Page 41 of Craving Carla

I clear my throat and extend my hand toward the children who are still sending me images of myself in a fatherly role. It’s flattering, honestly. I can tell they’ve been looking for someone like me.

“Don’t yell at them, Carla,” I say, softening my voice. “I know it’s difficult trying to reason with them that I’m not who they think I am, but try to show a little more patience.”

She looks frustrated at first, then softens.

“Remember, they’re still your children. Be soft with them. If they want me to be the father, I don’t mind playing along.”

“I don’t want them to get their hopes up,” she says, and I smile at that.

Without realizing it, she’s being a mother right now, trying to protect them from the pain of rejection. She knows I’m not staying, so playing this game will only hurt them. But looking at these magnificent creatures and their beautiful witch mother, I’m suddenly not sure if I can leave Wintermoon.

Not without them.

Shit.

I smooth my hand over my head and try to refocus on what I need from them.

“Children, could you help me understand what happened the night you encountered the radicals—the night you lost two of your own?”

They oblige without question. Their feet tap against the ground in unison, creating a sound almost like a song. Then theimagery hits me, flowing in a way that makes me feel like I’ve stepped into a scene from a film.

Carla stands at the border of the bridge, telling a group of radical men to back off. They call her an “ugly witch bitch” and tell her that she and her “spider creatures” need to be “wiped from the planet.” But Carla just stands there, smug, a little too confident over men who laugh at her without fear.

“You don’t know who or what you’re dealing with,” she tells them in the vision, “but if I get harmed, you’re surely going to find out.”

One of the men steps forward, holding a gun at his side. Carla doesn’t flinch. I admire her confidence—the way she stands in her Wintermoon shirt and jeans that hug her curves, her sheriff jacket, her curls blowing in the wind.

Her children suddenly appear from behind the poles and wiring of the bridge, crawling down, temporarily surprising the men with their size and how they could fit through such small spaces.

“Like I said, back off. You aren’t crossing this bridge,” Carla says in the vision.

The man raises his weapon and starts firing, but the spiders use their web silk to form a shield that prevents the bullets from hitting her. Then Carla turns in horror when she hears two of her children scream in agony as gunshots ring out from behind.

She never felt the danger at her back, and neither did her children. Two humans took down Verde and Petra like it was nothing. Carla drops to her knees, screaming in agony as she feels their pain. The other children immediately charge the two men, tearing them to shreds right on the bridge.

I snap out of it, noticing Carla on her knees before me, screaming in agony, her hand clutching herself, her nails digging into her skin as if she’s trying to rip her heart out.

I rush over to her, dropping to my knees and restraining her wrists, pulling her into my arms.

“Carla, stop. Carla!” I yell, holding her tightly.

“I can feel when they die,” she chokes out against me. “It’s like feeling my heart being ripped right out of me.”

I pull back, cupping her face. She sobs, choking as tears stream down her cheeks.

“The memory, the images they sent you—it felt like I was reliving their deaths all over again,” she manages.

I immediately release her and stand, staring at all of them with my hands up in surrender.

“Okay, children. That’s enough. I’m sorry, I didn’t know the memory would hurt your mommy,” I explain.

“It’s okay,” Carla says, rising weakly back to her feet. I hurry over, holding her waist, helping her steady herself. She starts to wipe her cheeks with the sleeve of her robe, but I pull my handkerchief from my suit jacket and do it for her.

“Did you get what you need?” she asks weakly.

I nod, smoothing the cloth softly over her beautiful face. “More than I expected.” I narrow my eyes at her. “You knew this was going to hurt you, didn’t you?”

She clears her throat and tries to look away, but I catch her face, forcing her to meet my eyes.

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