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It sounds like Brookstone and Blackburn fucking Enterprises. And Ackley. I think we have a radical in our midst. I think we’re already being infiltrated. I need to get to Damon as soon as possible and go over my theories with him.

Carla can’t go on that date, but how can I tell her that? She needs to feel. I wish I had met her before he asked; she would have never accepted the date.

“Good,” she says, and when she pulls away from me, I have to stifle a groan. The warmth of her, her peachy smell—I want it to cling to me like a second skin.

We’re standing in front of her porch now, and she hands me back the handkerchief.

“Keep it. A souvenir,” I say. She rolls her eyes and lets her hand fall to her side.

“Thank you for everything, Amari. Your gifts, your willingness to help me and my children.”

“You mean our children,” I tease, and she slaps her hand against me. I laugh—I can’t help myself. She’s so beautiful when she’s angry with me. I catch her wrist, pulling her close. She gasps but doesn’t fight it.

I want to kiss her so bad right now, taste her lips, tangle my tongue with hers, get lost in the passion we’re both clearly fighting against.

“Goodnight, Amari,” she says, and I smile at her, unable to resist stroking her beautiful cheek.

Then I lean down and press my lips against her cheek, feeling the softness of her skin.

It’s beautiful, perfect, like my lips belong there.

With a groan, I pull back, watching as she walks up the stairs, grabs the box with shoes from the swing and a bouquet of roses, then goes into her cabin and shuts the door.

I linger, because I’m not leaving until she’s sound asleep. I’ll clean up the porch, then watch her sleep until sunrise. That’s when I’ll leave her alone.

Carla.

My sweet, beautiful, peachy Carla.

The image of radicals attacking Carla and her children plays on a loop in my mind as I gather the roses and gifts from her porch.

I’m careful to be quiet, arranging everything neatly against the wall.

The scent of roses drifts around me, but all I can smell is Carla’s peach fragrance lingering where she stood.

My anger builds with each passing moment. Those humans knew exactly what they were doing. The memory showed precision, planning. They specifically targeted her children first, then tried to take her out. It wasn’t random—it was tactical.

And I’d bet my entire fortune it was Brookstone and Blackburn testing their tech—experimenting with ways to mask human scent from supernatural detection.

It fits their pattern perfectly: finding supernatural weaknesses, exploiting them ruthlessly, then profiting from the resulting chaos.

I’ve seen this behavior a dozen times over the centuries, just with different faces, different names.

With the porch cleared, I settle into the shadows between the trees, perfectly still as only a vampire can be.

From here, I can see into her bedroom window.

She’s sitting on the edge of her bed, running her fingers over the shoes I bought her.

A soft smile plays across her lips as she turns the black heels in her hands.

Then she places them carefully in the box, sets it aside, and stands.

I should look away. This is a private moment.

But I’m transfixed as she removes her robe, revealing a simple nightgown beneath.

The thin fabric clings to her curves, accentuating the body I’ve been fantasizing about since the moment I saw her.

But it’s not just lust I feel as I watch her move about her room, braiding her hair for sleep. It’s something deeper, more primal.

Protective. Possessive. Devoted.

I have to stop this date from happening.

Not just because I’m jealous—though I am, violently so—but because I’m certain Ackley is hiding something dangerous.

The pieces are aligning too perfectly: a human who loves spiders, working at Midnight Moon where he has access to supernatural information, suddenly interested in the one woman whose abilities might expose his true nature.

The timing isn’t coincidental. It’s calculated.

As Carla turns off her light and slides beneath her covers, I make a decision. Tomorrow, I’ll begin tracking Ackley’s movements. I’ll find proof of what I suspect, and when I do, I’ll make that fucker wish he’d never set foot in Wintermoon.

I settle against the trunk of a massive oak, preparing for my night watch.

Something brushes against my leg, and I look down to see one of Carla’s children—a smaller one, with distinctive red markings along its back.

It doesn’t send me images this time, just settles beside me like a guard dog.

Another appears on my other side, then two more.

We form a protective circle around Carla’s cabin, sentinels in the darkness.

We may not share blood, but in this moment, I understand what family means to these creatures. What Carla means to them. What she’s beginning to mean to me.

My heart may not beat for her, but every cell in my ancient body longs for her anyway. And that’s enough for now.