Page 23

Amari

I can’t stay still. My shoes tap against the linoleum floor of the sheriff’s station as I pace back and forth. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, their harsh glare matching my mood. Every step I take seems to deepen my frustration.

A date? With that human? I can’t wrap my head around it.

Damon sits at his desk, flipping that damn coin of his with that self-satisfied grin that’s driving me insane. The metallic ping each time he flicks it with his thumb feels like a needle stabbing into my skull. I stop abruptly and glare at him.

“You know that human is masking his scent, right?” I demand, my voice tight with frustration.

Damon catches his coin in his palm, then sits up straighter, his green eyes meeting mine. “Yes, I’m aware,” he says calmly, like we’re discussing the weather. “But she’s determined to go anyway.”

He raises an eyebrow, studying me like I’m one of his ancient artifacts. “You’re mighty invested in Carla’s personal affairs. Why?”

I run a hand over my beard, feeling the tension in my jaw. “I honestly don’t know.”

“I’m not particularly pleased with how you spoke to Carla in the market,” Damon says, his voice cooling several degrees. “You made her feel cheap, like she’s less worthy of love.”

The words hit me hard, and I lower my gaze to the floor, guilt flooding through me. “I don’t know what came over me,” I confess. “I saw how excited she was for that dress, and it just... angered me that she bought it to impress another man.”

Damon twirls the coin between his fingers. “Actually, you bought it. And what do you care?”

I scratch my beard, frustration mounting as I search for an explanation that doesn’t make me sound like an obsessive asshole. “I don’t know. None of what I’m feeling makes any sense at all.”

“So what are you going to do about it?” Damon asks, sliding the coin across his knuckles in a practiced gesture.

“I’m going to make it up to her,” I say firmly. “Apologize to her properly.”

Damon chuckles, the sound laced with skepticism. “Good luck with that.” He leans back in his chair. “How did your assessment go yesterday?”

I let out a long breath, trying to organize my thoughts.

“Things have changed now that I know about her children and what happened to two of them. I’ve been thinking about installing a network of sensors around the perimeter that could detect magical and physical intrusions.

Submersible drones for the waters—silent propulsion, equipped with sensors that can differentiate between shifter, witch, vampire, and human energies. ”

I pause, my mind already racing through the technical specifications. “But I need more time to assess things properly. I want to develop modules that can be enhanced by witch magic, specifically tailored to work with her children.”

Damon stands up from his desk and walks around, coming face to face with me. “You can take all the time you need.” He places a hand on my shoulder. “Thank you for your help, Amari.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, my voice dropping lower. “Why didn’t you let me know that she and her children were here, that my little friend—Kemnebi—wasn’t all alone?”

Damon’s eyebrows shoot up. “Kemnebi? When did you name your little friend?”

“I didn’t,” I explain, my voice softening at the memory. “Carla did. She said it means ‘one who was once lost’ in Egyptian. Since I found him in Granada when my people—the Moors still had influence there...” I trail off, feeling strangely vulnerable sharing this.

Damon smirks at that, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

“What?” I snap, annoyed with his cryptic behavior. “If you know something, just come out and say it.”

Damon’s expression hardens. “I was protecting Carla. I know just how much of a womanizer you are.”

I frown at that, but I can’t argue. It’s true.

“I wanted you focused on the job,” Damon continues. “Protecting the borders of Wintermoon and Carla’s children, not just coming here so you could fuck her.”

I want to argue, but the words stick in my throat. Because Damon’s right—I do want to fuck her. It’s all I can think about. But it’s different this time. I don’t know how to explain it without coming off like an even bigger asshole than I’ve already been.

When I think about Carla, it’s not just about getting between her thighs, though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want that.

I think about making her laugh, about being the reason she smiles.

I think about waking up next to her, watching her sleep, counting those adorable freckles across her nose.

I think about protecting her, not because she needs protection—she’s clearly capable—but because she deserves someone who puts her safety above their own.

These thoughts terrify me. In over a thousand years, I’ve never wanted to stick around after fucking a woman. I’ve never cared about their happiness beyond the temporary pleasure I could give them. But with Carla, I want more. I want everything. And I have no idea what to do with that realization.

