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Kemnebi’s legs move in complex patterns, and suddenly, images flood my mind—not the devastating ones from before, but something entirely different. I see Amari through Kemnebi’s eyes, through memories spanning centuries.

I see Amari in the 1850s, working with the Underground Railroad, using his vampire speed and strength to transport enslaved people to freedom.

In one vivid memory, he carries an exhausted mother and her three small children through a swamp at night, avoiding slave catchers who would have returned them to brutal captivity.

The children cling to him, their faces pressed against his chest as he moves with supernatural grace through terrain that would stop most humans.

The scene shifts to the aftermath of the Civil War.

Amari stands before a newly built schoolhouse, surrounded by freed Black children eager for the education that had been denied them.

The building bears a small plaque: “Funded by Medina Holdings.” As he watches the children gather at the entrance, his face reflects something deeper than pride—a sense of fulfillment, a hope finally taking root.

Another image: Amari in a sharp suit in the 1960s, discreetly passing a briefcase to civil rights leaders.

Inside is enough money to bail out hundreds of arrested protesters and fund legal challenges to segregation laws.

He slips away into the night, expecting no recognition for his contribution.

The next day, news reports show the protests continuing, stronger than before, with no mention of the mysterious benefactor who made it possible.

I see Amari in a burning building, rushing through flames to rescue children trapped inside a Black church that had been firebombed by white supremacists.

His own clothes catch fire, but he doesn’t stop until every child is safe.

He endures terrible burns that take days to heal, even with his vampire regeneration, but never complains about the pain.

The images shift to something more personal—Amari finding a lost Kemnebi in Granada as the city falls to Christian forces.

I watch as he kneels beside the disoriented arachnid, speaking gentle words in his native tongue, offering comfort and a place by his side.

Through decades, centuries, Amari carries Kemnebi with him across continents, never abandoning him, never letting him feel unwanted or burdensome.

In moments of danger, Amari would tuck Kemnebi safely inside his coat, shielding him from a world that might not understand or accept him.

I see Amari in a forest clearing much like this one, decades ago, surrounded by members of the KKK in full regalia.

They’ve captured a Black man—Bobby—and are preparing to lynch him.

Amari moves like a shadow, dismantling the group in seconds, leaving Bobby as the only survivor.

I watch as Amari offers him a choice: death or eternal life as a vampire.

Bobby chooses to join Amari, becoming his trusted lieutenant.

Over the years, they form a bond of brotherhood, fighting side by side against the very forces that almost took Bobby’s life.

The final image shows Amari establishing Medina Corp, building it into a powerhouse that employs thousands of marginalized people, offers scholarships to underprivileged youth, and secretly funds reparation efforts and anti-racism initiatives around the world.

I see him reviewing applications for a program that supports first-generation college students, his expression softening as he approves funding for a young woman whose essay deeply moved him.

When the visions fade, my mouth hangs open. I can’t believe the depth and breadth of what Amari has done over the centuries. This isn’t the resume of a womanizing vampire—it’s the life’s work of someone committed to justice, to righting wrongs, to making amends.

The images stop, and Amari looks at me, his head bowed. “I don’t want praise for what I’ve done in the world,” he says quietly.

“Amari—” I begin, but he cuts me off.

“No, Carla. You need to understand.” His voice is heavy with centuries of guilt.

“What I’ve done is nothing compared to the damage my people helped set in motion.

The Moors participated in the early slave trade that later evolved into the chattel slavery system.

We created a domino effect that’s still causing harm today. ”

He looks at each of our children, his expression somber.

“Global racism and prejudice that persist to this day. Economic inequality between nations and within societies. Cultural displacement that erased countless traditions and languages. Modern slavery in the form of human trafficking and forced labor. Geopolitical tensions from artificial divisions established during colonial periods.”

His hands clench at his sides. “When you’re in the moment, you don’t see the lasting effects of the mistakes you make.

My people were a wonderful civilization of wonders, but we also had our share of mistakes.

I’m no hero, just someone trying to balance the scales, knowing full well they can never truly be balanced. ”

He looks down at Kemnebi. “Thank you,” he says softly, “but I am no hero.”

