Page 50

Carla sighs, and Damon’s already at the table with a stack of old books, placing them down gently.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” he says, then pulls out a chair and sits down.

I spend hours flipping through journal after journal, and old folklore from villages Carla frequented over the centuries. She was certainly a nomad, always hiding in the shadows, looking for openings where she could mask as a human.

But it never worked out for too long. One, she was a beauty, a rarity of the times.

Her flawless elegance and immortality were quickly caught on to.

And men attempting to take advantage of her burns me with anger, but thankfully, her children have always kept her safe.

She always ends up right back where she started, in the shadows, rejected and alone with her children.

But I see nothing of a threat, not even a prophecy. I groan and slam the book shut, and Carla looks at me curiously as she chews on a turkey sandwich with the corners cut off. I grin at that.

Carla bites down on her sandwich, chewing as I gently caress her face. Damon does the same, shutting his book as well and leaning back in his seat. Selene stands and takes Carla’s empty plate, walking off to put it away.

“Can’t find anything?” Carla asks innocently, looking between me and Damon.

“No, just documentation of your visits, and whenever things go south and your children need to intervene,” Damon says, looking at me.

“Carla,” I start, keeping my eyes focused on the book, “you’ve been trying for centuries to fit in somewhere, and it’s never happened.”

Carla shrugs and looks over at me, finishing her sandwich. “Yeah, so? I’m used to it by now. But I think Wintermoon is my chance.”

I do my best to try to force back my glare, my woman practically groveling for acceptance. I’m not putting up with this shit. She’s begging for a seat at a table when I want to build her a table of her own.

“It’s going to take some time, but they’re coming around,” she continues. “I couldn’t shop in the market at all before, and now they only half step around me.”

I look at Damon, and he clears his throat. He rises when Selene returns, holding a glass of juice, and sets it in front of Carla. I won’t stand by while my mate is treated this way.

“How about a drink, Amari? I trust you’ll need to feed again soon,” Damon says.

I groan and nod to him. My thirst is starting to creep back, but I’m maintaining my posture.

Carla gulps down the glass, and I busy myself, letting my fingers get tangled in her curls.

It’s strange, the way I’m admiring the little things about her.

The way she chews her food, the way she giggles when Damon makes a comment, and Selene comes back quickly with some witty banter, the way she takes a sip of her drink.

Carla puts down her glass, licking her lips, and looks up at me confused.

“What?” she asks, and I just smile at her.

“Nothing,” I say, because I don’t think she wants to hear exactly what’s on my mind right now.

Damon returns with two wine glasses, half filled with blood, and passes one to me.

This isn’t exactly what I call a meal. It’s sustenance, just to hold us over.

I like my blood warm, straight from the tap.

Carla’s face falls when she notices me struggle to take a sip from it.

Damon sips from his glass without a problem, and the way Carla’s eye shifts from me to Damon, she’s starting to put together what’s going on.

“It’s okay, Amari. If you need to feed, just go to Midnight Moon.

I’ll go home,” she says, and I fix her with a sharp look that makes her sink into her seat.

I lift the glass to my mouth and gulp it down in one go, then slam it on the table.

The blood is lukewarm, unnatural—like it’s been reheated.

It dulls the edge of my thirst, but it’s far from satisfying.

“Amari,” Carla huffs, “I don’t expect you to change your life for me.”

I laugh at that. She has got to be joking right now.

“Carla, enough, please,” I snap at her. “I need to change everything about my life when it comes to you, if I want to keep you.”

She rolls her eyes but stops arguing with me about it. Good, because I’m a fucking grouch right now. I look to Damon and then to my glass.

“How long,” I start, turning the glass between my fingers, “before it becomes tolerable?”

Damon grins and finishes his glass. “A couple of years, two to three tops. I’ve been building my tolerance for centuries. I encouraged you, but it wasn’t of interest to you at the time.”

“Carla,” Damon says, catching her attention, “this is a man that wants to build something with you, and doing that requires some changes to be made. Don’t interfere with that.”

She nods, then looks over at me. Damon pulls out his chair and starts bantering with Selene, which she matches with little effort. I admire them and hopefully, one day soon, I can have the same with Carla.

We spend another hour chatting, going over the past, listening to how Selene and Damon met, building their mate bond. It’s inspiring; their love wasn’t easy, almost similar to me and Carla. They fought their love, and then the mate bond took hold.

I smile, watching Carla giggle and laugh with Selene, Damon’s mate.

If Damon had told me he had an idea my fated mate would be waiting for me on Wintermoon, I wouldn’t have believed it.

But now I’m sitting in his library, surrounded by some of the oldest books and scrolls that surpass my own existence, my heart beating for the woman I plan to give the world to.

The moment quickly ends when I notice some familiar legs wrap around the corner of the table, Kemnebi crawling out from underneath.

His obsidian body reflects in the library, constellation-like patterns visible across his abdomen, those eight intelligent eyes locking onto mine with what I swear is amusement.

My little friend—stares back at me with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what they’ve done.

I glare at him. That motherfucker!

He listed every woman I’ve been with since he’s known me. Now I feel completely helpless, unsure how to get her children to lift the veil over my fated mate so she can finally bond with me.

The room goes quiet when Damon, Selene, and Carla look across the table.

And this motherfucker has the nerve to send me images spelling out “my bad.” I leap from the table, chasing after him, but Kemnebi is much faster, skittering across the floor, his bristly legs finding grip with impossible grace.

“Amari!” Carla shouts as I pull myself to my feet, adjusting my suit.

“You’ve been hiding him from me just because he asked you to?” I frown at Damon, the question sharp and accusatory. Damon only grins, flipping his coin, which his mate catches mid-air with effortless ease.

“Don’t hurt him,” Carla warns. I ignore her and start walking casually, turning down the same aisle of bookshelves.

“I won’t,” I lie, “I just want to have a little chat with him about the ramifications of what modern-day humans like to call—snitching.” I break into a run when I see him at the end of the aisle, his multiple eyes locked on me. I’m going to break his legs, that fucking traitor.

And this little shit has the nerve to send me an image spelling out the word “whore.”

“Damon!” Carla yells, standing from her chair, and Damon stands up, following me over to the aisle, placing his hand on my shoulder.

“Yes, Kemnebi came to me with Moria, and sent me images. He said it was a mistake, and needed a place where he could give you space.”

I shoot Kemnebi a withering look, prompting him to hiss at me. “You are a fucking traitor, and you know it.”

Images flash in my mind spelling out “mistake.” Kemnebi has always been judgmental of me sleeping with multiple women. The sun is setting, and I need to get Carla home. I don’t want to deal with the vampire covens, nor do I feel like explaining them to her right now. I’ll get to that in time.

I glare at Kemnebi once more, but can I really be upset with him for being honest? I was a whore, and now my woman has to live with the shame of that.