Page 19 of Craving Carla

I won’t mention him because my little friend’s size seems to intimidate. The last woman who saw him screamed so loudly I’m sure humans in the next city heard her. Tried to throw a lamp at him too, which he would have dodged with the grace of someone who’s faced worse threats.

“He’s around,” I say vaguely, adjusting my jacket as I look at Damon. He raises an eyebrow at me, skepticism clear in his expression. My little friend is always around, lurking, popping up in the strangest places. For his size, he seems able to hide in some of the smallest places. Last I saw him, he was exploring the ventilation system of my corporation in Downtown Detroit.

“What little friend?” Carla asks, her voice sharp with curiosity. Her head tilts slightly, those green eyes probing mine for answers.

I grin at her, deciding to maintain the mystery. I don’t want to frighten her. Women are always terrified of my companion, and they never stick around. My little friend knows how to get rid of them once I’m over my cloud of lust, which is just a few hours after I’ve emptied my balls. I think human men like to coin the term “post-nut clarity.”

“An... associate of mine,” I answer cryptically, enjoying the irritation that flashes across her face. She’s not used to being denied information, I can tell.

“How is he supposed to help Carla and her children with security?” Kade asks, and Damon grins again, like he’s enjoying a private joke.

The term “children” continues to puzzle me. Does she actually have offspring, or is this some euphemism I’m not familiar with? Either way, I’m intrigued.

“My company, Medina Corp, has developed cutting-edge security systems designed specifically to combat supernatural threats,” I explain, keeping my eyes fixed on Carla as I speak. My gaze traces the outline of her body, mentally undressing her while maintaining my professional facade.

“We’ve pioneered technology that can detect even the most subtle magical signatures, allowing us to identify and neutralize threats before they become problematic. Our systems have been implemented in major cities across the globe, providing protection for supernatural communities who choose to integrate with human society rather than isolate themselves.”

Carla shifts her weight from one foot to the other, her hip jutting out in a way that makes my mouth water. She crosses her arms over her chest, pushing her breasts up, though I doubt she realizes the effect.

I smooth my hand over my beard, watching Carla’s eyes follow the movement. “Our latest innovation combines traditional barriers with magical reinforcement, creating adefense system that adapts to the specific threats it encounters. The more it’s tested, the stronger it becomes—not unlike supernatural beings themselves.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, skepticism clear in those vibrant green depths. I find myself wanting to prove her wrong, to show her exactly what I’m capable of. To demonstrate my mastery not just of technology, but of her body.

“It’s quite remarkable,” I continue, warming to my subject. “The system learns from each attack, developing countermeasures specific to the threat. We’ve successfully neutralized everything from radical human assaults to rogue supernaturals attempting to breach protected areas.”

The phone on one of the desks rings, but no one moves to answer it. The tension in the room is too thick, too potent to be interrupted by something as mundane as a telephone call. After four rings, it goes silent again.

“I’ll need to properly assess the problem at the border before I can offer a specific solution,” I continue, watching how Carla’s eyes track my every movement. “That’s why I’m here—to see firsthand what we’re dealing with. Every situation is unique, requiring a customized approach.”

Carla looks to Damon and shakes her head, a curl falling across her face. She pushes it back with a quick, irritated gesture. “I don’t think technology will solve the problem at the border. The radicals are becoming more resourceful, developing weapons specifically designed to counter supernatural abilities. How is your tech supposed to stop that?”

Her dismissal of my expertise lights a fire in me. Who does she think she is? Damon called me here precisely because she couldn’t handle the situation. The audacity of this woman to question my capabilities when her own have clearly failed is infuriating—and strangely arousing.

“Damon asked for my assistance because the current security measures—your measures—clearly aren’t working,” I say, my voice hardening as I step closer to her. Close enough to smell the sweet peach scent more strongly, but not so close as to invade her personal space. Not yet. “Perhaps it would be best if you took a step back and allowed me to complete my assessment without your biased assumptions getting in the way.”

Her eyes narrow dangerously, flashing with a fire that matches the heat building in my core. “You’re an asshole.”

I laugh, genuinely amused by her directness. Most people, even supernaturals, tend to dance around my ego, aware of my power and position. Not this woman. She calls it like she sees it; consequences be damned.

“I’ve heard that many times over the centuries, so it must be a fact,” I reply, enjoying the way her nostrils flare slightly with anger. Kade laughs at her, and I look to Damon for a moment. He’s just grinning at me, amusement dancing in his eyes. What the hell is going on? Is this some elaborate game they’re playing?

I decide to steer the conversation in a different direction, genuinely curious about this unfated witch who’s gotten under my skin so quickly.

“What coven are you from?” I ask Carla, studying her face for any sign of deception. Witches tend to be deeply connected to their covens; their power often tied to their familial lines.

“I don’t have a coven,” she answers, her voice cooling. “I’ve spent centuries in the shadows, but I’m a Blackwood witch. I’m not formally connected to any coven, though.”

Surprise ripples through me, genuine and unfiltered. The Blackwoods were legendary—one of the most powerful witch bloodlines in history, rivals even to the Baileys. I’d heard stories of their power, their ability to harness natural magic in ways that defied conventional understanding.

“I thought all the Blackwood witches were dead,” I say, reassessing her with new eyes. This explains the unusual power I sense in her, the ancient quality that seems at odds with her youthful appearance.

Damon chimes in, “You’ve been out of the loop since you refuse to join us on Wintermoon. There are more living Blackwood witches on record now.”

I look at Carla again, amazed and intrigued. The pieces start to fall into place—why Damon would call on me for help despite having a Blackwood witch in his ranks. Why she might be struggling with border security despite her heritage.

“This is interesting. And will be fun. Working with a Blackwood witch...” I pause, my curiosity piqued. “But if you’re a Blackwood, why do they need my help? You’re supposed to be from one of the most powerful bloodlines in existence, aside from King Amir.”

Her eyes flash, a flare of green fire that seems to light her from within. I’ve hit a nerve, touched on a hidden insecurity. “Are you calling me weak?”

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