Page 43 of Craving Carla

And I’d bet my entire fortune it was Brookstone and Blackburn testing their tech—experimenting with ways to mask human scent from supernatural detection. It fits their pattern perfectly: finding supernatural weaknesses, exploiting them ruthlessly, then profiting from the resulting chaos. I’ve seen this behavior a dozen times over the centuries, just with different faces, different names.

With the porch cleared, I settle into the shadows between the trees, perfectly still as only a vampire can be. From here, I can see into her bedroom window. She’s sitting on the edge of her bed, running her fingers over the shoes I bought her. A soft smile plays across her lips as she turns the black heels in herhands. Then she places them carefully in the box, sets it aside, and stands.

I should look away. This is a private moment. But I’m transfixed as she removes her robe, revealing a simple nightgown beneath. The thin fabric clings to her curves, accentuating the body I’ve been fantasizing about since the moment I saw her. But it’s not just lust I feel as I watch her move about her room, braiding her hair for sleep. It’s something deeper, more primal.

Protective. Possessive. Devoted.

I have to stop this date from happening. Not just because I’m jealous—though I am, violently so—but because I’m certain Ackley is hiding something dangerous. The pieces are aligning too perfectly: a human who loves spiders, working at Midnight Moon where he has access to supernatural information, suddenly interested in the one woman whose abilities might expose his true nature.

The timing isn’t coincidental. It’s calculated.

As Carla turns off her light and slides beneath her covers, I make a decision. Tomorrow, I’ll begin tracking Ackley’s movements. I’ll find proof of what I suspect, and when I do, I’ll make that fucker wish he’d never set foot in Wintermoon.

I settle against the trunk of a massive oak, preparing for my night watch. Something brushes against my leg, and I look down to see one of Carla’s children—a smaller one, with distinctive red markings along its back. It doesn’t send me images this time, just settles beside me like a guard dog. Another appears on my other side, then two more. We form a protective circle around Carla’s cabin, sentinels in the darkness.

We may not share blood, but in this moment, I understand what family means to these creatures. What Carla means to them. What she’s beginning to mean to me.

My heart may not beat for her, but every cell in my ancient body longs for her anyway. And that’s enough for now.

15

Carla

The Date

I’m a fucking mess.

The dress mocks me from where it hangs on my bedroom door as I pace back and forth. I’ve changed my mind about five times already. Maybe I should just wear jeans and a t-shirt? Be myself instead of trying to be something I’m not?

My bedroom looks like a tornado hit it—clothes strewn across the bed; makeup scattered over my dresser. I tried putting on mascara and lipstick but washed it all off when I looked in the mirror and saw a stranger staring back. What the hell am I doing? No man has ever made me feel the need to put on lipstick before. I haven’t worn makeup in... have I ever worn makeup? I can’t even remember.

I catch my reflection in the mirror again. The face staring back is mine, but somehow more vulnerable than I’ve allowed myself to be in centuries. Green eyes questioning everything. Why am I trying so hard? It’s just Ackley. Just a date. Just onenight of pretending I’m normal, that someone could actually want me.

I groan and yank the dress off its hanger, stepping into it and zipping it up. The fabric clings to my curves exactly how I thought it would—not leaving much to the imagination. The face in the mirror looks uncertain, vulnerable.

I slip into a pair of sneakers and take the shoes Amari bought me, placing them into a small tote bag that I sling over my shoulder.

As I step out of my bedroom, images flood my mind—my children sending me warnings, showing me Ackley surrounded by darkness, danger signals flashing.

“Will you stop it!” I yell, stomping down the hallway. They’re out of sight, but I can feel them watching, their presence lingering around me. Eight eyes—no, hundreds of eyes—all tracking my movements from the shadows. “I’m going on this date whether you like it or not!”

More images flood my mind—Amari’s face, his hands on my cheeks, the way he looked at me on my porch last night. The golden glow of his eyes, the feel of his fingers against my skin. I shake my head, trying to dispel the vision. My children are relentless, bombarding me with scenes of Amari and me together, almost like they’re trying to write some fairy tale where I end up with the handsome vampire who actually sees me.

“Amari is fated and I am not,” I snap, jogging down the stairs. “Messing with him will only get me hurt later on. I need you all to understand that. He’ll find his mate someday and then what? I’m left as the foolish witch who thought a vampire like him could want someone like me? No thanks.”

I grab my long cardigan and slide it over my shoulders, glancing down at my bare legs. Maybe I should’ve put on leggings. Too late now. If I don’t leave this second, I’ll lose my nerve completely.

When I open the front door, my heart sinks. They’re all there—my children—standing at the edge of the forest clearing, a wall of arachnid bodies between me and my date. I shut the door behind me and clench my jaw.

“Really? This is what we’re doing now?”

I clutch my tote bag and head toward the bridge. When they start to follow, I whirl around and hiss at them—a sound I’ve never directed at my children before. They freeze, eight-eyed stares registering shock at my outburst.

Guilt crashes over me. “Look, you don’t understand because all of you are paired up. Even Moria has Kemnebi now. But not me.”

Their legs tap against the forest floor, creating that distinctive rhythm they use when they’re distressed. I can feel their confusion, their hurt. They’ve never seen me like this—desperate, lashing out. Not at them. Never at them. In all our centuries together, I’ve been their protector, their mother, their safe place. Now I’m standing here shouting at them because I want one night of feeling normal, of feeling desired.

They respond with more images of Amari, and it feels like they’re deliberately trying to piss me off. This time they show him bringing me roses, adjusting his tie nervously before approaching my porch, the way his eyes softened when he saw me smile. It’s like they’ve been watching him, studying him, deciding he’s worthy of me when I never asked for their opinion.

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