Page 22 of Craving Carla

I just stare at him like he’s lost his damn mind. Is he for real? I groan, but relief washes over me when the ferry finally docks against the wooden platform.

The ferry operator steps out onto the dock—a wolf shifter from the Darkridge pack, a new pack that has just moved into Wintermoon and is settling in. Jax towers over me at almost seven feet, his broad shoulders stretching his flannel shirt. Sweat from working the ferry clings to his dark skin, and his bright brown eyes lock onto me with immediate disdain. His beard is full and well-maintained, not unlike Amari’s, though his mountain man style—flannel shirt, jeans, boots—is worlds away from Amari’s polished look.

He doesn’t like me or my spiders, but he tolerates me. Just as he sets down the ramp for boarding, I step forward, but he puts his hand up.

“You aren’t bringing those fucking things on my ferry,” he snaps, letting a growl escape him as he towers over me with an intimidating stance.

I hold my hands up in surrender and take a step back. My children know how to swim, and really, I’m always surprised how they manage to find me, even when there are large breaks of water between us. They always find a way.

“Chill, Jax, I’m boarding alone,” I say, and I look back at Amari with a sad face. I’m used to the treatment around here, but I was hoping Amari wouldn’t have to see it so soon. I’m slightly embarrassed, but the way Amari acts surprises me.

He immediately jumps to my defense, moving in front of me, pushing me back behind him as he stands face to face with Jax, as if the towering wolf shifter doesn’t intimidate him at all.

“You need to watch how you address your deputy,” he says calmly, but there’s a dangerous edge to his voice. “I don’t know what you’re used to getting away with when I wasn’t around.” He adjusts his suit, then flashes his fangs to Jax in a confident grin. “But I’ll tell you right now you aren’t disrespecting her, not on my watch.”

“And who the fuck are you?” Jax growls, grinning wickedly, his fingers beginning to extend into claws.

Amari stays in place, clearly unfazed by the display of aggression. “Amari Al-Baqar, leader of the Medina Shadow Coven, and CEO of Medina Corp.”

That seems to be all he has to say. Even Jax seems to know who he is, though I don’t. His posture shifts immediately, the aggression bleeding out of him as he takes a small step back.

“I guess living in the shadows has been the equivalent of living under a rock,” I say, watching as Jax just steps aside and goes quiet. The way his demeanor completely changed surprises me—what power does Amari hold that even a new to town, relatively untamed alpha shifter would back down so quickly?

Amari looks back at me. “Are you okay?” he asks, concern evident in his voice.

I just nod, still processing what happened. Medina Shadow Coven? I make a mental note to look him up at the Wintermoon Library when we visit King Amir and Queen Anora on the royal island.

Amari holds out his hand for me, and for a second, I’m cautious to accept the gesture. But I do, placing my hand in his. His hand is cool to the touch, but sweet and comforting. I feel safe with him in this moment—a strange realization that I’m not sure what to do with.

He pulls me up the ramp onto the ferry dock, and I quickly pull my hand away, walking over to a bench by the railing, overlooking the water. He follows me and sits down beside me,close enough that I can feel the coolness emanating from his body.

“Medina Shadow Coven?” I question, and he looks to me with a warm nod, but then his eyes fixate on Jax with a glare that scares even me.

It seems it’s just the two of us on this ferry ride, which is to be expected. I always get the “spider girl privilege” when riding the ferry. No one ever wants to ride with me aside from Kade, Damon, and Leah because of my connection to arachnids.

Jax pulls the ramp back and prepares to set sail, honking his horn and pulling back out to the waters. Amari looks like he wants to rip Jax’s head off, his jaw tight, his eyes burning with barely contained anger.

“Yes, Carla. It is the name of the coven I formed,” he finally answers, turning his attention back to me.

“What does it mean?” I ask, and he looks at me, his eyes softer now. I find myself smiling at him without meaning to.

“It is the name I came up with for my coven,” he says, sitting back against the bench, his posture relaxed yet still somehow regal. His legs stretch out before him, crossed at the ankles, his hands resting on his thighs.

He takes a deep breath, his eyes drifting to the water around us. “I was there when Granada fell in 1492,” he begins, his voice taking on a distant quality. “I watched as centuries of Moorish culture, art, science—all of it was destroyed in a single night.”

The pain in his voice is raw, ancient but still present. “It was my civilization. My people. They burned our libraries, killed our scholars. Eight hundred years of Islamic rule on the Iberian Peninsula, ended.”

I find myself leaning closer, drawn in by the vulnerability in his voice—something I hadn’t expected from him.

“I wanted to intervene, to save what remained,” he continues, his fingers briefly pressing against his thigh. “But Damon—hewas my sire, you know—he stopped me. Said it wasn’t our place as vampires to meddle in human affairs.”

The ferry rocks gently beneath us as we move across the water, the sound of waves lapping against the sides creating a soothing backdrop to his story.

“Damon was right about one thing—I did see more civilizations fall after that. It was the same story, just different characters, as he put it. But that doesn’t make it any easier to bear.”

He turns to look at me, and for the first time since I’ve met him, the smugness is gone from his expression, replaced by something deeper, more genuine.

“That’s why I named my coven ‘Medina Shadow.’ Medina is a sacred city in Islam, a place of divine light and revelation. For a vampire like me, with ties to Moorish Spain, it represents a nostalgic longing for my cultural and religious heritage.”

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