Page 38 of Craving Carla

And what’s truly bewildering is that I don’t even care if my heart never quickens for her. I just want to give her the world. I want to be the one who makes her feel wanted, valued, seen for who she truly is. After a millennium of meaningless encounters, of temporary satisfactions that left me emptier each time, the thought of being with just one woman—with Carla—doesn’t feel like a sacrifice. It feels like coming home.

But I know I need to tread carefully. I’ve hurt her enough already with my thoughtless words. And Damon’s warning rings in my ears—Carla is not to be another conquest. Thisfeels different, though. This isn’t about conquest. It’s about connection, about finding something I didn’t even know I was looking for.

As the day ends and we prepare to leave the station, I catch myself watching the way Carla puts on her jacket, the gentle way she smooths her hair back, the small sigh that escapes her lips when she thinks no one is listening. Every tiny gesture fascinates me, like I’m seeing a woman for the first time after a thousand years of looking without truly seeing.

I want to say something, anything, to bridge the gap between us, but the moment passes. She leaves with a nod to Damon and without sparing me a glance. The absence of her peach scent leaves the room feeling emptier somehow.

The date is in two days, and I’ll be watching.

13

Carla

Istep out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, running a brush through my hair to detangle my wet curls as I walk to the bed. The black dress is stretched out on the comforter, and I grin looking at it. I’ve tried it on three times already and it fits a little too snugly, but that’s how women wear their dresses these days.

Amari said it was a “fuck-me” dress. Do I want to get fucked? Yes! A thousand years as a virgin is getting tiring. If I’m going to spend an eternity alone with my children, I’d at least like to have some experiences. That’s only fair. And being on Wintermoon is giving me a piece of that. Finally, I’m living and not hiding.

I turn away from the dress and walk over to my dresser, and start getting ready for bed. The lotion feels cool against my skin as I smooth it over my arms and legs, taking my time with the ritual. It’s strange having a routine like this—normal things that regular women do. I apply some deodorant, then slip into some underwear before grabbing a nightgown and pulling it over my head.

It’s oddly quiet tonight. My children are usually tapping around, sometimes fighting with one another for time with me. But not tonight. Actually, now that I think about it, it’s been weird the past couple of days. They’ve been... distant. Not absent, but keeping their distance in a way that’s unusual for them.

After I’m dressed, I run the brush through my hair a few more times, working out the tangles, then apply some leave-in conditioner. The coconut scent lingers, and I smile at the normalcy of it all.

I make my way out of my bedroom and go downstairs to tidy up my cabin. It doesn’t need much—I’m just shifting pillows around on the couch, straightening the throw blanket that Anora gave me when I first moved in. Then I grab my broom and dustpan and start sweeping the hardwood floor.

I smile as I work, proud of the fact that I actually have a home I can keep up with maintenance. A real home with real floors to sweep and real furniture to dust. Not moving from cave to cave, shadow corner to shadow corner, sleeping on dirt floors and eating whatever I could scavenge.

I get lost in my thoughts as I sweep, thinking about my date with Ackley. What’s it going to be like? Will he try to kiss me? Will he ask me out again? The nervousness in my stomach is both terrifying and exhilarating.

And then... my thoughts shift to Amari.

I start sweeping more aggressively, the broom scraping harder against the floor as I think about him. How he drives me completely mad with his smug attitude, his arrogance, his unbelievable asshole-like behavior. But then earlier today, he was so sweet and kind to me, always stealing glances my way when he thought I wasn’t looking.

Amari is confusing. How can he go from practically calling me a slut to being so gentle? That vampire has a serious problemwith mood swings. But he’s so handsome, and when he wants to be, charming. I think about how he pulled me away from the shoreline at the border, shielding me from the water as if I’d fall in. The thought that he was being careful with me meant something. The way he stood up for me with Jax, the way he stood firm and paid for my dress when I was being mistreated in the market, his overprotectiveness when it comes to Ackley.

My head snaps up when I hear something moving on my front porch. Heavy footsteps that definitely don’t belong to any of my children. I’d know if it were one of them—that familiar warmth that spreads through me when they’re near.

And why aren’t they guarding the area from intruders? That’s literally what they do. Is it King Amir? Anora? Angie coming to check on me?

I set the broom down and walk toward the window, peeking through the curtains. My frown deepens when I see who it is.

Amari.

Why the hell is he on my front porch at this hour? And why didn’t my spider children eat his ass for stepping onto my land without invitation? Just because he took care of Kemnebi doesn’t mean he’s welcome here whenever he pleases. I make a mental note to talk to them about this later.

I run upstairs and grab a robe from the hook behind my bedroom door, slipping my feet into my house slippers. Then I jog back down and angrily swing open my front door, ready to give him a piece of my mind.

But I pause the second I step outside.

Rose bouquets in all different colors—red, blue, pink, orange, black—are scattered across my porch, practically covering every available surface. There are several bags and boxes with beautiful red bows wrapped around them. I can barely navigate around the porch; there are so many.

I look up, noticing Amari standing at the end of the porch steps, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his perfectly tailored pants, grinning at me with that infuriating smug expression.

“Amari, what the hell is all this?” I question, but he just keeps grinning at me.

“I was an asshole to you earlier today,” he says, then pulls one of his hands out of his pockets and gestures toward all the gifts. “I don’t expect any of this to make up for my behavior, but I want to try.”

I blink at him, then let my eyes drift over the porch again, staring in awe. No one has ever done anything like this for me. No one. Not even close.

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