Page 23 of Craving Carla

His voice grows stronger as he speaks, filled with conviction. “The ‘Shadow’ part—that’s what we became after the fall. Those of us, vampires like myself, who remembered, who carried on in the darkness. A hidden group preserving ancient knowledge, guarding our history, our traditions.”

I watch the way the wind ruffles his perfectly trimmed hair, the way his brown skin radiates warmth despite his vampire nature.

“I also named my tech firm Medina Corp because I want to grow a legacy,” he continues. “Being a vampire means I cannot procreate. I’ll never know what it’s like to have a child of my own.” There’s a brief flash of something like regret in his eyes. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t pass on my legacy in other ways.”

He turns fully toward me now, intensity radiating from him. “I plan to leave an impression on the world through technology, to let the world know that the Moorish people still exist in away. Innovators, creators, a great civilization that will always be remembered.”

I just sit there, listening, impressed, mesmerized almost. This man is something. Intelligent, incredibly handsome, charming, but also still a major asshole and a womanizer. I can’t forget those two big red flags, but the look in his eyes as he speaks, how he talks about Granada and all of its wonders, it sparks something in me.

Interest and admiration flutter through me, and I groan internally at the sensation. Oh hell no, no way am I falling for a vampire.

I’d rather eat dirt.

But as I watch him gazing out at the water, his profile strong and defined against the backdrop of the lake, a grudging respect for him stirs within me. His passion for his heritage, his drive to preserve what was lost—it resonates with me in a way I hadn’t expected.

The ferry continues its journey toward the main island of Wintermoon, and I find myself wondering what other surprises this infuriating, intriguing vampire has in store.

I turn away from him, fixing my gaze on our destination growing larger on the horizon. Whatever connection I momentarily felt to this vampire, I need to remember what’s truly important—protecting my children, fulfilling my duties to Wintermoon, and maintaining the fragile peace we’ve built here.

No matter how golden his eyes or how compelling his story, I won’t let myself be swayed by a vampire in a fancy suit with a silver tongue. I’ve survived centuries in the shadows; I can certainly survive a week working with Amari Al-Baqar without losing my head—or worse, my heart.

8

Amari

The ferry finally reaches the border of Wintermoon, and Jax lets down the ramp with reluctance clear in his movements. As Carla hurries down, I adjust my suit and glare at this big asshole. We have a brief standoff, just glaring at each other, and I grin when I notice his hands clenched at his sides, his scent letting me know he’s ready to defend himself. Wolf shifters are powerful and fast, but I’ll break his fucking neck the second he shifts.

The breeze carries his scent to me—earthy, wild, mixed with fear that he’s trying desperately to mask with aggression. His massive shoulders tense under his flannel shirt, and I can see the slight tremor in his jaw as he clenches it. Good. He should be afraid.

I don’t know why I’m so pissed off at how he spoke to Carla, but I am. I want to rip his head right off his shoulders and present it to her as a gift. A kill in her honor.What the hell?I grin at Jax, then adjust my suit and make my way down the ramp to the end of the dock where Carla’s waiting for me, her armsfolded over her chest, her beautiful thick curly hair blowing in the wind from the cool autumn air. She’s so damn beautiful it’s ridiculous.

“What were you doing with Jax?” she questions, looking over my shoulder, watching Jax pull the ramp back, seemingly eager to get back to the tourist island a little quicker than expected. I look to Carla with a straight face, ready to answer her.

“We had a... silent man-to-man conversation,” I say simply, grinning smugly. “I was letting him know if he gets aggressive with you again, I will fuck him up.”

Carla lets in a sharp breath and glares at me. I can tell she wants to argue, but she doesn’t. I don’t know why, but I seem to find enjoyment in pissing this beauty off. It makes her... smell better. Her peachy scent becomes riper, more potent. It’s like watching fruit ripen on the vine, becoming juicier, more delicious with each passing second. She huffs and turns away from me, motioning for me to follow her down the trail that goes around the borders of the waters. She stops after about five minutes, staring over the waters between King Amir’s Island, the Tourist Island, and the bridge.

“So, this is where you keep having problems?” I ask her, but she just narrows her eyes at me, and I can tell from her scent she’s curious about something else.

“So, Medina Coven has a lot of power or something? The way you just made Jax back down like that, and Damon addressing you more as a brother than a son...”

I grin at her. “I’ve worked hard over the centuries to make my coven garner the respect it rightfully deserves.”

She just keeps glaring at me. “That is such an arrogant answer.”

I chuckle at that. “Would you prefer I pretend to be humble? Should I hang my head low, apologize for my power, minimize my achievements? Would that make me more appealing toyou?” The words come out sharper than I intended, laced with something that feels dangerously close to genuine interest in her opinion.

“You know what? Never mind.” She grumbles, staring over the waters. She places her hands on her hips and sighs again, looking over the beautiful view. I can’t deny it, it is in fact, beautiful here. Wintermoon is still a cage though, whether she chooses to agree with me or not.

The lake stretches out before us, surrounded by forested hills painted in reds and golds. In the distance, King Amir’s Island rises from the water, its cabin-style palace standing tall. To the right, the smaller tourist island is dotted with streets and quaint buildings.

“I don’t see how you can see Wintermoon as a cage. Look at this...” Her voice softens as she gestures to the landscape around us. “Where can we have a paradise this beautiful, free of radical humans?”

“Two things can be true at the same time, Carla,” I say, stepping closer to her, catching that peachy scent again. “Wintermoon is undeniably beautiful. A fortress for supernaturals, a haven. But at what price?” I gesture back toward the tourist island. “Did you see that witch back there, performing tricks for humans with cameras? We are not here for their entertainment or amusement.”

She holds her composure, but I continue. “It reminds me of how they treat melanated people—giving us rewards within the white supremacist system, making us believe we fit in with society. But it’s an illusion, just entertainment to line the pockets of greedy corporate executives.” I adjust my cufflinks; eyes fixed on the horizon. “And Wintermoon is falling into the same trap. Different game, same characters.”

“It’s a small price for peace,” she counters.

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