Page 8 of Craving Carla

“The least you can do is give me money for an Uber,” she mutters, grabbing her heels.

In a flash, I’m at the chair where I left my pants, pulling my wallet from the pocket. I return to her with several hundred-dollar bills.

She snatches them, counting them openly. “Don’t be cheap.”

I hand her the rest of what’s in my wallet—another few hundred. Money means nothing to me. I’ve accumulated wealthover the millennia, and she clearly needs it more than I do. We both got what we wanted tonight.

She leaves without looking back, her heels clicking against the floor as she exits my bedroom. I watch her go, feeling nothing but a vague sense of relief that this particular encounter is over.

I pick up the rumpled sheets and toss them onto the bed. My little friend doesn’t even flinch, already settling into his resting position. I head to the bathroom, needing to wash the scent of meaningless sex from my skin.

Under the hot spray of the shower, I let my mind wander. My little friend believes he has family on Wintermoon. The images he’s shared—always vague, always tinged with hope—suggest his siblings might be there. But I’m not relocating there myself. While Amir and Damon have created a safe haven for supernaturals, it’s still a cage. A golden cage, perhaps, but confinement, nonetheless.

After my shower, I step out, wrapping a towel around my waist. The scent hits me immediately—old, ancient, Roman. The distinct smell of my sire.

“Damon.”

I step out of the bathroom to find him standing in the doorway, his eyes focused on my little friend. But he doesn’t seem irritated like he usually is when he encounters my companion. It’s been over a hundred years since they’ve seen each other, and his reaction is... different.

“He’s grown,” Damon says, stepping into the room.

My friend immediately goes into defensive mode. His body crouches low, legs spread wide for stability, fangs extending slightly as he prepares to strike if necessary. His bristly hair stands on end, making him appear even larger than he is. It’s a position I’ve seen him take when facing real threats.

I hold up my hand. “No, little friend. This is my sire. He’s always welcome.”

He relaxes immediately, settling back onto the pillow, but his eight eyes remain fixed on Damon. The tension in his legs eases, though he stays alert.

“Yes, he tends to grow whenever—” I start, then stop myself. No need to share our personal details.

I approach Damon, and despite no longer being part of his coven, I still respect the blood-bond between us. I bow my head in recognition, and he places a hand on my damp shoulder.

“You don’t have to be formal with me anymore, Amari,” he says. “I see you’ve built quite a coven of your own. Impressive—not many nomad vampires manage that feat.”

I smile, walking to my dresser to get clothes. My coven, the Medina Shadow Coven, is something I’m genuinely proud of. We operate differently than traditional covens—more like a military unit with a corporate structure.

“What brings you to me?” I ask, pulling out boxers and pajama pants.

His eyes keep drifting back to my little friend, and I catch a scent of... familiarity? Recognition? I don’t mention it, but it’s interesting.

“Wintermoon needs your help,” he says.

I grin, sliding into the boxers and letting the towel drop. “I’ve been meaning to pay a visit to the King and Queen. I’m familiar with King Amir, but not his new queen.”

“And when was that going to be?” Damon asks, disappointment clear in his voice. “You’ve been in town for three months and said nothing.”

“My apologies, Damon,” I say, pulling on the pajama pants. “But I’m taking a different approach to taking down Brookstone and Blackburn Enterprises.”

He pulls his coin from his pocket, that damned Roman denarius he’s been flipping for two millennia. The gesture tells me he’s settling in for a longer conversation than I want.

“And what is that?”

I approach him, my mind already racing through corporate strategies. “I’m going to make Michigan hate them. When they try to move operations elsewhere, the damage will already be done. I’m going to show this state how employees should actually be treated. You have to play corporations at their own game if you truly want to take them down—not just destroy board members and think that ends it. Brookstone and Blackburn is an entity that?—”

“The loss of the board was not Wintermoon’s doing,” Damon cuts me off. “That was their own creation.”

I flash my fangs in a grin. “Maybe so, but Wintermoon was involved somehow.”

Damon sighs, irritation heavy on his face. He stuffs his free hand in his pocket while continuing to flip the coin.

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