Page 157 of Craving Carla

“You keep saying that.”

“Because I mean it, Carla.” I stroke her cheek. “Now rest. I’m excited for tomorrow.”

“What’s happening tomorrow?” she asks, stifling a yawn.

“We start shopping for furniture for our new home.”

Carla rolls off me, but I keep her close, unable to bear even an inch of separation.

“I’m really happy,” she mumbles, already drifting toward sleep.

“Good. You won’t go a day without knowing how much I love you.”

She rests beside me, and soon her breathing deepens as sleep claims her. I remain awake, my mind racing with plans for ourfuture—Wintermoon, our spider children, Medina Shadow, our life together.

For the first time in my long existence, I’m looking forward to tomorrow. And the day after that. And all the days that follow, stretching into eternity.

Because now I have Carla. My mate. My queen. My everything.

EPILOGUE

Carla

One Year Later

Isit upon my throne in limbo, a structure born of pure magic, suspended in the endless void. No stone, no substance—only the shape of power formed by my will alone. My gown drapes around me, conjured from my own magic—deep black threaded with emerald accents woven in quiet patterns that move with every subtle shift. Around my neck rests the spider necklace Amari gave me on our first, chaotic date. I touch it without thinking, its presence a quiet reassurance. It has become a symbol of our love, a reminder of how far we’ve come since the day we first met and everything began to shift.

Kemnebi rests on one arm of my throne while Moria perches on the other, both partially in my lap. I stroke them gently, watching as their legs twitch in contentment. It’s been a year, and I’ve noticed that Moria no longer climbs onto my chest like she used to. She doesn’t need to protect my heart anymore—it’s no longer vulnerable. I am no longer vulnerable.

“You’ve grown,” I whisper to her, and she taps her front legs against my arm, sending images of pride and love.

This year has been wonderful—a beautiful time of growth and discovery as I’ve embraced my role as queen and settled into the mate bond with Amari. But beneath the contentment lies a current of unease. Tabatha warned me of difficult battles ahead, painful sacrifices I would need to make. So far, those battles haven’t surfaced, but I can feel them coming. A storm gathering on the horizon.

The giant spider approaches my throne, carrying a head in its massive mandibles. I’ve named him Vertro—a blend of Verde and Petra, my fallen children whose essence flows through his veins. Unlike my children, Vertro can’t communicate with me through images, but he’s fiercely loyal, more like a devoted guard dog than a sentient companion. He drops the head at the steps of my magical throne, then bows to me, his eight eyes glittering in the ethereal nothingness of limbo.

“Good boy, Vertro. I’m so proud of you,” I say, examining the head. It belonged to a child predator who’s been running through limbo for what feels like months. Time doesn’t exist here the way it does in the living realm, but I’ve learned to judge its passage based on events there.

Vertro stabs his fangs into the head, then scuttles away to the magical web nearby—his bed—where he settles in to feed. My children don’t like him; they don’t see him as natural. But they tolerate him for my sake. I’ve noticed that he obeys Moria the most, which irritates Kemnebi to no end. Their silent power struggle amuses me.

I stand from my throne, and Kemnebi and Moria jump down, following me as I descend from the floating dais. With a wave of my hand, I open a portal—a rift in the fabric of limbo that reveals my palace on the other side.

“I’ll be back in a couple of days to check on you,” I tell Vertro, who continues his feast undisturbed.

I step through the portal, my black gown flowing behind me like smoke. Kemnebi and Moria follow, and the portal seals itself shut as we arrive in the grand foyer of our palace.

Soldiers of Medina Shadow stand at attention along the walls, immediately bowing as I enter.

“My Queen,” they say together, their voices calm and unified.

“I’m still getting used to that,” I mutter, then add more loudly, “You may stand down and play with them.”

Kemnebi and Moria scuttle eagerly toward the soldiers, who have clearly been waiting for this moment. One pulls a ball from his pocket and bounces it, and my children immediately join in the game. Medina Shadow has embraced them completely, forming bonds I never would have imagined possible a year ago.

I walk away, the sound of my footsteps carrying through the vast foyer. The palace Amari built for us stretches across thousands of square feet, filled with countless rooms and hidden corridors. It’s spacious enough to shelter all of Medina Shadow and their families, with areas dedicated to training, gatherings, and ritual work. Amari was determined to make sure our home could hold everyone who matters to us.

The main foyer opens into a long hallway decorated with intricate artwork depicting scenes from Moorish history and culture. The mosaic floor beneath me is laid out in bold geometric patterns and vivid colors. Iron sconces line the walls, each holding a steady flame. The scent of frankincense and myrrh drifts through the hallway—Amari’s preferred blend, a reminder of his homeland.

I approach the double doors at the end of the hallway, which open magically at my approach. My hips sway with a confidence I didn’t possess a year ago. I’m no longer uncertain about who I am or my place in this world. I don’t fight for space inWintermoon anymore—I’ve created my own space, claimed my own power. I’m respected, feared, and I no longer care about fitting in. I have Amari, my children, and Medina Shadow. What more could I need?

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