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Amari holds out his hand for me, and for a second, I’m cautious to accept the gesture. But I do, placing my hand in his. His hand is cool to the touch, but sweet and comforting. I feel safe with him in this moment—a strange realization that I’m not sure what to do with.

He pulls me up the ramp onto the ferry dock, and I quickly pull my hand away, walking over to a bench by the railing, overlooking the water. He follows me and sits down beside me, close enough that I can feel the coolness emanating from his body.

“Medina Shadow Coven?” I question, and he looks to me with a warm nod, but then his eyes fixate on Jax with a glare that scares even me.

It seems it’s just the two of us on this ferry ride, which is to be expected. I always get the “spider girl privilege” when riding the ferry. No one ever wants to ride with me aside from Kade, Damon, and Leah because of my connection to arachnids.

Jax pulls the ramp back and prepares to set sail, honking his horn and pulling back out to the waters. Amari looks like he wants to rip Jax’s head off, his jaw tight, his eyes burning with barely contained anger.

“Yes, Carla. It is the name of the coven I formed,” he finally answers, turning his attention back to me.

“What does it mean?” I ask, and he looks at me, his eyes softer now. I find myself smiling at him without meaning to.

“It is the name I came up with for my coven,” he says, sitting back against the bench, his posture relaxed yet still somehow regal. His legs stretch out before him, crossed at the ankles, his hands resting on his thighs.

He takes a deep breath, his eyes drifting to the water around us. “I was there when Granada fell in 1492,” he begins, his voice taking on a distant quality. “I watched as centuries of Moorish culture, art, science—all of it was destroyed in a single night.”

The pain in his voice is raw, ancient but still present. “It was my civilization. My people. They burned our libraries, killed our scholars. Eight hundred years of Islamic rule on the Iberian Peninsula, ended.”

I find myself leaning closer, drawn in by the vulnerability in his voice—something I hadn’t expected from him.

“I wanted to intervene, to save what remained,” he continues, his fingers briefly pressing against his thigh. “But Damon—he was my sire, you know—he stopped me. Said it wasn’t our place as vampires to meddle in human affairs.”

The ferry rocks gently beneath us as we move across the water, the sound of waves lapping against the sides creating a soothing backdrop to his story.

“Damon was right about one thing—I did see more civilizations fall after that. It was the same story, just different characters, as he put it. But that doesn’t make it any easier to bear.”

He turns to look at me, and for the first time since I’ve met him, the smugness is gone from his expression, replaced by something deeper, more genuine.

“That’s why I named my coven ‘Medina Shadow.’ Medina is a sacred city in Islam, a place of divine light and revelation. For a vampire like me, with ties to Moorish Spain, it represents a nostalgic longing for my cultural and religious heritage.”

His voice grows stronger as he speaks, filled with conviction. “The ‘Shadow’ part—that’s what we became after the fall. Those of us, vampires like myself, who remembered, who carried on in the darkness. A hidden group preserving ancient knowledge, guarding our history, our traditions.”

I watch the way the wind ruffles his perfectly trimmed hair, the way his brown skin radiates warmth despite his vampire nature.

“I also named my tech firm Medina Corp because I want to grow a legacy,” he continues.

“Being a vampire means I cannot procreate. I’ll never know what it’s like to have a child of my own.

” There’s a brief flash of something like regret in his eyes.

“But that doesn’t mean I can’t pass on my legacy in other ways. ”

He turns fully toward me now, intensity radiating from him. “I plan to leave an impression on the world through technology, to let the world know that the Moorish people still exist in a way. Innovators, creators, a great civilization that will always be remembered.”

I just sit there, listening, impressed, mesmerized almost. This man is something.

Intelligent, incredibly handsome, charming, but also still a major asshole and a womanizer.

I can’t forget those two big red flags, but the look in his eyes as he speaks, how he talks about Granada and all of its wonders, it sparks something in me.

Interest and admiration flutter through me, and I groan internally at the sensation. Oh hell no, no way am I falling for a vampire.

I’d rather eat dirt.

But as I watch him gazing out at the water, his profile strong and defined against the backdrop of the lake, a grudging respect for him stirs within me. His passion for his heritage, his drive to preserve what was lost—it resonates with me in a way I hadn’t expected.

The ferry continues its journey toward the main island of Wintermoon, and I find myself wondering what other surprises this infuriating, intriguing vampire has in store.

I turn away from him, fixing my gaze on our destination growing larger on the horizon. Whatever connection I momentarily felt to this vampire, I need to remember what’s truly important—protecting my children, fulfilling my duties to Wintermoon, and maintaining the fragile peace we’ve built here.

No matter how golden his eyes or how compelling his story, I won’t let myself be swayed by a vampire in a fancy suit with a silver tongue. I’ve survived centuries in the shadows; I can certainly survive a week working with Amari Al-Baqar without losing my head—or worse, my heart.