Tabatha, giving Carla a message, possibly lifting the veil.”

“What if she’s taking Carla away from me?” I demand, unable to mask the fear in my voice. “What if she’s in pain?”

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