Page 96 of Craving Carla

Amari smiles and starts driving again. We’re getting close to the patrol cabin. “I’m ecstatic to meet them,” he says.

I frown at him again. No, he doesn’t. Because he’s going to find out all too quickly just how much she doesn’t like our children, and I’m not sure how he’s going to feel about that.

The patrol cabin comes into view, and a wave of anxiety washes over me. It’s a solid structure, standing alone at the edge of Wintermoon’s border, surrounded by towering pines. It’s been abandoned since Verde and Petra died, and the thought of returning makes my heart ache.

But it’s also where I felt most useful, most connected to my purpose here on Wintermoon. Guarding the borders gave me and my children a reason to exist, a way to contribute. Now we’re returning, but everything has changed. I’m no longer alone—I have Amari. And soon, I’ll have Verde and Petra back, to lay them to rest properly.

33

Amari

So there’s a chance. Not that I had given up hope, but knowing there’s another Blackwood on Wintermoon who might be able to help us brings a sense of relief I didn’t know I needed. Carla’s quiet as we get close to the border her eyes fixed on the passing trees, fingers tapping an irregular rhythm against her thigh. She doesn’t seem too thrilled about this particular cousin. I wonder why, but I don’t push.

The patrol cabin appears through the trees as I steer around the last bend in the road. It’s smaller than I remember from my assessment visit—a plain box of weathered wood with a small porch jutting from the front. Not exactly the accommodations I’m used to, but it will serve our purpose for now.

“Home sweet home,” I mutter, cutting the engine.

Carla doesn’t respond, just unbuckles her seatbelt and steps out of the SUV. I watch her through the windshield for a moment—the way her curls, the slight stiffness in her shoulders as she stretches. Even in simple jeans and a t-shirt, she captivates me.

We spend the next hour unpacking. I set up my workstation at the small desk in the corner by the window—my iMac, laptop and tablet. The cabin is modest but functional—an open kitchen and living area, one bedroom with an attached bathroom, and a small back porch that faces the forest. Nothing like my penthouse, but I’m finding I don’t mind the simplicity as much as I expected.

Carla moves through the kitchen, unpacking groceries and stocking the fridge and pantries. Her fingers trace the edges of each cabinet as if mapping the space, claiming it. When she finishes, she stands in the middle of the kitchen for a moment, eyes sweeping over her work, then nods to herself. She grabs her jacket from the back of a chair and heads for the door.

I’m at the entrance before she reaches it, vampire speed leaving a brief current of disturbed air in my wake. She frowns up at me, brows pulling together.

“Where are you going?” I ask, my voice sharper than intended.

“To see the children.” She says it simply, as if I should have known. And perhaps I should have.

I reach for the doorknob and open it for her, the cool evening air rushing in to greet us. “You’re coming?” she asks, suspicion coloring her tone.

I glare at her, then gesture for her to exit. What the hell kind of question is that? Of course I’m following her. These are our children. Even if they don’t fully accept me yet, I’m not letting her wander into the forest alone. Not with Brookstone and Blackburn’s people still out there somewhere, possibly armed with weapons designed to kill our children.

She sighs and steps out, tilting her head back to look at the night sky. Stars are just beginning to appear, pinpricks of light against the darkening blue canvas. She adjusts her jacket, pulling it tighter around her body, then does something I hadn’texpected—she grabs my hand. Her skin is warm against mine, sending a pleasant shock up my arm. Without a word, she starts walking down the steps, pulling me with her.

“I haven’t seen them since yesterday,” she explains, her voice soft. “And I need to speak with Tofi about something. She asked me to remember, so I want to know what it is.”

I nod, letting her pull me through the trees. The forest closes around us, a living shelter of pine and oak and maple. Fallen leaves scatter as we walk, releasing the earthy scent of autumn decay. The sounds of the forest envelop us—the rustle of small creatures in the underbrush, the distant call of an owl, the whisper of wind through branches.

We stop at a small clearing, where soft light filters down through the trees. I grin, sensing them nearby. She doesn’t have to call for them this time. They step out from their hiding places immediately, legs tapping rhythmically as they approach. Tofi and Noki lead the way, their massive forms moving with eerie grace for creatures their size.

Carla’s face transforms, joy lighting her features as her children surround her. She kneels, arms outstretched to receive them, cooing and murmuring endearments. Some reach for her with their front legs, tapping gently against her arms in greeting. She kisses a few of them, her lips pressing against their bristly exteriors as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Tofi approaches me directly, leaning against my leg like a loyal guard dog seeking attention. I smile down at her, reaching to pat her head gently, my fingers running over the burgundy markings that distinguish her from her siblings.

“See? I took care of Mommy,” I tell her, my voice low and warm. Carla notices us and smiles, approaching Tofi and me.

“You gave Mommy a message?” she asks, her voice cautious, hopeful.

Tofi focuses on Carla, multiple eyes fixed steadily on her.

“I want to ask you to lift the veil, or at least tell me why it’s in place,” Carla says, her voice steady despite the vulnerability in her request. “Is it to protect me from my fated mate?”

Tofi leans harder against me, as if urging me to be more for her mother. I chuckle at the not-so-subtle encouragement, but my amusement dies when Tofi suddenly hisses at Carla, stomping her legs forcefully into the forest floor.

“Tofi, that’s not okay,” I chide, still petting her. “You cannot speak to your mother that way.” The words feel strange on my tongue—fatherly, protective, authoritative. A role I never expected to fill.

Carla looks up at me with narrowed eyes, suspicion clear in her expression.

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