Page 80 of Craving Carla

He stares into the flames. “I was born during the Mesopotamian era, the oldest civilization on record. I’ve watched the Egyptian Empire build pyramids that defied imagination, then crumble under foreign conquest. I witnessed the glory of Ancient Greece, with its philosophy and democracy, deteriorate into warring factions. Rome, the greatest empire of the ancient world, fell to barbarian tribes they once considered beneath notice. The Byzantine Empire stood for a thousand years, and I watched it slowly weaken under constant siege. I saw the rise and fall of the Umayyad Caliphate, witnessed the Abbasid Empire fracture into competing dynasties. The Mongol Empire spanned continents before fragmenting under succession disputes. I watched the great Library of Baghdad burn, taking centuries of knowledge with it.”

He turns to me, his eyes steady. “All these great civilizations, built over centuries, fallen within a blink of an eye, for the most silly and simplistic reasons.”

In an instant, he teleports, appearing directly in front of me. “You’re simply bent out of shape because you couldn’t handle the fall of your own people and the horrors of chattel slavery. You will see even darker horrors as time passes.”

“You’ve been asleep for six hundred years,” I counter. “You’re only catching up to the evil of humanity.”

Amir laughs, the sound rich with dark humor. “The story is the same, Amari. Only the characters are different.”

“I’m tired of watching,” I snap. “Their hatred is starting to shift to supernaturals.”

“That hatred has always been there,” Amir says with another laugh. “It’s just louder now.”

He paces toward the bookshelves, running his fingers along the spines. “Carla is one of the most brilliant supernaturals Mother Fate has ever created. She’s a weapon, set to guard my Anora. Her children were designed to keep limbo clean, which iswhy Fate gave them the power to make decisions for her. They will do what’s in her best interest, and she will obey.”

He turns to me, his expression hardening. “They’re guarding her from you because they do not trust you. They believe you’re going to try to separate her from them, and you and I both know that is your original plan.”

I feel my jaw clench. “Why does she need to stay in a cage? Her own people make her feel unwanted.”

Amir smiles. “I’m working on it.”

“How? By forcing her to endure?”

He sighs, his eyes taking on a distant look. “Sometimes that gilded cage can turn out to be a garden of Eden for some. I understand why you don’t agree with it, but we are not in a time where we can live in harmony. We are in the era of late-stage capitalism, the rise of fascism with the great reset on the horizon. These humans are self-imploding, and you know that, which is why they are using supernaturals for self-preservation—the greed of the wealthy.”

His eyes meet mine, stern and unyielding. “Carla is not leaving Wintermoon, and neither are her children. This is the best place for them. Now, the choice is up to you, Amari. What will you give up to keep your fated mate?”

My hands curl into tight fists, anger burning through me. “FUCK!” I growl, frustration consuming me.

Amir chuckles at my outburst. I turn to Yara and Kofi, who still stand quietly in the room like sentinels. My eyes meet Yara’s multiple orbs, and suddenly, images flood my mind.

I see Carla, in the year 1692, a rope around her neck in Salem, Massachusetts. She stands on a crude wooden platform, surrounded by other bound humans also sentenced to death. The crowd below hurls slurs, wishing death upon her with a fervor.

Night has fallen, and torches illuminate the scene with flickering, sinister light. Carla’s eyes are closed, her expression serene, almost welcoming the death she knows won’t come. The ground begins to rumble beneath the feet of the crowd, and confusion spreads through their ranks.

Suddenly, massive spiders pour from the forest, descending upon the crowd. They’re smaller than Yara and Kofi are now, but still large enough to inspire terror. The massacre is swift and brutal—legs skewering bodies, fangs tearing flesh. Blood spatters the platform where Carla stands, painting her face with crimson droplets.

She laughs—a hollow, broken sound that speaks of madness and pain. Yara climbs onto the stage and breaks her free, snapping the ropes with ease. Carla finally opens her eyes and pulls the noose from around her neck, rubbing the raw skin where it chafed.

She turns to untie the human woman next to her, who stares at Carla with unconcealed horror. Carla looks down at the massacre below, shrugging with eerie calm. “I warned them that my children would come for me,” she says matter-of-factly. “I was kind of looking forward to death. I’m tired of the shadows, but that appears to be where I’m going again.”

She addresses the trembling woman directly. “You can tell everyone what happened. I don’t care. No one will come for me—I believe my children have proven that.”

With that, Carla steps down from the stage, walking over bodies as casually as if they were fallen logs, and makes her way back into the darkness of the forest.

I shake my head, snapping out of the vision. My eyes find Amir, who’s grinning at me knowingly.

“If you take her out of Wintermoon, a lot of innocent people will die. They don’t play around when it comes to their mother.”

Amir clears his throat and clasps his hands together. “How about a drink? Let’s catch up on old times.”

“Holy shit,” I breathe, realizing I’m playing a game of chess with Amir that I’ve already lost.

28

Carla

Iwatch as Anora lays Solomon gently in his crib, every movement filled with quiet tenderness. The young cub instantly rolls over, nuzzling into the blankets before drifting off to sleep. There’s something about witnessing a mother with her child that stirs something deep within me. It’s not longing exactly—more like recognition. A quiet remnant of what I feel for my own children: magical, sentient arachnids with the power to level a city if I so wished.

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