Page 62 of For Love and Blood and Fury

“I—uh...” she stammered, words harder to formulate than they should be, her gaze dropping to the fallen bowl. “I was looking for a toaster.”

She arched her eyebrow, expression skeptical. “A toaster?” she repeated in open amusement. “At six in the morning?”

Marisol’s cheeks flushed, heat creeping up her neck. “I was hungry,” she replied. “And the Pop-Tarts are expired.” She stopped herself on the precipice of rambling.

Zuri’s gaze lingered on her for a beat, expression unreadable. Then she shook her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “Bambi, that’s not food,” she said in English, the exact sentiment Marisol had heard a million times in Spanish. “Come on, let’s get you something with nutritional value.” She moistened her lips, gaze floating over her sore right bicep. “You earned it.”

Getting to her feet after putting the bowl back in the cabinet, Marisol dumped all of her nervous energy into a laugh. “You sound like my grandma every time I asked if we could have pizza for dinner.”

Zuri chuckled as she opened the fridge. “Mine too. Like, okay Grandma, you tell the Italians that pizza isn’t food.” She closed it without taking anything out, slipping into her gardening shoes by the back door instead. “I’ll be right back,” she added without inviting Marisol to follow.

As soon as Zuri was outside, Marisol went to the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth. Warmed up, her body didn’t hurt nearly as much as it first had. It didn’t hurt at all.

Marisol slipped into Elena’s shorts and had the percolator going on the stove when Zuri returned a few minutes later, basket in hand. Without being asked, Marisol rinsed the mangos, warm from being outside, while Zuri started slicing the bright yellow star fruit into little stars.

Bowls of fruit salad in hand, they sat at the table together. Marisol had popped the last chunk of mango in her mouth when Zuri leaned back and crossed one leg over the other.

“I fed you, now tell me what’s actually bothering you,” she demanded, rich, dark brown eyes boring into Marisol.

“What?” Marisol’s nervous laugh bubbled out of her mouth before she could stop it. “Why would anything be bothering me?”

Zuri tipped her head to the side, oozing disappointment. “You’ll fuck me but you won’t talk to me? That’s cute. Can’t say I expected that, but I suppose the best fuckboys don’t advertise?—”

Horrified, Marisol dropped her fork. “Elena said that you were only interested in sex?—”

“Oh, you think Elena speaks for me now?” Her throat bobbed when she laughed. “I didn’t think you were so bad at paying attention, Bambi.”

“That’s not what I meant?—”

“You’re in my home,” Zuri pointed out. “You think I let just anyone be here?”

“Well, it’s not like you had a lot of choice.” She looked away, feeling small and in the way.

“I only do exactly what I want,” Zuri replied, forcing Marisol’s attention back to her with the sharpness of her consonants. When Marisol was holding her gaze again, she added, “My talents are world-renowned, babe, but they don’t include mindreading. Tell me what’s wrong. This shit only works with nauseating amounts of open communication and honesty.”

Unsure of Zuri’s meaning, Marisol confessed. “Everything is suddenly so new,” she admitted, voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know what I’m doing, where I belong... I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Zuri watched her, expression softening a fraction. She reached out, her hand hovering over Marisol’s before shegently rested it on her arm. The touch was warm, reassuring, grounding.

“You’re still you, Bambi,” Zuri said, her voice firm but her eyes kind when they met Marisol’s. “You just happen to know a little more about yourself now.”

“But I’m not.” Marisol shook her head. “I feel like a stranger in my own skin. If I’m not a nurse?—”

“No one should be defined by the place that issues their W-2, okay?” She squeezed her arm. “You’re a brave little bitch and the blood in your body has survived against all odds. We carry that shit in us, you know.” Her words pulled Marisol into ancient, borrowed memories. She hadn’t wanted to think about what Lilith had shown them. It was too big. Too terrible. “And that spirit in you”—she stood and pressed her warm palm to Marisol’s chest—“is full of fight,” she added, a flicker of pride in her eyes.

Marisol stood, gaze cast down at her feet. “But that’s not me. I mean, I still don’t know how to call on my ability. I can’t?—”

“Stop telling yourself you can’t.” Zuri stood next to her, finger hooked under her chin and lifting Marisol’s face back to hers. “You can do any fucking thing you want.”

The message echoed in Marisol’s chest as if Zuri had cast a spell. The powerful words branded on her skin where her skin was pressed to hers.

Zuri leaned closer, her lips hovering inches from Marisol’s, her breath sweet and warm. “You have the power to defy fuckingdeath. How can you not see that you can do anything? All it’s going to take is a little time.”

And then, Zuri’s lips were on hers. Her mouth was fire and honey and Marisol kissed her back like she’d been starving for her. Hands tangled in Zuri’s hair, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss. She wanted to absorb Zuri’s strength, her confidence, her magic. Wanted to take and give. Lose and find.

Zuri’s tongue swept into Marisol’s mouth, tasting her, exploring her, claiming her. Marisol moaned, the sound swallowed by Zuri’s lips. She wanted more, but not like this.

Breaking the kiss but leaving her forehead pressed to Zuri’s, Marisol tried the open communication thing. “I wouldn’t want to be left out,” she confessed, eyes closed and skin hot. “If I walked in on you and Elena without me… I’d feel like crap.”

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