Page 15

Amari

T he ferry finally reaches the border of Wintermoon, and Jax lets down the ramp with reluctance clear in his movements.

As Carla hurries down, I adjust my suit and glare at this big asshole.

We have a brief standoff, just glaring at each other, and I grin when I notice his hands clenched at his sides, his scent letting me know he’s ready to defend himself.

Wolf shifters are powerful and fast, but I’ll break his fucking neck the second he shifts.

The breeze carries his scent to me—earthy, wild, mixed with fear that he’s trying desperately to mask with aggression. His massive shoulders tense under his flannel shirt, and I can see the slight tremor in his jaw as he clenches it. Good. He should be afraid.

I don’t know why I’m so pissed off at how he spoke to Carla, but I am.

I want to rip his head right off his shoulders and present it to her as a gift.

A kill in her honor. What the hell? I grin at Jax, then adjust my suit and make my way down the ramp to the end of the dock where Carla’s waiting for me, her arms folded over her chest, her beautiful thick curly hair blowing in the wind from the cool autumn air.

She’s so damn beautiful it’s ridiculous.

“What were you doing with Jax?” she questions, looking over my shoulder, watching Jax pull the ramp back, seemingly eager to get back to the tourist island a little quicker than expected. I look to Carla with a straight face, ready to answer her.

“We had a... silent man-to-man conversation,” I say simply, grinning smugly. “I was letting him know if he gets aggressive with you again, I will fuck him up.”

Carla lets in a sharp breath and glares at me.

I can tell she wants to argue, but she doesn’t.

I don’t know why, but I seem to find enjoyment in pissing this beauty off.

It makes her... smell better. Her peachy scent becomes riper, more potent.

It’s like watching fruit ripen on the vine, becoming juicier, more delicious with each passing second.

She huffs and turns away from me, motioning for me to follow her down the trail that goes around the borders of the waters.

She stops after about five minutes, staring over the waters between King Amir’s Island, the Tourist Island, and the bridge.

“So, this is where you keep having problems?” I ask her, but she just narrows her eyes at me, and I can tell from her scent she’s curious about something else.

“So, Medina Coven has a lot of power or something? The way you just made Jax back down like that, and Damon addressing you more as a brother than a son...”

I grin at her. “I’ve worked hard over the centuries to make my coven garner the respect it rightfully deserves.”

She just keeps glaring at me. “That is such an arrogant answer.”

I chuckle at that. “Would you prefer I pretend to be humble? Should I hang my head low, apologize for my power, minimize my achievements? Would that make me more appealing to you?” The words come out sharper than I intended, laced with something that feels dangerously close to genuine interest in her opinion.

“You know what? Never mind.” She grumbles, staring over the waters. She places her hands on her hips and sighs again, looking over the beautiful view. I can’t deny it, it is in fact, beautiful here. Wintermoon is still a cage though, whether she chooses to agree with me or not.

The lake stretches out before us, surrounded by forested hills painted in reds and golds. In the distance, King Amir’s Island rises from the water, its cabin-style palace standing tall. To the right, the smaller tourist island is dotted with streets and quaint buildings.

“I don’t see how you can see Wintermoon as a cage. Look at this...” Her voice softens as she gestures to the landscape around us. “Where can we have a paradise this beautiful, free of radical humans?”

“Two things can be true at the same time, Carla,” I say, stepping closer to her, catching that peachy scent again.

“Wintermoon is undeniably beautiful. A fortress for supernaturals, a haven. But at what price?” I gesture back toward the tourist island.

“Did you see that witch back there, performing tricks for humans with cameras? We are not here for their entertainment or amusement.”

She holds her composure, but I continue.

“It reminds me of how they treat melanated people—giving us rewards within the white supremacist system, making us believe we fit in with society. But it’s an illusion, just entertainment to line the pockets of greedy corporate executives.

” I adjust my cufflinks; eyes fixed on the horizon.

“And Wintermoon is falling into the same trap. Different game, same characters.”

“It’s a small price for peace,” she counters.

“Why do we always have to keep paying prices for peace?” I snap, my frustration boiling over.

“That’s the problem—this entitlement that something must be paid for the bare minimum.

