Page 85 of Craving Carla

“This union makes me very happy. If anyone here on Wintermoon deserves love, it’s certainly you.” Carla blushes again. Selene clasps her hands together in front of her and lets out a soft sigh. This woman may be deadly, but she masks it well with pure elegance. If she were an arachnid, she’d be a Black Widow.

“What brings you to the library this afternoon, and Carla, have you eaten?” Selene asks.

Carla pauses and looks up at me, cringing slightly.

“She’s had a light breakfast,” I answer, “and I’d like to search for more information about Carla’s history, what’s been documented on her.”

Selene smiles. “A man that takes notice of his woman’s needs is a true man indeed.” She bows her head to me. She gestures with her right hand. “There are tales of Carla written throughout history. You’ll find them at the back end of the library, lower level. And while you’re searching, I’ll go prepare some lunch for Carla.”

“Thank you so much for your hospitality,” I say.

“No, the pleasure is all mine, Amari. It’s rare that we get worthy visitors.”

With that, Selene walks off, her expensive heels clicking against the floor, her hips swaying with elegance. I raise an eyebrow at Damon, and he grins proudly. He does have quite a woman on his hands.

I look to Carla and groan, especially when I can smell her insecurities in her scent. What? I grab her wrist and pull her over to one of the tables, pulling out a chair for her and glaring at her to sit down. She huffs at me, but does as I ask. Then I lean down once she’s seated to whisper into her ear.

“That is enough, Carla. I will not have you getting self-conscious, insecure about what you’re wearing. When we getback to your cabin, you won’t be wearing anything. I’ll show you just how precious your body is.”

Carla sighs, and Damon’s already at the table with a stack of old books, placing them down gently.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” he says, then pulls out a chair and sits down.

I spend hours flipping through journal after journal, and old folklore from villages Carla frequented over the centuries. She was certainly a nomad, always hiding in the shadows, looking for openings where she could mask as a human.

But it never worked out for too long. One, she was a beauty, a rarity of the times. Her flawless elegance and immortality were quickly caught on to. And men attempting to take advantage of her burns me with anger, but thankfully, her children have always kept her safe. She always ends up right back where she started, in the shadows, rejected and alone with her children.

But I see nothing of a threat, not even a prophecy. I groan and slam the book shut, and Carla looks at me curiously as she chews on a turkey sandwich with the corners cut off. I grin at that.

Carla bites down on her sandwich, chewing as I gently caress her face. Damon does the same, shutting his book as well and leaning back in his seat. Selene stands and takes Carla’s empty plate, walking off to put it away.

“Can’t find anything?” Carla asks innocently, looking between me and Damon.

“No, just documentation of your visits, and whenever things go south and your children need to intervene,” Damon says, looking at me.

“Carla,” I start, keeping my eyes focused on the book, “you’ve been trying for centuries to fit in somewhere, and it’s never happened.”

Carla shrugs and looks over at me, finishing her sandwich. “Yeah, so? I’m used to it by now. But I think Wintermoon is my chance.”

I do my best to try to force back my glare, my woman practically groveling for acceptance. I’m not putting up with this shit. She’s begging for a seat at a table when I want to build her a table of her own.

“It’s going to take some time, but they’re coming around,” she continues. “I couldn’t shop in the market at all before, and now they only half step around me.”

I look at Damon, and he clears his throat. He rises when Selene returns, holding a glass of juice, and sets it in front of Carla. I won’t stand by while my mate is treated this way.

“How about a drink, Amari? I trust you’ll need to feed again soon,” Damon says.

I groan and nod to him. My thirst is starting to creep back, but I’m maintaining my posture. Carla gulps down the glass, and I busy myself, letting my fingers get tangled in her curls. It’s strange, the way I’m admiring the little things about her. The way she chews her food, the way she giggles when Damon makes a comment, and Selene comes back quickly with some witty banter, the way she takes a sip of her drink.

Carla puts down her glass, licking her lips, and looks up at me confused.

“What?” she asks, and I just smile at her.

“Nothing,” I say, because I don’t think she wants to hear exactly what’s on my mind right now.

Damon returns with two wine glasses, half filled with blood, and passes one to me. This isn’t exactly what I call a meal. It’s sustenance, just to hold us over. I like my blood warm, straight from the tap. Carla’s face falls when she notices me struggle to take a sip from it. Damon sips from his glass without a problem,and the way Carla’s eye shifts from me to Damon, she’s starting to put together what’s going on.

“It’s okay, Amari. If you need to feed, just go to Midnight Moon. I’ll go home,” she says, and I fix her with a sharp look that makes her sink into her seat. I lift the glass to my mouth and gulp it down in one go, then slam it on the table. The blood is lukewarm, unnatural—like it’s been reheated. It dulls the edge of my thirst, but it’s far from satisfying.

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