Page 11

Amari

T he ass on this woman, the curves, her hips, and when she sits up from Damon’s desk and looks at me... she’s magnificent—no other word describes her properly.

She’s wearing a fitted Wintermoon Sheriff t-shirt that hugs her full breasts perfectly, paired with jeans that showcase those delicious curves. I want to take a bite out of that plump ass. This is the kind of woman I’ve been hoping would make my heart quicken.

Her eyes catch me first—vibrant green, almost unnaturally bright against her smooth caramel skin.

Freckles dust across her nose and cheeks, giving her face a youthful quality despite the ancient power I sense lurking beneath.

Her lips are full, pouty, the bottom one slightly fuller than the top, and I immediately wonder if her pussy lips are just as fat and juicy. I ache to taste both.

Wild, dark curls frame her face, tumbling past her shoulders in a way that speaks of untamed nature. There’s something simultaneously dark yet innocent about her—a contradiction that stirs something primal within me. She’s glaring at me like she’s about to rip my head off.

Please do. I hope she tears my ass up.

The tension in the room is undeniable, electricity crackling between us even though she clearly wants nothing to do with me. Good. I love a challenge, and over centuries, I’ve learned the sweetest fruit often requires the most effort to pluck.

I watch her straighten her posture, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin slightly, establishing her presence as someone not to be fucked with. It only makes me want to do exactly that—fuck her until she’s screaming my name.

Damon looks back at her and grins, then holds his hand out, gesturing toward her.

“Amari, this is Carla, the deputy of Wintermoon. She along with her children were guarding the border until we ran into some issues with the radicals,” Damon explains, and I narrow my eyes at her.

Children? I can sense she’s a witch right away.

But I don’t see a claim mark on her, nor do I smell dark magic.

More puzzling, I don’t smell the fated scent on her at all.

That’s odd—I’ve never run into a supernatural without the fated scent, with the exception of witches who’ve fallen into the clutches of dark magic.

But it’s either the fated scent or dark magic.

This beautiful woman has neither. Something isn’t right.

I look to Damon who shares a knowing look with me; we seem to have the same question. Damn, a woman like this, the epitome of magnificence unfated? Mother Fate, this is, in fact, unfair.

I feel like a predator in this moment. I want to hunt her, own her, do some of the most obscene things to her. I clear my throat again as she approaches me, but my attention quickly shifts the moment Kade comes into view.

This one, I cannot fucking stand.

The motherly figure. We never got along, and when I finally started a coven of my own, she was happy to never see me again.

She looks exactly the same as she did the last time I saw her—powerful, blonde hair immaculately kept, blue eyes that miss nothing.

The kind of vampire that tries to bring order to our chaotic nature.

“You called on Amari, why?” Kade grumbles, glaring at Damon. He grins at her, then stuffs his hands in his suit pockets. I look over his attire, such an upgrade from our times during companionship. I turn to face him and start adjusting his tie.

“Nice suit,” I compliment, and he grins at me, pulling his hands out of his pockets, adjusting his jacket.

“I’ve learned from the best,” he says to me with a wink.

I take a moment to absorb this. Damon has always been practical, functional in his approach to clothing and appearance.

Seeing him in this tailored suit, clearly inspired by my own aesthetic, hits me with an unexpected sense of pride.

My sire, finally embracing the finer things after all these centuries.

I turn and look to Kade, grinning as she stands next to the beauty.

“That’s no way to greet an old friend,” I say, smiling, flashing my fangs. She looks super annoyed, her posture stiffening as if my mere presence contaminates her precious sanctuary.

“Old friend?” She scoffs, laughing in annoyance, the sound brittle and false. “More like old pain in my ass.”

The fluorescent lights of the station buzz overhead, painting everyone in an unflattering glow except for Carla. Even in this harsh lighting, her skin seems lit from within. Some women just have that quality—a natural radiance that no environment can diminish.

Carla looks over at Kade, then back to me, her gaze assessing, calculating. The way she studies me reminds me of a predator sizing up competition—not prey. Interesting. I bow my head at her, then hold out my hand in greeting.

