Page 48 of For Love and Blood and Fury

The doctor squeezed her shoulder, his expression full of pity. “She was brought in unconscious,” he explained, his voice patient. “The impact… It was too severe. She never regainedconsciousness. But I expect the crash was so sudden that she didn’t know it was coming. She wouldn’t have experienced any pain.”

Marisol’s face crumpled, tears streaming down her cheeks. She buried her face in her hands, her body wracked with sobs. The grief was a physical force, a crushing weight that threatened to suffocate her.

Zuri felt it too, the pain of Marisol’s loss echoing through her own body. It was the same gut-wrenching sorrow she’d experienced when her own grandmother—her mentor, her confidante, her soulmate—had passed away. It was the kind of grief that left a gaping hole in your soul, a void that could never be filled.

The scene faded, the hospital room dissolving into a swirling vortex. Zuri gasped, her eyes flying open, her hands trembling. The sun in her face was jarring, and it took her more than a few seconds to be back in her body. To recognize that she was out of Marisol’s memory.

Marisol’s eyes were still closed, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. Zuri watched her, her heart aching. When Marisol opened her eyes, red and glistening and fractured, Zuri knew she should just say she was sorry for her loss. That she should leave and let her have a moment alone.

But Marisol’s fingers around hers were so tight, anchoring her to the spot.

“Bambi…” Zuri’s hoarse voice was her only clue that she’d been crying too.

“Sorry. I didn’t—” Marisol’s voice cracked, her words dissolving into a choked sob.

A sob Zuri caught with her own heart. She wanted to offer comfort, to pull Marisol into her arms and hold her close, to whisper words of solace and understanding. But she couldn’tbring herself to do it. There was danger in that kind of vulnerability and they already had enough problems.

Marisol was still looking at her, eyes so big and screaming for her. “You probably think I’m so useless. I can’t even sit here and let you do your job without falling apart.”

“You don’t know what I think of you,” she said too harshly.

Marisol’s eyes flashed with hurt before she looked down. Eyes trained on her lap when she nodded.

Gritting her teeth, Zuri let go of her hands. “That… didn’t come out the way I meant it.”

Knowing the enormity of her bad idea but unable to stop it, Zuri reached out to tuck a strand of loose hair behind Marisol’s ear. The touch was too gentle. Too reckless.

And then Marisol’s eyes were on her again and her lips were parted and she was leaning in and Zuri wasn’t moving away.

“Is this okay?” Marisol whispered, too close to Zuri’s mouth for her to make a rational choice. For her to remember why it was such a mistake.

Zuri should have said no, but then Marisol’s lips were brushing against hers, soft and tear-salted. And there was nothing Zuri wanted more than to breathe in Marisol’s pain. To absorb it into herself—into a heart more suited to breaking.

Hand sliding to the back of Marisol’s sweat-damp neck, Zuri closed her eyes. Heart racing the moment Marisol’s breath hitched in surprise, Zuri kissed her.

Hesitant, Marisol’s lips moved tentatively against hers. Like she wasn’t quite sure how much pressure to use. Like she was afraid Zuri would pull away if she did it wrong. As if she didn’t understand the power of her allure.

When the tiniest sigh escaped Marisol’s mouth, Zuri’s hand tightened on her neck, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss. She couldn’t get enough of her taste, of the feel of her soft lips against hers, of the promise of her warm body.

It was a dangerous kiss, a rash indulgence. But in that moment, lost in the heat of Marisol’s mouth, she couldn't bring herself to care. She wanted this, needed this, craved the escape.

And then Marisol was pulling away, doubt a dark cloud blotting out the sun. “I’m sorry,” she whispered with her mouth while her eyes begged Zuri to tell her that there was nothing to be sorry about.

Heart pounding so hard it was obstructing her hearing, Zuri swallowed and tried to remember how to speak. “We should go inside,” she answered with the coward’s truth, fighting everything in her body not to kiss her again.

Chapter Thirty

Even if Elenacouldn’t sense Zuri on Marisol’s lips, she would have known about their kiss. The way Marisol was buzzing with the combination of desire for more and nerves about what Zuri might be thinking was intoxicating. A bright fragrance like citrus and salt breeze curled around her.

She ached to divulge that she knew. That she’d known the moment the three of them were together that there was an electric vibration to their proximity. But Zuri was still so angry at her and Marisol was at war with herself—caught between what she wanted and what her society told her was deviant and wrong.

As much as she detested holding back, she couldn’t push—couldn’t exert her influence—or it would crumble before taking shape. Rushing would most certainly backfire.

Disappointed she hadn’t been there to at least witness their kiss, Elena leaned back in Zuri’s hard as shit chair in her microscopic kitchen and watched Marisol. Marisol was standing at the stove, making something with eggs for the seven-hundredth time in a few days. Elena couldn’t remember people ever needing to eat so often.

“You’re making lunch?” Zuri was rubbing the sleep out of one bleary eye.

She’d spent all morning working with Marisol and had slept well into the afternoon when they returned. It was a testament to how hard she was pushing to unlock Marisol’s power, and Elena had to stop herself from acknowledging her effort.

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