Page 54

Amari

I open my eyes to find Carla draped over me, her leg hooked possessively across my thigh, her hand gripping my arm like she’s afraid I’ll vanish while she sleeps. Her wild curls spread across me, tickling my skin with each breath she takes.

She moans in her sleep and tightens her grip on my arm, nails digging into my flesh. The small sting makes me grin. Even unconscious, she’s trying to keep me close. If only she knew—I’m not going anywhere.

I shift slightly, adjusting my position against the pillow, and run my hand along the smooth curve of her back. Her skin is warm beneath my touch. The steady rhythm of her heartbeat pulses against me, reminding me of what I’ve found—what I’ve been given after a millennium of emptiness.

My mind races, thoughts tumbling over each other as I try to make sense of everything.

I need the veil lifted. I need Carla to feel the mate bond.

And I need to understand what Tofi meant when she told Carla to “remember.” What the hell is Alexis doing with Carla’s blood? These pieces must fit together somehow.

Carla stirs against me, her hand sliding from my arm to rest directly over my heart. Even in sleep, she seeks the steady thump beneath my ribs.

“Mmnn,” she murmurs, the sound vibrating against my skin.

“It’s yours, Carla. My heart belongs to you,” I whisper, knowing she’s too deep in sleep to hear me.

I think about the conversation with Amir, about the sacrifices he makes for his family.

My complaints about Wintermoon seem childish now.

But still—Carla deserves more than this island cage.

She deserves the world, and I want to give it to her.

But can I do that while confined here? One thing’s certain: we won’t be living with the Master Coven.

I’d rather be staked than surrounded by those treacherous vampires.

I lie with her a moment longer, savoring the weight of her body against mine, the sound of her breathing, the gentle thud of her heart. She wants so little—just love. Just acceptance. Things denied to her for centuries.

Eventually, I ease myself from under her, careful not to wake her. She frowns in her sleep, reaching for the space I’ve vacated. I grab one of my long shirts from my suitcase and place it on the bed for her to slip into when she wakes, then pull on a pair of sweatpants.

I stand over the bed, watching her. The mate bond grows stronger by the hour. Already, I can’t imagine sleeping without her beside me.

I pull a tank top from my suitcase and slip it over my head, then head to the bathroom to brush my teeth. After, I grab my phone and keys, collect our discarded clothes from the floor, and toss them in the hamper before heading downstairs.

In the kitchen, I search through cabinets until I find coffee pods and start a cup brewing in the single-serve machine.

I open the fridge and pull out the gallon of blood I keep stored there, pouring a small amount into a coffee mug.

The gallon sits on the counter, accusatory in its presence.

Can I really do this? Let go of feeding on humans?

Even Amir has adapted to this lifestyle.

I draw in a deep breath and grab the mug, forcing myself to gulp down the blood. The cold, metallic taste slides down my throat, making me choke and clutch at my neck as I set the mug down hard on the counter.

“Fuck, that is disgusting,” I mutter, glaring at the gallon. I’m tempted to pour it down the drain just to be rid of it.

Instead, I grab the gallon again, pouring more into the mug, then place it under the coffee maker and hit brew. Maybe mixing it with coffee will make it more palatable.

While the coffee brews, I scan my fridge for something Carla can eat. I find only the drawers filled with my favorite fruits. I wasn’t expecting to find my fated mate here, or I would have prepared better.

I pull out a cantaloupe, a small watermelon, honeydew melon, and a peach.

I actually enjoy some human food, but nothing ever satisfies like blood—hot and fresh from the source.

I grab a bowl and knife, then wash and cut the melons and peach, filling the bowl with colorful chunks.

I take my coffee mug from the machine, sipping experimentally.

The blood and coffee mix isn’t bad—something I could get used to, though the underlying craving for fresh blood will always be there.

There are other ways to feed besides my usual source of women, I remind myself.

I carry the bowl of fruit and my mug to the kitchen table where my iMac sits.

I grab my phone from the counter and check my inbox—nearly full, of course.

I open it to find exactly what I expected: message after message from women I’ve hooked up with, most containing explicit photos or desperate pleas for another night together.

I start deleting them one by one, knowing Carla getting hold of this phone would be a disaster. The reality of my behavior crashes over me. I’ve been going through women like tissues—two or three a week sometimes.

“Goddamnit!” I slam my phone down on the table harder than intended, the crack of plastic against wood ringing through the kitchen.

Then Carla’s peachy scent hits me, stronger than ever, and it’s not just the fruit in the bowl.

I look up to see her standing nervously by the stairs, my t-shirt hanging past her thighs, one hand gripping the banister.

Her curls are tousled from sleep, her eyes still heavy-lidded, her lips slightly swollen from last night’s kisses.

“It’s nice seeing you like this in the morning. In your natural state, not all dressed up in those annoying suits you like to wear,” she says, her voice still rough with sleep.

I hold out my hand, motioning for her to come to me. She crosses the room, bare feet quiet on the hardwood floor, and slides onto my lap. I push my coffee mug aside and pull the bowl toward her.

She wrinkles her nose at my mug. “There’s blood in there, isn’t it?”

I lean in and steal a kiss from her pouty lips. “I am a vampire, Carla.”

She rolls her eyes, then brightens when she sees the bowl of fruit.