All around us, our children send images spelling out “Daddy” and “Love.” The sudden outpouring of affection from them leaves me stunned and speechless.

“I know the law,” Amari continues. “King Amir was right—it’s wrong for vampires to intervene in human affairs.

It only ended in me suffering with them.

I’m not human, and I’m seeing that now.” His voice drops lower.

“All I want is to be a good father to these children. To provide for them, protect them, and love them.”

He turns to me, his eyes burning with intensity. “I know I’m not deserving of you or your love, Carla, but I will never give up on you. I’ll keep trying as long as I walk this earth.”

Then Amari speaks in his native Moorish tongue. “Ana uhibbuk min kul qalbi,” he says, the unfamiliar syllables spoken simply meant only for me.

“I don’t need you to translate,” I say, my voice soft and steady. “I know what you just said without even knowing your language. You said you love me.”

Amari stares at me with a somber expression. “I’m being honest and genuine and humble because you and the children are all I want.”

Something shifts inside me, a certainty taking hold where doubt once lived. “I don’t need the mate bond,” I blurt out. “I don’t need to feel it at all.”

Amari’s face falls, panic flashing in his eyes. “I will drop to my knees and grovel if that’s what you want. But please, please don’t reject me. I need you. I love you.”

I approach him slowly, my heart pounding.

“I love you,” I say, the words finally breaking free after being trapped inside me for so long.

“I’ve known that I’ve loved you since the moment we shared at the border.

The way you protected me from Jax, the way you pulled me away from the waters to keep me safe. ”

A tear escapes, rolling down my cheek. “I don’t need to feel the mate bond. I know without a doubt that I love you.” I swallow hard, voicing my deepest fear. “And it’s going to destroy me when you break my heart.”

“I will not do anything to hurt you,” Amari assures me, but the intensity of the moment has drained me.

“I’m tired,” I sigh, closing my eyes. “I want to get a shower and go to bed.” I turn to leave, but Amari grabs my arm, pulling me back with a force that makes me gasp.

He cups my face in his hands, his golden eyes blazing with an emotion I can’t name. The way he stares at me—like I’m water after a thousand years of thirst—makes my breath catch.

“Amari,” I whisper, but before I can say anything else, his lips claim mine.

This isn’t like any of our previous kisses.

It’s consuming, all-encompassing, like he’s trying to absorb me into his very being.

His lips move against mine with an intensity that steals my breath, my thoughts, my very sense of self.

One hand slides to the back of my neck, holding me in place as his tongue sweeps into my mouth, tasting, exploring, claiming.

My hand finds its way to him, feeling his heart pounding beneath my palm—the heart that beats for me, that came alive because of me. The steady rhythm grounds me even as the kiss makes me feel like I’m floating, disconnected from the earth and all its sorrows.

Heat spreads through my body, starting where our lips meet and radiating outward until even my fingertips tingle with it. My knees weaken, and I cling to him, afraid I might collapse if he lets go. He tastes like wine and something darker, richer, uniquely him—a flavor I could become addicted to.

Amari angles his head, deepening the kiss impossibly further.

His teeth nip gently at my bottom lip, soothing the sting with his tongue before diving back in.

I moan into his mouth, completely surrendering to the sensation, to him.

The forest, the graves, our watching children—everything fades away until there’s nothing but Amari and this kiss that’s rewriting me from the inside out.

“You have no idea what you’ve just done,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice rough with desire. “How desperate I was for your heart.” He pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, his forehead pressed to mine as we both gasp for breath. “And now I have it.”

The Amari I know seems to have vanished, replaced by someone wild, almost manic in his intensity. His eyes are dark with possession, his face transformed by a hunger that has nothing to do with blood.

“I’m never letting you go,” he says, his voice low and charged with intensity. “Never.”

In this moment, looking into those feral gaze, I believe him completely. And despite everything—the grief of the burial, the depth of his confessions, the uncertainty of our future—I feel a strange peace settle over me.

Because whatever happens next, I’ve made my choice. And so has he.