Page 49 of Loving Amari

The void has never felt more empty.

17

AMARI

Bobby parks the SUV in front of the academy and cuts the engine. The darkness feels heavy tonight. I step out into the cool night air, and that’s when I feel it.

Carla.

I press a hand to my chest, confusion twisting through me. I shouldn’t feel her at all when she’s in limbo. The mate bond goes silent there, leaving nothing but emptiness where she should be. It’s one of the worst parts of her being gone, that hollow absence that makes me feel like I’m missing a vital organ. But right now, I feel her clear as day. And she’s hurting.

Pain radiates through the bond, sharp and urgent. Not physical just pain exactly, but something deeper. Fear. Rage. Desperation.

Bobby shuts the passenger door, the enclosure tucked under his arm. He looks at me across the hood, his expression shifting from casual to concerned. “You good?”

“Fine.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. “Let’s get inside.”

I round the SUV, my vampire senses on high alert, and that’s when I see them. Carla’s spider children emerging from the forest. Not just a few. All of them. Their massive formsskitter between the trees, pink magic glowing faintly around them as they take positions around the academy perimeter. I spot Moria’s distinctive markings. Kemnebi moves with purpose toward the north wall.

Bobby follows my gaze, his eyebrows rising. “Maybe this means Carla’s back?”

“No.” I shake my head, watching more spiders appear from the darkness. They’re arranging themselves in a pattern I recognize from military formations. “She’s not back. The bond only works when she’s in the living, but she’s not here. But the question is why are they all here?”

I want to approach them, to demand answers through the images they send. But something stops me. Now. Whatever’s happening, we need to be inside those walls.

We enter the academy, and everything seems normal. Too normal. The kind of quiet that makes my fangs ache to descend. Dimly lit hallways. Damon and Selene move through the corridor on patrol, their movements relaxed but alert. They nod as we pass, nothing in their demeanor suggesting anything’s wrong.

Kade and Leah check the dormitory wing, Kade’s blonde braids swinging as she peers into darkened rooms. Just another night watching over the sleeping children.

Bobby adjusts the enclosure under his arm. “Feels off.”

“Yeah.” I keep my voice low as we climb the stairs toward Angie’s workroom.

“Stay alert.”

I pause at the top of the stairs when I see him.

Torin. Standing at the edge of the hallway where it branches toward the older students’ dormitories. His small frame is silhouetted against the dim emergency lighting, unnaturally still.

“What’s he doing up?” Bobby whispers beside me.

I start toward the boy, my footsteps silent on the carpet runner. “Torin?”

He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t turn. Just stands there, facing away from us. His breathing is wrong. Too steady. Too controlled for a child who should be startled by voices in the night.

I move closer. “Torin?”

He keeps moving then, his steps quickening down the hallway. But there’s something mechanical about the movement, like a puppet on strings. His gait is too stiff, his arms hanging at unnatural angles.

“Torin?” I call again, louder this time.

He stops. The hallway seems to hold its breath. Then slowly, too slowly, he turns. His sandy locs fall across his face, and when he looks up, his green eyes are gone. Replaced by an unnatural blue glow that makes every instinct screamwrong.

“Amari Al-Baqar?” His voice comes out wrong, layered with something malevolent. It’s Torin’s young voice, but underneath it runs something old. Something that predates this world. “Die!”

He partially shifts in a blur of motion I barely track. Sandy locs whip forward as those fake green eyes flash one last time before fully committing to blue. Claws extend from his small hands, each one sharp enough to tear through flesh. Canines lengthen, dropping past his bottom lip. For a such a young wolf pup, the transformation is remarkably controlled. Remarkably practiced.

He leaps with a wolf shifter’s speed, going straight for my throat.