Page 59 of Craving Carla

I look back at the children, especially Tofi, and pat her again. “Would you like to join Daddy on a little hunt?”

Tofi sends me images of Carla getting mad at them if they cross the bridge without her permission. I kiss Tofi gently, assuring her, “You can stay at the bridge, and I’ll bring the food to you. It’s time to visit that radical building. I’m hungry, and Daddy needs to feed so he can get back to Mommy and take care of you all.”

They surround me, their many eyes watching intently, and I understand now what they’ve been trying to tell me all along.

“Daddy’s home,” I tell them, my voice thick with emotion. “And I’m never leaving you.”

As we move through the forest toward the bridge, I feel something I haven’t felt in centuries—whole. Complete. The emptiness that’s haunted me since Granada is gone, replaced by a sense of belonging, a family.

I look back at Carla’s cabin once more, my heart steady with resolve. When I return, I’ll tell her everything. I’ll show her that she’s not just wanted—she’s fated. Destined for me as I am forher. Mother Fate has blessed us both, giving us what we never thought we’d have.

But first, I hunt. I feed. I protect what’s mine.

21

Amari

Istand across the street from the radical bar, watching it like a predator stalking prey. My throat burns with a thirst I haven’t felt in centuries. The sensation is raw, primal—similar to the newborn thirst but different somehow. I rub my neck, feeling the steady pulse of my newly awakened heart beneath my fingertips.

My heart. Beating again after a thousand years of silence.

Tofi stands beside me, her massive burgundy body almost reaching my waist. Her eight eyes reflect the neon lights of the bar’s sign: “THE HUNT.” Below it, a crudely painted wooden board reads “NO SUPERNATURALS ALLOWED.”

Perfect.

Behind us, the rest of my children wait in the shadows, their many eyes shining in the darkness. I still can’t believe they’re mine now. Carla’s children have accepted me, calling me “Daddy” in their strange, beautiful way of communication.

Tofi sends me images—memories of this place, of the men who come here, of the danger that waits inside. She’s trying to tell me this is a bad idea.

I gently pat her bristly head. “You can stay behind if you want. I’ll bring the food to you.”

She shifts, her legs tapping against the ground in that rhythmic way they do when they’re agitated. The images she sends me now are different—flashes of me wounded, of her and her siblings finally finding their father only to lose him again.

“I’m flattered,” I tell her, genuinely touched by her concern. “But this is something I need to do.”

The thirst hits me again, a burning, clawing sensation that makes me groan. I rub my throat, trying to soothe the fire raging there.

“This feels like the newborn thirst, but different,” I explain to Tofi. “I think it has something to do with my heart awakening.”

The steady beats that sync perfectly with Carla’s heartbeat. Excitement bubbles through me—I’m fated to Carla. She’s mine, truly mine. The thought fills me with a savage joy.

And I’m glad she belongs to me because I was fully prepared to do some questionable things to keep her—like kill her fated mate when she found him. There’s a darkness lurking beneath my skin that I can’t seem to control when it comes to Carla. This dark yearning to possess her completely, to make sure no one else ever touches what’s mine.

The bar looks like your average dive—wood-paneled exterior weathered by years of neglect, windows so filthy they’re practically opaque, neon beer signs illuminating the cracked asphalt of the parking lot. The stench of stale beer and cigarette smoke lingers, mixed with something darker—hatred.

Another wave of thirst hits me, so intense I have to brace myself against a street sign. The burning sensation in my throat is unbearable, calling for me to feed. Now.

I straighten and start crossing the street. Tofi follows, her massive form moving with surprising grace despite her size. The rest of my children remain behind, watching, waiting.

“You’re a daddy’s girl, aren’t you?” I chuckle as she keeps pace with me, sending more images of danger, of caution. She commands the others with a natural authority—the big sister looking out for everyone.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” I assure her, feeling smug and confident. “I’m your protector now.”

The parking lot is filled with trucks and beat-up cars, most sporting bumper stickers with disgusting slurs against supernaturals: “STAKE VAMPIRES, NOT CATTLE,” “THE ONLY GOOD SHIFTER IS A DEAD SHIFTER,” and the one that makes my fangs extend involuntarily: “SPIDERS WERE MEANT TO BE SQUASHED.”

Three men stand guard at the entrance, their postures tensing as we approach. The moment they spot Tofi—her massive body and eight long legs, each ending in a razor-sharp point—they draw their weapons. It’s an instinctive reaction; Tofi’s sheer size and menacing appearance are enough to strike fear into any human, radical or not.

“Get behind me,” I tell her, but she doesn’t listen. I can feel her urge to stand by me, to protect me. It’s touching, this fierce loyalty from a creature who barely knows me.

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