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Carla

Two Months Later

T he winter chill nips at my face as I sit in the forest, my back against a frost-covered tree branch.

Ice crystals cling to the bare branches around me.

My breath clouds the air, but the cold doesn’t bother me much.

After centuries of living in caves and sewers, a Wintermoon winter feels almost comfortable.

I watch my children scuttle across the snow-dusted forest floor, their legs leaving intricate patterns behind them.

The smaller ones have developed a thin layer of silvery fuzz to shield them from the cold, while the larger ones, like Tofi, retain their body heat more easily.

Vibrant trails mark their passage—Tofi’s burnished burgundy form, Niko’s obsidian shell etched with constellations—each one vivid amid the snow and bare trees.

Amari is in the middle of his vampire slumber back at the cabin.

He’ll wake soon, his body ready for another feed.

These past two months have been great, amazing even.

And quiet. I’ve stopped searching for answers in the spell books, feeling that Tabatha’s message in limbo gave me more than enough to think about.

While I’ve been trying to figure out what this “confidence” is that I need to develop, Amari has been working on building our new home.

He’s also been collaborating with Damon, Kade, and Bobby to investigate what Brookstone and Blackburn are doing in their labs.

The memory of Verde and Petra still lingers, a wound that’s healing but will always leave a scar.

I’ve spent these months fighting with my children, trying to understand what I need to do to be “ready.” What does it mean to be truly ready to lift the veil?

What kind of queen am I supposed to be? Suddenly, Moria climbs onto my chest, clinging to my shoulders.

I used to think she did this just to comfort me, but I now realize it’s a protection measure—she’s guarding my heart.

I stand up, sensing something’s changed in the forest. Moria tenses against me.

My children break away without warning, disappearing into their hiding places—behind trees, under rocks, their various sizes not mattering as they vanish from sight within seconds. Then I see her.

Anora appears from behind a snow-covered pine tree, smiling at me.

I furrow my brow, confused. Why on earth would Anora come to visit me here?

She moves closer, her steps barely disturbing the snow beneath her feet.

Moria tenses further in my arms, her legs pressing slightly into my skin.

Anora looks beautiful as always—her long, thick curly hair falling over her shoulders, her expression warm yet calculating, her blue gown hugging her perfectly before flowing onto the snowy forest floor.

The fabric seems to repel the snow and ice, not a single drop of moisture clinging to it.

I notice something about Anora that I’ve never fully acknowledged before. She’s different—has been for a long time. More sure of herself, more confident, more comfortable in her powers. I find myself envying the calm confidence that surrounds her.

“I need to get out more,” she says with a smile, looking around the forest. “But the life of a queen is demanding.” Her words make me think of Tabatha’s message in limbo. Queen of Limbo. Guardian of the realms.

“What on earth are you doing here?” I ask, not bothering to hide my suspicion.

Anora places her hands in front of her, moving toward me with the grace that comes naturally to her. “You haven’t visited the palace, or been to the station on the tourist island in months.”

I shrug. “I’m still processing things.”

“You also haven’t filled your King and Queen in on what you found in limbo,” she says, her voice light but her tone sharp.

I narrow my focus on her. “There’s nothing to tell.

The veil isn’t lifted. I said all there was to say.

The veil will lift when I’m ready.” “Did you know,” Anora says, tilting her head slightly, “while you were in that magical web, I tried to use my dark magic on it, but it just bounced back. It was more powerful than dark magic.” She makes a small “humph” sound.

I shrug again, suddenly realizing that Amari or the others never mentioned that detail to me.

“It got me thinking,” Anora continues, “about when you visited me at the palace to introduce Amari, when I was wondering exactly what you were born for.”

“I know what I am,” I say firmly. “I’m a guardian of realms. But without my magic, I’m guardian of nothing.”

“Oh no,” Anora says, her voice dropping lower.

“You’re much more than that.” She pauses, studying me intently.

“I think you have the power to put me down.” She lifts her hand, holding it in front of her face.

Her fingertips darken, black and green swirls of magic curling from her fingers.

“You’re not just the guardian of limbo,” she says. “You are the guardian of me.”

The magic swirls off her fingers and approaches me. “What the hell are you doing?” I demand, taking a step back.

