Page 92 of Craving Carla

“Fuck, that is disgusting,” I mutter, glaring at the gallon. I’m tempted to pour it down the drain just to be rid of it.

Instead, I grab the gallon again, pouring more into the mug, then place it under the coffee maker and hit brew. Maybe mixing it with coffee will make it more palatable.

While the coffee brews, I scan my fridge for something Carla can eat. I find only the drawers filled with my favorite fruits. I wasn’t expecting to find my fated mate here, or I would have prepared better.

I pull out a cantaloupe, a small watermelon, honeydew melon, and a peach. I actually enjoy some human food, but nothing ever satisfies like blood—hot and fresh from the source. I grab a bowl and knife, then wash and cut the melons and peach, filling the bowl with colorful chunks. I take my coffee mug from the machine, sipping experimentally. The blood and coffee mix isn’t bad—something I could get used to, though the underlying craving for fresh blood will always be there.

There are other ways to feed besides my usual source of women, I remind myself.

I carry the bowl of fruit and my mug to the kitchen table where my iMac sits. I grab my phone from the counter and check my inbox—nearly full, of course. I open it to find exactly what I expected: message after message from women I’ve hooked up with, most containing explicit photos or desperate pleas for another night together.

I start deleting them one by one, knowing Carla getting hold of this phone would be a disaster. The reality of my behaviorcrashes over me. I’ve been going through women like tissues—two or three a week sometimes.

“Goddamnit!” I slam my phone down on the table harder than intended, the crack of plastic against wood ringing through the kitchen.

Then Carla’s peachy scent hits me, stronger than ever, and it’s not just the fruit in the bowl. I look up to see her standing nervously by the stairs, my t-shirt hanging past her thighs, one hand gripping the banister. Her curls are tousled from sleep, her eyes still heavy-lidded, her lips slightly swollen from last night’s kisses.

“It’s nice seeing you like this in the morning. In your natural state, not all dressed up in those annoying suits you like to wear,” she says, her voice still rough with sleep.

I hold out my hand, motioning for her to come to me. She crosses the room, bare feet quiet on the hardwood floor, and slides onto my lap. I push my coffee mug aside and pull the bowl toward her.

She wrinkles her nose at my mug. “There’s blood in there, isn’t it?”

I lean in and steal a kiss from her pouty lips. “I am a vampire, Carla.”

She rolls her eyes, then brightens when she sees the bowl of fruit. She wastes no time grabbing a fork and digging in, spearing pieces of melon and peaches. She stuffs her mouth, and juice trickles from the corner of her lips. I fight the urge to lick it away, taking a hard sip of my coffee instead.

I boot up my iMac and pull the keyboard in front of me. Carla watches, then her eyes follow my hand as I grab my phone and flip it over, screen down. I don’t want her looking through it—I’d rather burn the damn thing and start over—but I know Bobby’s been trying to reach me with more intel on Brookstone and Blackburn and what they’re doing with Carla’s blood.

Carla reaches for the phone while she chews, and I snatch it away before she can touch it. She gives me a look that says everything.

“Carla, no, baby. Please don’t look in my phone,” I say, struggling to keep my tone steady.

She swallows and looks away, trying to rise from my lap, but I pull her back down.

“My past is in this phone. And I know if you looked through and saw what’s inside, it would hurt you. I can’t handle seeing you hurt.”

“I understand,” she says, but her face falls, and she tries again to get up. I keep my grip firm on her waist.

She starts to pry at my fingers, and I bury my face in her neck, inhaling her scent.

“Carla, I’m begging you. Please stay with me. I know it’s hard.”

She draws in a sharp breath and sniffles. “It’s hard, Amari. So many women.”

“I know, baby. But it’s over now. My heart never beat for them. But it beats for you. You have my heart, and my love. Stay with me. Eat your breakfast.”

She takes a breath, then reaches for her fork. I grab a slice of peach and trace it across her lips. Her mouth parts, and she grins as I feed it to her.

“I’ve been so enamored with you, I haven’t had time to let the world know I’ve found my fated mate,” I say, kissing the tip of her nose. “You can rest assured, this will be taken care of immediately. I don’t like seeing you unhappy. It means I’m doing a terrible job as your protector, your provider. You should feel safe and secure when you’re with me.”

“I do,” she murmurs, meeting my eyes. I can see the sincerity there, but also uncertainty lurking beneath. That won’t do.

I steal another kiss, then turn to my computer, smoothing my fingers across the trackpad to open my email. My email is strictly professional, so I’m not worried about Carla finding anything explicit, but when her eyes land on the first message at the top, she stiffens against me, and I groan internally.

It’s from Alexis Blackburn.

“Carla—” I start, but she cuts me off with a glare.