Page 40 of For Love and Blood and Fury

When Zuri pulled away, knocking her back to the present and pain, Elena was breathless. “Baby?—”

“Don’t,” Zuri warned, eyes dark and glistening with the same emotion ravaging Elena’s chest.

Elana tried to stand, but pain seized her muscles, sending her back down. “We?—”

“No.” Zuri was resolute despite the truth, stark and undeniable, hanging between them. “I’m serious, Elena. I shared that so you would wake the fuck up and realize that I have nothing to do with this.” She gestured at Elena’s body. “And the fact that I even had to do that at all is?—”

“I know,” Elena admitted. “I’m sorry.” The words felt foreign on her tongue, but the raw vulnerability in Zuri’s eyes stripped away her defenses, leaving her exposed and off balance.

Elena stared at her, reeling. In Zuri’s memories, the depth of her lingering feelings had slammed into Elena with the force of a wrecking ball. She’d convinced herself that Zuri had moved on, that time had scabbed over the wounds Elena had left on her heart. But she’d been wrong. So very wrong.

Zuri closed her eyes, her sigh heavy with exhaustion. When she opened them again, the tempest had subsided, replaced by the familiar shield of controlled emotions. Elena felt a pang of loss, wishing she could will their connection back, but it was gone and Elena was sure she hadn’t deserved it in the first place.

It had been so long since Elena had felt afraid. She’d forgotten the contours of it. Forgotten the cold, sickening pit it opened in her gut. “I’ve never been like this. Weak. Vulnerable. Dependent.”

Zuri’s gaze softened, a flicker of empathy in her dark eyes. She didn’t speak, but she sat down again.

“Do you think you can help Marisol?” Elena asked, her voice laced with a desperation she couldn’t conceal. “Help her understand her power? I need to heal, Zuri. I need to get back to myself. Or I’ll lose everything. And that’s worse than death.”

Zuri hesitated, her gaze drifting towards the bed where Marisol slept. “I don’t know. I’ve never encountered anyone like her before.” After a long time, she said, “I’ll try.”

Elena nodded, a wave of gratitude washing over her. It was a small hope, a fragile lifeline in a sea of uncertainty. But it was all she had. And without Zuri and Marisol, she’d have nothing.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Weak sunlight streamedthrough the small gaps in the blue tarp covering the windows. As soon as it touched Marisol’s face, she turned to her other side, running away from the intrusion.

It was one sluggish heartbeat before her eyes sprang open. Shame, hot and suffocating, flooded her system as soon as she registered her surroundings. She’d fallen asleep in Zuri’s bed.

Alone and disoriented and drowning in embarrassment, Marisol cringed with her whole body. It hadn’t been a fever dream. She’d actually made a fool of herself in front of two women who’d probably never looked stupid in their lives.

Deciding that she might as well deal with reality head on, she rolled out of Zuri’s shockingly comfortable bed. A bed in which she’d slept like an actual corpse. A bed that Zuri hadn’t slept in because she was on the floor using the pillow and blanket combo. A combo that Marisol knew sucked and was nearly impossible to rest on.

In the chair a few feet from Zuri, Elena’s head was tipped back and her arms were crossed over her chest. They’d both been uncomfortable all night while she’d slept in a huge bed by herself like the freaking Princess of Monaco.

Swallowing down the lump in her throat, Marisol tiptoed to the kitchen. She needed to be useful. To make up for having subjected these strangers to the mess inside her head. She shouldn’t be here at all, she decided. She was the one-too-many. If Elena and Zuri were alone, there was no doubt they’d be sharing a bed.

In the fridge, there was almost nothing other than condiments and a few things Zuri had brought in from her greenhouse. Remembering the chickens outside, Marisol prepared the percolator for Cuban espresso and set it on the very edge of the burner on the stove.

The old school coffee maker reminded her of her grandmother. Of how proud Marisol had been when her grandmother asked her to makecafecitofor guests when she was a kid. She’d always make a big deal about how Marisol made it even better than she did. It was a lie, but it always made Marisol feel like a rockstar.

What she wouldn’t give to go back to such simple times. To the days of feeling like she knew exactly where she belonged. When there was nothing to be afraid of except pop quizzes and whether she’d make the swim team.

She slipped out the back door, unprepared for the bright morning. With Zuri’s gorgeous windows covered, it was like they were living in a cave. As if the situation wasn’t already disorienting enough, now her internal clock didn’t even know the time.

As soon as she arrived at the huge, shaded coop near the house, Marisol found the fault in her plan. What the hell did she know about picking eggs? What if she took one with a chick in it? The notion was horrifying and made Marisol consider going from vegetarian to full vegan.

She’d left her dead cell phone inside the house and couldn’t even consult the internet for help. So freaking useless. She shuther eyes tight and decided maybe she could feed the chickens, since she couldn’t feed her host.

In the little barn, she was relieved to find the chicken feed that Zuri apparently made herself. She’d dosomethingat least.

“Good morning, ladies,” Marisol said because she was losing her mind. As soon as she opened the door, a handful of little brown hens wandered out. The rest stayed in their roosts.

Talking to them in a soft, low voice so they wouldn’t be scared of her, she cleaned out their water containers before refilling them. She was outside and tossing handfuls of feed to the hens pecking at the ground a few feet from the coop when Zuri’s voice made her jump.

“Oh, shit! You let them out!” Zuri was rushing toward her in a blur.

Heart leaping into her throat, Marisol dropped the feed on the ground and ran toward the hens who predictably squawked and fled from her. “I’m sorry! I thought?—”

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