“Testing a theory,” Anora replies calmly.

The magic swirls around me, and Moria hisses. Suddenly, a pink veil appears around me—visible, tangible—and Anora’s magic bounces back, slamming into her with enough force to nearly knock her off her feet.

I glare at her, my heart racing. “Have you lost your fucking mind?” Anora looks at me, her expression widening with surprise.

She glances down at her fingers, flexing them slightly.

“I’ve been worried for a long time,” she admits, “that the future I saw would become true one day. Humanity and some supernaturals keep trying to take my family from me, and I know I cannot handle it.”

A wicked grin spreads across her face. “You have the power to send me to limbo, to protect the realms.”

“You’re tripping and need to calm down,” I tell her. “Why are you here without Amir?”

“I just wanted to have a little girl chat,” she says, her voice honey-sweet but her manner hard as ice.

She tries to get closer to me but stops when Moria hisses at her again.

Anora smiles at that, seemingly pleased by Moria’s protective instinct.

“I think that’s why the veil hasn’t lifted,” she says thoughtfully.

“It’s not time for you to put me down yet.

Send me to limbo, a permanent prison for my dark magic.

” She starts to pace, her gown dragging smoothly over the snow.

“Or maybe you have the power to siphon this magic out of me so I can live a happy, normal life with Amir and my son.”

“I don’t know, Anora,” I say, feeling increasingly uncomfortable with this conversation.

She stops and fixes a harsh stare on me. “I want you to make a promise to me. Promise me that you’ll put me down when the time comes.” Her voice intensifies. “Because it will come. They are not going to stop until they take one of them from me, and it’s driving me insane.”

“No,” I say firmly. “I won’t hurt you.” Anora’s expression darkens. “You will have to. Because there is darkness that awaits all realms if you don’t.” She looks down at her hands. “Carla, you were born to make difficult decisions. I would rather one of them live than nothing.”

“It won’t come to that,” I insist, though I’m not sure I believe it.

Anora grins, but there’s no happiness in it. “You don’t live with dark magic inside you. You don’t know.” Her expression softens slightly. “But when the time comes, just know, I understand.”

She turns to walk away but stops and looks back at me. “It’s funny. Mother Fate made you look like the darker of the Blackwood witches and me the fairest. But it’s the complete opposite.”

With that, she vanishes—there one moment, gone the next, like she’d never been there at all. Only the slight disturbance in the snow where she stood proves she was real. Moria climbs down from me, her eight eyes focused on where Anora had been standing.

“What the fuck was that?” I whisper, still staring at the empty space.

I stiffen as a realization hits me—I saw the veil. For the first time, I actually saw it, that pink shield that appeared around me when Anora’s magic attacked. Before I can process this, images start flashing in my mind from my children—Amari finally waking up. They’re saying “daddy.”

I smile at that, pushing the unsettling encounter with Anora to the back of my mind for now.

I walk around Moria, heading back toward the cabin.

Snow blankets the path as I move through the clearing and up the stairs.

I open the door and step inside, grateful for the warmth that greets me.

I kick off my boots and pull off my coat, hanging it on the hook by the door.

The patrol cabin has become home these past months, and despite Amari’s excitement about our new place being built, I’ll miss this cozy space.

I head into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee, the rich aroma filling the small room.

While it brews, I take blood from the fridge, warming it slightly before adding it to his coffee mug.

Amari prefers it this way now—a blend of coffee and blood rather than feeding directly from humans.

It’s a sacrifice he’s made for me, though he insists it’s not a sacrifice at all.

With the mug in hand, I jog up the stairs to find Amari finally sitting up in bed, stretching his arms above his head.

He looks beautiful as always—his dark skin radiant, his curls slightly mussed from sleep, his muscular chest visible above the blankets.

He gives me a knowing look and sighs when he notices the mug in my hand. “I told you to stop doing that.”

I walk over to the bed, ignoring his complaint, and hand him the mug. He takes it, then grabs me with his free hand, lifting me into his lap. I giggle and rest my hand on him. He steals a kiss from me before taking a sip of the coffee.

“Perfect as always,” he says, the approval warming me more than any fire could.