“Carla is a daughter of Wintermoon,” Damon says, his voice softening.

“And she’s shunned a lot here for who she is, by her own people.

She’s a Blackwood witch, teetering on the edge of turning back to the shadows.

I can see it in her eyes every day. She fights for acceptance that seems to always be just out of reach. ”

He gives me a knowing look. “It’s not unlike your hatred for white supremacy—the madness is always the same, just different characters.”

His fingers press on my shoulder. “Carla may not know it, but she holds a special place in my heart, like a sister.” His eyes harden. “Which is why you’re going to stay away from her.”

I glare at him as he pulls out his coin and flips it again.

“That’s bullshit,” I snap. “You know that Ackley guy working on the tourist island is hiding something. It’s stupid to let her date him.”

Damon catches his coin without looking at it.

“Do you truly know what it feels like to be alone, Amari? To be hated by everyone, forced into the shadows?” I shake my head, irritated because he already knew my answer.

“That has been Carla’s existence, and she always gives and never gets anything back in return.

Her love is thankless, and she deserves more respect than she gets. ”

He takes a step closer to me. “Carla wants to be happy, to just feel that happiness even if it’s fleeting. Who am I to take that from her?” His voice hardens.

His words land like body blows. “I’m truly sorry for how I’ve treated Carla since I’ve been here,” I say, meaning every word. “Truly sorry.”

“And that’s fine,” Damon says. “But there are plenty of women at Midnight Moon to fulfill your desires.” He gets right in my face, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper.

“But you will not turn Carla into one of your conquests. If you hurt her in any way, you won’t only be dealing with me—you’ll be dealing with King Amir. ”

I take in a sharp breath and adjust my suit. Both our noses go alert when Carla’s scent suddenly hits our nostrils. Peaches, full and ripe. My body stiffens as Damon, and I immediately end our conversation.

The door opens, and she steps inside. She still looks slightly upset, but goddamn, she’s beautiful. Her wild curls frame her face, those green eyes wary as they scan the room.

“Carla,” Damon says, acknowledging her.

She looks up at him and feigns a smile, which quickly turns into a heavy glare when she looks at me. I chuckle at that. She pulls off her jacket, then pulls out her chair to her desk and sits down, looking bored.

I stuff my hands in my pockets and approach her desk. “Since you’re a Blackwood witch,” I begin, genuinely curious, “how come you don’t use your powers? Open portals, cast spells. I haven’t seen you use magic since I’ve been here.”

Carla doesn’t meet my eyes, her face sad. The sight of her upset feels like a knife twisting in my gut. I may not be able to take back my words, but maybe I can make up for them.

“I don’t know,” she admits softly. “I’ve trained with my cousins, Queen Anora and Angie from House of Zorah, but for some reason, my magic won’t come. It’s like something’s holding me back, but I can’t figure out what.”

I furrow my brow as the wheels start turning in my mind. The way Ackley’s scent seemed to be masked by the arachnids, and how not only can Carla not use her powers, but she doesn’t have the fated scent. Or maybe she does?

“I could never smell in your scent that you’re a Blackwood,” I point out.

Carla shrugs, her face still fallen. “No one can. Except for King Amir. He told me that my spiders were masking it out of protection.”

“Oh,” I say, almost as if a light’s turned on in my head. I look at Damon, who’s grinning quietly, flipping his coin. “Did he—King Amir—ever mention anything about your fated scent?”

Carla glares at me. “Why do you care?”

I want to say something that will piss her off—it seems to be my nature when it comes to Carla—but now is not the time. I soften my expression and clear my throat. “Because I genuinely want to see you happy.”

Carla looks up at me, her eyes narrowed in suspicion at first, but then she sighs. “I’m avoiding the king right now,” she confesses. “I gave him two of my children as gifts, Yara and Kofi, protection for the king, but I know when I go to the royal palace, he’s going to return them.”

I fold my arms over my chest, listening to her.

“It’s going to hurt and humiliate me if I have to take them back into the shadows,” she continues, her voice cracking slightly. “My children are proud to serve the king and queen.”

