Page 19

Amari

T hese alcoholic beverages do nothing for me—a mere temporary numbness that wears off within hours.

But I need something to help take the edge off this woman—Carla, the beautiful spider queen.

She’s been on my mind all day since I left her cabin.

I haven’t seen my little friend—Kemnebi—since he reunited with his mate, Moria.

She was beautiful, by the way. The thought of leaving him here on Wintermoon where he truly belongs hurts, but what’s also getting to me is Carla.

Leaving Wintermoon and never seeing this woman again.

Why the fuck is it bothering me?

I don’t know her, and I’m certainly not fated to her. Her sadness bothered me. The look in her beautiful green eyes made it hard for me to leave her alone in her cabin.

I need to finish this job so I can get the fuck out of here. Wintermoon is doing things to me.

The bartender slides another glass of whiskey across the counter.

He’s tall with long twists pinned up loosely at the back of his head, thick-rimmed glasses sitting slightly crooked on his face, light brown eyes that crinkle at the corners when he smiles, and a beard trimmed but still with that slightly messy academic look.

His skin tone is a rich, warm brown, a few shades lighter than mine.

The nightclub is busy tonight—more women than men, all of them dressed in clothes that leave nothing to the imagination, nearly screaming they want to get either fucked hard or bitten, or both.

The lights pulse in sync with the booming bass from the DJ booth.

Bodies press against each other on the dance floor, sweat-slicked skin glowing under the blue and purple strobes.

The air is thick with the scent of perfume, sweat, and arousal—normally a combination that would have my dick standing at attention, ready to claim the juiciest ass in the room.

I snatch up the whiskey and throw it back in one swallow, then slam the glass down on the counter. The bartender is still hovering, and I look up at him with annoyance, wondering why the fuck he’s still sticking around.

“It’s not often we see a vampire drink like this,” he says, his eyes studying me curiously. “Don’t you have... another preference?”

I know what he’s talking about. I grin as I’m finally feeling numb from the alcohol, the stimulation I somehow suddenly need just to feed. The way Carla’s consuming my thoughts is unnerving. Being away from her, here on the tourist island, is driving me nuts.

“I needed something to get the edge off,” I reply, then pause. My eyes narrow when I catch a whiff of the bartender’s scent. He smells different from the typical humans. I can catch something else, and jealousy hits me like a freight train when I identify it.

Arachnids.

This motherfucker likes spiders. It’s obvious. I can smell them all over him, almost like a second skin. It masks his scent in a strange way, almost as if he’s hiding something.

“You like arachnids?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

He grins. “I do, actually. I take it you picked that up in my scent.”

I nod, sitting upright. I’m a bit tipsy, but also alert.

“Most vampires don’t catch it,” he murmurs, his eyes trained on me. They’re fearless, as if we’re having some type of standoff in a chess game. Chess is all about mind play, outsmarting your opponent.

“I’m familiar with arachnids,” I say, my brow furrowing.

He grins at me. “That’s a rarity these days. You must be new to town. I’m Ackley, by the way.” He extends his hand to me. “I’ve only met one supernatural who’s fond of them.”

I don’t shake his fucking hand. He’s talking about Carla.

My Carla.

My Carla? What the fuck am I talking about? She’s not mine. But for some reason, I want her to be. I leave him hanging, and he chuckles, finally pulling his hand back.

“Not the biggest fan of humans, huh?” he says.

I grin at him. “I don’t make friendly with the food.”

Ackley laughs at that. “Yeah, but you’ll fuck it.”

I grin at his comeback, and that’s when I finally extend my hand to him in greeting. Ackley looks at me for a moment, then grins and shakes my hand.

“Amari Al-Baqar, Coven Leader of Medina Shadow.”

“Welcome to Wintermoon,” he says, pulling his hand back and grabbing my empty glass.

“I’m just a guest. I’m not staying,” I tell him.

But is it true? Can I leave without my little friend—Kemnebi?

I grin at the name Carla gave him. It’s fitting, but how sweet that she listened to me, and the name came from our companionship.

I want to see him again before I leave, give him my final goodbye.

I feel lost already without him. He helped me get through some of the darkest times. Always flashing images of hope in my mind that I wouldn’t be alone forever. I have to admit, I feel the same as Carla about Moria and Kemnebi. When will I find love? Or will I spend my eternity in a cloud of lust?