“Carla,” she says, introducing herself formally. “Deputy of Wintermoon.” Her voice holds a hint of something I can’t quite place—not an accent, but a cadence that suggests centuries of isolation.

“It is a pleasure, Carla,” I say, and she gulps nervously, the subtle movement of her throat drawing my attention. I catch another whiff of her scent, and my dick nearly stiffens in my pants.

Peaches. Fucking peaches, my favorite scent on a woman. But this time it seems more potent, more intoxicating than I’ve ever experienced. If my heart would just quicken for this woman, I’d drop to my knees and worship her.

I’m in a state of lust for this woman, but there’s something else—beneath the surface that I can’t explain. A pull, not as strong as a fated bond should be, but something... different. Something I’ve never felt before in over a millennium of existence.

She hesitates for a moment but eventually gives in, placing her hand in mine.

Her skin is surprisingly soft, warm against my cooler touch.

She’s expecting a casual handshake, but I surprise her, pulling her hand to my lips and gently kissing the back of it.

The contact sends a jolt through me that I wasn’t prepared for.

She snatches it back from me and lets her hand fall at her side, but I can smell it on her. She’s attracted to me—the subtle shift in her scent gives her away. The sharp intake of breath, the dilation of her pupils for just a fraction of a second. Her body betrays what her attitude tries to hide.

Good.

Because all I can think about right now is how her ass will spread over my face while I lick and suck on her pussy. I have never craved a woman like this—the way I’m craving Carla.

Right now.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she says, yet she seems disinterested, wiping the back of her hand on her jeans as if to erase my touch. Disinterested with me? I nearly laugh at that. Carla looks like a woman that makes a man work. But to confirm this, I’ll need to get to know her better.

The sheriff’s station is small but functional, the kind of space that speaks of practicality over aesthetics.

A few desks, some filing cabinets, a coffee station in the corner with a half-empty pot.

Nothing about it impresses me, but I suppose it serves its purpose for a tourist area.

The real action must happen at the border.

“I was hoping your... little friend would be accompanying you,” Damon says, and I look over at him. His green eyes hold a knowing look that makes me wonder what he’s playing at.

Kade doesn’t know about him, nor does King Amir. Only Damon. King Amir was in his slumber when I found him on a tree the night my people fell. Kade looks to me with narrowed eyes, and Carla seems confused, her brow furrowing slightly.

I won’t mention him because my little friend’s size seems to intimidate. The last woman who saw him screamed so loudly I’m sure humans in the next city heard her. Tried to throw a lamp at him too, which he would have dodged with the grace of someone who’s faced worse threats.

“He’s around,” I say vaguely, adjusting my jacket as I look at Damon.

He raises an eyebrow at me, skepticism clear in his expression.

My little friend is always around, lurking, popping up in the strangest places.

For his size, he seems able to hide in some of the smallest places.

Last I saw him, he was exploring the ventilation system of my corporation in Downtown Detroit.

“What little friend?” Carla asks, her voice sharp with curiosity. Her head tilts slightly, those green eyes probing mine for answers.

I grin at her, deciding to maintain the mystery.

I don’t want to frighten her. Women are always terrified of my companion, and they never stick around.

My little friend knows how to get rid of them once I’m over my cloud of lust, which is just a few hours after I’ve emptied my balls.

I think human men like to coin the term “post-nut clarity.”

“An... associate of mine,” I answer cryptically, enjoying the irritation that flashes across her face. She’s not used to being denied information, I can tell.

“How is he supposed to help Carla and her children with security?” Kade asks, and Damon grins again, like he’s enjoying a private joke.

The term “children” continues to puzzle me. Does she actually have offspring, or is this some euphemism I’m not familiar with? Either way, I’m intrigued.

“My company, Medina Corp, has developed cutting-edge security systems designed specifically to combat supernatural threats,” I explain, keeping my eyes fixed on Carla as I speak. My gaze traces the outline of her body, mentally undressing her while maintaining my professional facade.

“We’ve pioneered technology that can detect even the most subtle magical signatures, allowing us to identify and neutralize threats before they become problematic.

Our systems have been implemented in major cities across the globe, providing protection for supernatural communities who choose to integrate with human society rather than isolate themselves. ”