She wastes no time grabbing a fork and digging in, spearing pieces of melon and peaches.

She stuffs her mouth, and juice trickles from the corner of her lips.

I fight the urge to lick it away, taking a hard sip of my coffee instead.

I boot up my iMac and pull the keyboard in front of me.

Carla watches, then her eyes follow my hand as I grab my phone and flip it over, screen down.

I don’t want her looking through it—I’d rather burn the damn thing and start over—but I know Bobby’s been trying to reach me with more intel on Brookstone and Blackburn and what they’re doing with Carla’s blood.

Carla reaches for the phone while she chews, and I snatch it away before she can touch it. She gives me a look that says everything.

“Carla, no, baby. Please don’t look in my phone,” I say, struggling to keep my tone steady.

She swallows and looks away, trying to rise from my lap, but I pull her back down.

“My past is in this phone. And I know if you looked through and saw what’s inside, it would hurt you. I can’t handle seeing you hurt.”

“I understand,” she says, but her face falls, and she tries again to get up. I keep my grip firm on her waist.

She starts to pry at my fingers, and I bury my face in her neck, inhaling her scent.

“Carla, I’m begging you. Please stay with me. I know it’s hard.”

She draws in a sharp breath and sniffles. “It’s hard, Amari. So many women.”

“I know, baby. But it’s over now. My heart never beat for them. But it beats for you. You have my heart, and my love. Stay with me. Eat your breakfast.”

She takes a breath, then reaches for her fork. I grab a slice of peach and trace it across her lips. Her mouth parts, and she grins as I feed it to her.

“I’ve been so enamored with you, I haven’t had time to let the world know I’ve found my fated mate,” I say, kissing the tip of her nose.

“You can rest assured, this will be taken care of immediately. I don’t like seeing you unhappy.

It means I’m doing a terrible job as your protector, your provider.

You should feel safe and secure when you’re with me. ”

“I do,” she murmurs, meeting my eyes. I can see the sincerity there, but also uncertainty lurking beneath. That won’t do.

I steal another kiss, then turn to my computer, smoothing my fingers across the trackpad to open my email.

My email is strictly professional, so I’m not worried about Carla finding anything explicit, but when her eyes land on the first message at the top, she stiffens against me, and I groan internally.

It’s from Alexis Blackburn.

“Carla—” I start, but she cuts me off with a glare.

“Open it. NOW.”

I sigh and do as she asks, clicking to open the email. Carla leans forward, scanning the brief message:

Have dinner with me, Amari. I’d like to discuss this lovely blood sample from the little Spider Queen you seem to be protecting.

Best, Alexis B.

Carla sucks in a sharp breath, then hangs her head. She shifts on my lap, her bare ass wiggling against my thigh as tension radiates through her body. I have to bite my tongue—literally sink a fang into it—to keep my dick from responding. The metallic taste of my own blood fills my mouth.

It doesn’t work. She feels me hardening beneath her and looks back with a grin, wiggling again deliberately. I grip her hips when she tries a third time.

“Want me to bend you over and fuck you while you stare at that email?” I growl into her ear. “Stop that.”

She’s easily distracted, thank Fate. She turns in my lap, playful despite the situation.

“How is she able to contact you so easily?” she asks.

I keep my eyes on the screen, closing Alexis’s email and scrolling through cancelled and rescheduled meetings until I spot one from Bobby.

“I have one of the top competing data centers in the state. I’ve been deliberately lowering my prices, creating a monopoly in the market, trying to get their attention.”

“Okay, but why?”

I look at her, surprised by the question.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m trying to take them down from the inside.

You can’t destroy a corporation just by eliminating the board members.

It’s an entity. It will find a way to refill its seats.

There’s something darker, far more sinister with Brookstone and Blackburn Enterprises beneath the surface.

And I’m going to find out what it is, all while taking the company down in the process. ”

She huffs, looking at the screen as I open Bobby’s email. “You sound a bit too confident.”

I grin, but the expression falls away as the email opens. Carla’s eyes widen at the image that appears on screen.

It’s Verde and Petra. In a lab, bodies turned upside down, cut open and dissected like specimens. Carla screams, clapping a hand over her mouth before leaping from my lap and running upstairs, sobbing.

FUCK!

What do they want from my woman and our children?

I stare at the gruesome images, rage building inside me with each beat of my heart. They’re experimenting on her children—our children. This isn’t just about blood samples or radical humans anymore. This is something else entirely.

I slam the laptop closed and race after Carla, taking the stairs two at a time. I find her curled in the center of the bed, her body shaking with sobs, my shirt pulled over her knees.

“Carla,” I say, approaching slowly. “I swear to you, I will end every last one of them for this.”

She looks up, her face streaked with tears, eyes red and swollen. “They’re experimenting on them. My babies. Verde and Petra. They didn’t just kill them—they’re studying them. Why? What do they want?”

I sit beside her, pulling her into my arms. She doesn’t resist, collapsing against me as fresh sobs rack her body.

“I don’t know yet,” I admit, stroking her hair. “But I will find out. And I will make them pay.”

I hold her as she cries, my mind racing with possibilities, each darker than the last. One thing is certain—this goes beyond simple human fear or prejudice. This is systematic, scientific, deliberate.

And so will be my revenge.