I look around, my eyes scanning the nightclub for something delicious enough to sink my fangs into.

And my dick.

I spot a woman on the dance floor—beautiful, with curvy hips, full breasts, and a fat ass practically spilling out of her short dress that barely reaches her thighs.

The way her ass bounces with every movement hypnotizes me, the firm flesh jiggling just enough to make my mouth water.

Her skin glistens with a light sheen of sweat under the pulsing lights, giving her a radiant glow that draws my eyes to every curve.

She moves, her hips swaying in perfect rhythm to the bass that vibrates through the floor. When she turns, her short hair in pretty romantic curls just reaching her neckline swings gently, exposing the smooth column of her neck—prime feeding territory.

As if sensing my gaze, she locks eyes with me.

Green eyes—not as vibrant as Carla’s, but still striking—hold mine as she deliberately runs her tongue across her bottom lip.

She slows her movements, making each roll of her hips more pronounced, more deliberate.

Her hands slide down her body, emphasizing the narrowness of her waist compared to the fullness of her ass and tits.

One hand grips her thigh, fingers splayed wide, while the other toys with the hemline of her dress, threatening to expose more than legally allowed in public.

She’s performing for me, making it clear what she’s offering without saying a word. A meal and a fuck, wrapped in a delicious package. She’s exactly what I need.

Or so I think.

I look back at Ackley, who grins at me before going back to serving other patrons.

I get up from my stool and adjust my suit, then walk to the private VIP area where vampires feed.

I give her a wink as I pass by, signaling that I’ve chosen her, and I select one of the empty rooms, stepping inside and shutting the door.

I sit down on the long bench that looks like it belongs in a private strip club, but I know it’s just a feeding area for vampires like myself. I take off my jacket and unbutton my shirt, removing my cufflinks and setting them aside.

The woman doesn’t take long to join me. She knocks lightly, then steps inside, her round ass on display. She’s wearing a thong and doesn’t even bother pulling her dress down as she shuts the door.

“Did you just want a feed, or a good time?” she asks, bending over and placing her handbag on the small table.

I grin at her. She seems to already know what this is about. “Both.”

I go for the belt on my pants, unbuckling it.

My dick should be hard already, but it’s not.

It’s limp, as if I have no interest in the fat ass that’s here to ride on it.

What the fuck? I look down at my dick, wondering what the hell is going on.

I don’t turn down pussy when it’s offered, especially when I’m attracted to it.

And I am, in fact, attracted to this woman.

So why is my dick limp? She notices as she kicks off her shoes, dropping to her knees and placing her hands on my thighs.

“Need a little help?” she questions.

I grin at her, then reach and place my hand gently around the back of her neck, guiding her to my shaft. Her lips curl around it, and I stiffen, almost as if I’m repulsed by the touch.

Her mouth goes down on my length, taking me in fully, and I close my eyes, trying to stay focused.

Her tongue swirls around the head of my dick, warm and wet.

She works her mouth down farther, taking more of me in, her throat contracting around me as she gags slightly but pushes through it.

Her hands grip my thighs, nails digging into the fabric of my pants.

She’s skilled—that much is obvious—the way she alternates between deep suction and teasing licks, the perfect amount of pressure as she moves up and down.

Any other night, I’d be rock hard already, fisting her hair and guiding her movements. Any other night , I’d be groaning, letting her know how good she’s making me feel. Any other night , I’d already be planning how I’d bend her over and claim that fat ass I spotted on the dance floor.

But not tonight.

I need to fuck, need something to take the edge off of today, but images of Carla start flooding my mind.

Those eyes, those lips, when she smiled at me.

Her feistiness, the way I want to fuck her attitude right out of her.

Her curves, her breasts, her ass, the curve of it, the roundness of it.

I imagine my lips pressed against hers, my fangs grazing over her plump bottom lip, my hands tangling in her wild curls, my nose nuzzling against her cheek, taking in her sweet peachy scent, my eyes counting every adorable freckle on her face.

Carla...

My eyes snap open, and my hands press against the woman’s shoulders, pulling her off my dick, which is still limp. She looks up at me, her face glistening with saliva. I don’t even know her name, nor do I care to know it.