” I scoff, adjusting my suit again, clearly annoyed.

“We deserve all of it just as much as humans do. We shouldn’t be relegated to one space, one island, one ‘sanctuary’ while they get the entire world. ”

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the rage that’s always simmering beneath the surface when I think about this.

“I’ve seen this pattern before, Carla. After watching Granada fall, I traveled—across Europe, Africa, the Americas.

I witnessed the horrors of chattel slavery, saw how white supremacy methodically stripped people of their humanity before putting them on display. ”

My fists clench at my sides. “The tourist island is just a modern version of the same thing. Humans paying to gawk at us, treating us like attractions in a zoo while we perform our ‘tricks’ for their amusement. It’s the same dehumanizing dynamic, just dressed up as cultural exchange.”

I gesture back toward the island. “The supernaturals who participate—many don’t even realize they’re reinforcing the very system that oppresses them. They think getting a small piece of the pie means they’re accepted, when really they’re just being used.”

The breeze picks up, rustling the autumn leaves around us.

“After what I witnessed during the slave trade, I swore I would never watch my people—supernaturals—endure anything similar. That’s why I built my coven the way I did.

It’s not just a collection of vampires; it’s an army of the trusted and loyal. ”

Carla’s eyes widen slightly, curiosity replacing some of the defensiveness. “An army?”

I nod, my voice lowering. “When I started the Medina Shadow Coven, I wasn’t just looking for bodies to fill ranks. I was looking for warriors—people who understood what it meant to be marginalized, to be treated as less than.”

I think of Bobby, one of my most loyal soldiers.

“One of my lieutenants, Bobby, I found him in Alabama in 1974. The KKK had strung him up, left him for dead because he was black and proud during the Black Panther movement. I found him in that alley, more dead than alive, and I offered him a choice—die as a victim or live as a predator.”

The memory is still vivid, even after all these decades. “He chose life. And in exchange, he pledged his immortality to our cause. Now he guards my office in Detroit, wearing a tailored suit instead of a black beret, but still carrying that revolutionary fire inside him.”

I pace along the shoreline, energy coursing through me. “That’s how I built my coven—finding those who society had discarded, those who understood injustice intimately. Victims of racism, sexism, homophobia, religious persecution. People who knew what it meant to be caged.”

I turn back to Carla. “We don’t just drink blood and throw parties. We systematically undermine the systems that oppress us. We infiltrate corporations, redirect wealth back to our communities, sabotage hate groups from within. Every vampire in my coven has a purpose beyond mere survival.”

My eyes lock with hers. “So when I look at Wintermoon, I don’t just see a beautiful sanctuary.

I see the beginning of a pattern I’ve witnessed countless times before—marginalized groups accepting scraps of dignity while believing they’ve achieved equality.

I see supernaturals performing for humans’ entertainment when they should be living as equals. ”

My voice softens when I see her face shift to what seems like embarrassment, as if my words had gotten the best of her. She clears her throat and doesn’t meet my eyes.

“I don’t have the same privileges you have. I never have,” she says quietly. “This is actually my first time out of the shadows. So I guess you’re right. Two things can be right at the same time. Maybe Wintermoon is for people like me.”

I narrow my eyes at her, stepping closer.

This is strange. I cannot detect the fated scent on her at all.

Why would a supernatural be born without it?

Is Fate returning our free will back to us, testing the waters?

I surely hope not. I would prefer to have a woman made just for me.

Why? Because I know I’m a whore of a man.

I’ll fuck everything moving and never attach myself to anyone.

I want to be claimed, owned by the woman designed just for me.

And why the fuck am I wishing it was this woman? This maddening, incredibly beautiful, feisty, voluptuous woman who smells exactly like I love my women to smell, her curves shaped exactly in the way that gets me wild every single fucking time.

Maybe I need to just fuck her hard one good time to bring myself to my senses. I feel like I’m being bewitched by this woman and she’s not even trying. That’s the maddening part. She’s drawing me in, and I can’t figure out how to shake it. It’s starting to piss me off.

“Why did Jax say that to you? Not getting on his boat with what ‘things’?” I ask, genuinely curious. Her expression shifts, a shadow passing over her face.