She looks away, sniffling and trying to fight back tears, but it’s no use. “And I don’t want to get my hopes up, asking the King about my scent. What if he confirms my suspicions that I’m supposed to be alone forever?”

Damon steps forward. “What if you’re wrong, Carla, and you are fated? Wouldn’t it put your mind at ease to know?”

Carla shrugs at him. “I just want to go on a date. I want to feel like a woman. Please don’t take it from me.”

I desperately want to tell her that if she wants a date, I’ll do it. I’ll take her wherever she wants to go—the finest restaurant, a romantic vacation, shopping trips, whatever she wants. But I know I can’t do that, especially not now.

Carla sniffles and wipes the tears from her face, then just smiles at both of us. That really pisses me off. She’s masking her pain. I feel like I want to scream right now, but I can’t.

“Can we talk about your plans for better security at the border?” she asks. “So I can get back to work at the patrol cabin. It’s easier for me there. I’m all alone with my children, but at the same time, I’m not. We’re working and watching the borders. I miss it.”

I let my hands fall to my sides and clench my fists, gritting my teeth, wanting to tell Carla that she’s never working the border again because I’m taking care of her now.

But I don’t because I can’t. Instead, I say, “I simply need more time with you and your children before I can make a final assessment.”

She glares at me, and I grin smugly. Damon steps toward me, giving me a warning glare, and I just grin back at him.

This is how I’ll keep her close. I’ll get to know her better and her children, and possibly get to the bottom of why her children are masking her to the point that she’s nearly powerless.

That just might be the key to figuring out how to help her at the border.

And I get to deal with Ackley. Two birds with one stone.

I just keep grinning at Damon, daring him to challenge me right now.

Damon could say never mind and tell me that I’m not needed, but he knows that’s not going to happen.

Truth be told, I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to right now.

There’s something about Carla that’s keeping me here, and I’m not leaving until I find out what that is.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of technical discussions and planning.

Every time I look at Carla, I think about what it would be like to shower her with the affection she deserves.

I want to buy her not just one dress, but a hundred.

I want to take her to Paris, Rome, Istanbul—show her all the beautiful places I’ve seen in my long existence.

I want to hear her laugh, a real laugh, not the forced ones she gives when she’s trying to hide her pain.

I think about the images her children have been sending me. Me with Carla, holding her, cherishing her. In those visions, I look at her the way I’ve seen mated pairs look at each other—with complete devotion. The strange thing is, I want that. I want it more than I’ve wanted anything in centuries.

When I imagine touching her, it’s different from how I’ve thought about other women.

Yes, I want to taste every inch of her, to feel her writhing beneath me, to hear her cry out my name in passion.

But I also want to hold her hand as we walk through a forest at dusk.

I want to trace the pattern of her freckles while she sleeps.

I want to wash her hair, to massage her shoulders after a long day, to simply sit in comfortable silence with her.

And what’s truly bewildering is that I don’t even care if my heart never quickens for her.

I just want to give her the world. I want to be the one who makes her feel wanted, valued, seen for who she truly is.

After a millennium of meaningless encounters, of temporary satisfactions that left me emptier each time, the thought of being with just one woman—with Carla—doesn’t feel like a sacrifice. It feels like coming home.

But I know I need to tread carefully. I’ve hurt her enough already with my thoughtless words.

And Damon’s warning rings in my ears—Carla is not to be another conquest. This feels different, though.

This isn’t about conquest. It’s about connection, about finding something I didn’t even know I was looking for.

As the day ends and we prepare to leave the station, I catch myself watching the way Carla puts on her jacket, the gentle way she smooths her hair back, the small sigh that escapes her lips when she thinks no one is listening.

Every tiny gesture fascinates me, like I’m seeing a woman for the first time after a thousand years of looking without truly seeing.

I want to say something, anything, to bridge the gap between us, but the moment passes. She leaves with a nod to Damon and without sparing me a glance. The absence of her peach scent leaves the room feeling emptier somehow.

The date is in two days, and I’ll be watching.