Page 37 of Craving Carla

“And that’s fine,” Damon says. “But there are plenty of women at Midnight Moon to fulfill your desires.” He gets right in my face, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “But you will not turn Carla into one of your conquests. If you hurt her in any way, you won’t only be dealing with me—you’ll be dealing with King Amir.”

I take in a sharp breath and adjust my suit. Both our noses go alert when Carla’s scent suddenly hits our nostrils. Peaches, full and ripe. My body stiffens as Damon, and I immediately end our conversation.

The door opens, and she steps inside. She still looks slightly upset, but goddamn, she’s beautiful. Her wild curls frame her face, those green eyes wary as they scan the room.

“Carla,” Damon says, acknowledging her.

She looks up at him and feigns a smile, which quickly turns into a heavy glare when she looks at me. I chuckle at that. She pulls off her jacket, then pulls out her chair to her desk and sits down, looking bored.

I stuff my hands in my pockets and approach her desk. “Since you’re a Blackwood witch,” I begin, genuinely curious, “how come you don’t use your powers? Open portals, cast spells. I haven’t seen you use magic since I’ve been here.”

Carla doesn’t meet my eyes, her face sad. The sight of her upset feels like a knife twisting in my gut. I may not be able to take back my words, but maybe I can make up for them.

“I don’t know,” she admits softly. “I’ve trained with my cousins, Queen Anora and Angie from House of Zorah, but forsome reason, my magic won’t come. It’s like something’s holding me back, but I can’t figure out what.”

I furrow my brow as the wheels start turning in my mind. The way Ackley’s scent seemed to be masked by the arachnids, and how not only can Carla not use her powers, but she doesn’t have the fated scent. Or maybe she does?

“I could never smell in your scent that you’re a Blackwood,” I point out.

Carla shrugs, her face still fallen. “No one can. Except for King Amir. He told me that my spiders were masking it out of protection.”

“Oh,” I say, almost as if a light’s turned on in my head. I look at Damon, who’s grinning quietly, flipping his coin. “Did he—King Amir—ever mention anything about your fated scent?”

Carla glares at me. “Why do you care?”

I want to say something that will piss her off—it seems to be my nature when it comes to Carla—but now is not the time. I soften my expression and clear my throat. “Because I genuinely want to see you happy.”

Carla looks up at me, her eyes narrowed in suspicion at first, but then she sighs. “I’m avoiding the king right now,” she confesses. “I gave him two of my children as gifts, Yara and Kofi, protection for the king, but I know when I go to the royal palace, he’s going to return them.”

I fold my arms over my chest, listening to her.

“It’s going to hurt and humiliate me if I have to take them back into the shadows,” she continues, her voice cracking slightly. “My children are proud to serve the king and queen.”

She looks away, sniffling and trying to fight back tears, but it’s no use. “And I don’t want to get my hopes up, asking the King about my scent. What if he confirms my suspicions that I’m supposed to be alone forever?”

Damon steps forward. “What if you’re wrong, Carla, and you are fated? Wouldn’t it put your mind at ease to know?”

Carla shrugs at him. “I just want to go on a date. I want to feel like a woman. Please don’t take it from me.”

I desperately want to tell her that if she wants a date, I’ll do it. I’ll take her wherever she wants to go—the finest restaurant, a romantic vacation, shopping trips, whatever she wants. But I know I can’t do that, especially not now.

Carla sniffles and wipes the tears from her face, then just smiles at both of us. That really pisses me off. She’s masking her pain. I feel like I want to scream right now, but I can’t.

“Can we talk about your plans for better security at the border?” she asks. “So I can get back to work at the patrol cabin. It’s easier for me there. I’m all alone with my children, but at the same time, I’m not. We’re working and watching the borders. I miss it.”

I let my hands fall to my sides and clench my fists, gritting my teeth, wanting to tell Carla that she’s never working the border again because I’m taking care of her now. But I don’t because I can’t. Instead, I say, “I simply need more time with you and your children before I can make a final assessment.”

She glares at me, and I grin smugly. Damon steps toward me, giving me a warning glare, and I just grin back at him. This is how I’ll keep her close. I’ll get to know her better and her children, and possibly get to the bottom of why her children are masking her to the point that she’s nearly powerless. That just might be the key to figuring out how to help her at the border.

And I get to deal with Ackley. Two birds with one stone.

I just keep grinning at Damon, daring him to challenge me right now. Damon could say never mind and tell me that I’m not needed, but he knows that’s not going to happen. Truth be told, I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to right now. There’s somethingabout Carla that’s keeping me here, and I’m not leaving until I find out what that is.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of technical discussions and planning. Every time I look at Carla, I think about what it would be like to shower her with the affection she deserves. I want to buy her not just one dress, but a hundred. I want to take her to Paris, Rome, Istanbul—show her all the beautiful places I’ve seen in my long existence. I want to hear her laugh, a real laugh, not the forced ones she gives when she’s trying to hide her pain.

I think about the images her children have been sending me. Me with Carla, holding her, cherishing her. In those visions, I look at her the way I’ve seen mated pairs look at each other—with complete devotion. The strange thing is, I want that. I want it more than I’ve wanted anything in centuries.

When I imagine touching her, it’s different from how I’ve thought about other women. Yes, I want to taste every inch of her, to feel her writhing beneath me, to hear her cry out my name in passion. But I also want to hold her hand as we walk through a forest at dusk. I want to trace the pattern of her freckles while she sleeps. I want to wash her hair, to massage her shoulders after a long day, to simply sit in comfortable silence with her.

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