“Amari,” Carla huffs, “I don’t expect you to change your life for me.”
I laugh at that. She has got to be joking right now.
“Carla, enough, please,” I snap at her. “I need to change everything about my life when it comes to you, if I want to keep you.”
She rolls her eyes but stops arguing with me about it. Good, because I’m a fucking grouch right now. I look to Damon and then to my glass.
“How long,” I start, turning the glass between my fingers, “before it becomes tolerable?”
Damon grins and finishes his glass. “A couple of years, two to three tops. I’ve been building my tolerance for centuries. I encouraged you, but it wasn’t of interest to you at the time.”
“Carla,” Damon says, catching her attention, “this is a man that wants to build something with you, and doing that requires some changes to be made. Don’t interfere with that.”
She nods, then looks over at me. Damon pulls out his chair and starts bantering with Selene, which she matches with little effort. I admire them and hopefully, one day soon, I can have the same with Carla.
We spend another hour chatting, going over the past, listening to how Selene and Damon met, building their mate bond. It’s inspiring; their love wasn’t easy, almost similar to meand Carla. They fought their love, and then the mate bond took hold.
I smile, watching Carla giggle and laugh with Selene, Damon’s mate. If Damon had told me he had an idea my fated mate would be waiting for me on Wintermoon, I wouldn’t have believed it. But now I’m sitting in his library, surrounded by some of the oldest books and scrolls that surpass my own existence, my heart beating for the woman I plan to give the world to.
The moment quickly ends when I notice some familiar legs wrap around the corner of the table, Kemnebi crawling out from underneath. His obsidian body reflects in the library, constellation-like patterns visible across his abdomen, those eight intelligent eyes locking onto mine with what I swear is amusement. My little friend—stares back at me with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what they’ve done.
I glare at him. That motherfucker!
He listed every woman I’ve been with since he’s known me. Now I feel completely helpless, unsure how to get her children to lift the veil over my fated mate so she can finally bond with me.
The room goes quiet when Damon, Selene, and Carla look across the table.
And this motherfucker has the nerve to send me images spelling out “my bad.” I leap from the table, chasing after him, but Kemnebi is much faster, skittering across the floor, his bristly legs finding grip with impossible grace.
“Amari!” Carla shouts as I pull myself to my feet, adjusting my suit.
“You’ve been hiding him from me just because he asked you to?” I frown at Damon, the question sharp and accusatory. Damon only grins, flipping his coin, which his mate catches mid-air with effortless ease.
“Don’t hurt him,” Carla warns. I ignore her and start walking casually, turning down the same aisle of bookshelves.
“I won’t,” I lie, “I just want to have a little chat with him about the ramifications of what modern-day humans like to call—snitching.” I break into a run when I see him at the end of the aisle, his multiple eyes locked on me. I’m going to break his legs, that fucking traitor.
And this little shit has the nerve to send me an image spelling out the word “whore.”
“Damon!” Carla yells, standing from her chair, and Damon stands up, following me over to the aisle, placing his hand on my shoulder.
“Yes, Kemnebi came to me with Moria, and sent me images. He said it was a mistake, and needed a place where he could give you space.”
I shoot Kemnebi a withering look, prompting him to hiss at me. “You are a fucking traitor, and you know it.”
Images flash in my mind spelling out “mistake.” Kemnebi has always been judgmental of me sleeping with multiple women. The sun is setting, and I need to get Carla home. I don’t want to deal with the vampire covens, nor do I feel like explaining them to her right now. I’ll get to that in time.
I glare at Kemnebi once more, but can I really be upset with him for being honest? I was a whore, and now my woman has to live with the shame of that.
30
Carla
Amari takes me back across the waters to Wintermoon just as the sun begins to set. The boat moves steadily across the lake, leaving a trail of ripples behind us. He keeps glancing over his shoulder, his posture tense, like he’s afraid something will follow us from King Amir’s island. He seemed anxious about leaving before nightfall, determined to avoid the vampire covens. Maybe he didn’t want me to meet them, or perhaps there’s something else about them that makes him uneasy.
But there’s another thought nagging at me. I watched Amari struggle with that glass of blood Damon offered him. The way his face shifted, how he forced himself to drink it. I know exactly why—he’s used to feeding directly from the source, warm and fresh, not cold blood in a glass.
So why change now?