Page 71 of For Love and Blood and Fury

Still inside her, they kissed her back, her arms, her neck, and held her close while she caught her breath. When she was ready, Zuri slowly slid out first, then Elena. Keeping her between them, they held Marisol until her weak legs could be trusted. Kissed her softly until her flush eased from bright red to pale pink.

Damn it. Zuri didn’t want to let her go. Either of them. But she needed space to breathe. To make a decision based on something other than impulse and reflex for the first time in weeks.

Chapter Forty-One

The humid Miamiair clung to Elena, thick with the ghosts of gunpowder and salt and the metallic tang of blood. Standing outside what should feel like her home made her ill. Each inhale was a punch to the gut, a visceral reminder of the violence that had stained more than just the asphalt.

Jaw clenched, she forced herself to walk. To put one foot in front of the other even though her entire body screamed in protest. She was whole again, healed, but the memory of her broken body, of her helplessness, lingered like a phantom limb.

The converted warehouse loomed ahead, huge against the starless sky. The empty parking lot signaled it was closed, and the unusual silence made it feel foreign. Like a nightmare version of itself.

It was hers. Every brick, every beam, every inch of this territory. It belonged to her. And yet, as she approached, a wave of unease washed over her, a prickle of awareness that made her skin crawl. Her loss was impossible to ignore here. It pushed in all around her, making it hard to breathe and harder to think.

She scanned the alleyway, gaze sharp, senses on high alert. The memory of the attack, vivid and brutal, flashed in her mind. For a breathless moment, she wished Marisol had nevergiven her memories back. That she could walk here without remembering.

The gunfire, the scent of blood and rage, the vampires, enraged faces, bared fangs. Robert, Lance, Jesus, Olivia. Blood, death, failure. Her failure. Her one duty to keep the ones under her protection safe: devastatingly unfulfilled.

She felt the searing pain in her own hip, the paralysis spreading like wildfire. The agony of losing her progeny, one by one. Swallowing the grief, Elena replaced it with something useful.

Rage, a primal, consuming force, roared to life within her. It burned in her chest and invigorated her muscles. She wanted to scream, to unleash the fury that clawed at her insides, to tear the world apart with her bare hands. And she would. She would find the creatures responsible and make them beg for the relief of death.

She pushed the heavy metal door, but it didn’t budge. Fury, white hot and immediate, roared through Elena’s veins. She shoved again, harder this time. The door rattled in its frame, but refused to yield.

Locked? Disbelief coated her anger. It was absurd. This was her domain. Her sanctuary. Who the fuck had locked her out?

She glanced at the handle, sleek and industrial. It mocked her with its normalcy. Its utter disregard for the chaos thundering inside her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d needed a key. Couldn’t remember a time she hadn’t moved through the world with absolute freedom.

Zuri suspected Librada and Sofia, but she couldn’t believe that they’d betray her. Stomach souring at the prospect of a coup, of learning that she’d been ousted in a power play, she banged on the door.

“Open this fucking door!” she roared, fangs lengthening. She was ready to tear the useless thing off its hinges when there was a faint click.

The door swung outward, revealing the dimly lit interior of the bar. Librada stood in the doorway. Her auburn eyes, sharp and watchful, met Elena’s.

“Mother,” Librada whispered. Fear and shock and too many emotions to untangle wafted from her.

“Mother?” Elena echoed. The term seldomly used was a venomous hiss.

Before Librada could blink, Elena was on her. She slammed Librada against the wall, her hand a vice around her second’s throat.

Librada didn’t resist, didn’t even flinch. Her eyes, wide with a terror that mirrored Elena’s own grief, stared back at her.

“Where is everyone?” Elena asked through gritted teeth, fangs inches from Librada’s jugular. The scent of her fear, sharp and acrid, filled Elena’s nostrils, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough to quell the rage that burned within her.

“They’re looking for you,” Librada choked out, her voice a strained whisper. “Sofia… she heard a rumor… you might be in Atlanta. Everyone’s gone. Searching.”

Elena tightened her grip, her anger a living thing that pulsed in her veins. “So everyone knows Sangre Eterna is weak? That its leader is—was—incapacitated?”

“No,” she gasped, her eyes pleading. “We’ve been careful. No one knows. I swear.”

“Careful?” Elena scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain. “By closing my fucking bar? By locking me out of my own home?” She squeezed her throat tighter, the pressure enough to crush a mortal’s neck. “Why aren’t you out looking for me, then?”

Librada struggled to swallow. “Luna and Loba,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I came to feed them. They’ve barely eaten since you’ve been gone.”

“You’ve betrayed me,” she growled, fangs grazing Librada’s skin. “My most trusted daughter, the one who’s been by my side for centuries, tired of playing a supporting role,” she spit out, the fear burning a hole in her chest.

Librada’s eyes filled with tears, silent trails that streamed down her pale cheeks. She didn’t speak, didn’t defend herself. Instead, she turned her head to one side, exposing the vulnerable flesh of her neck. A silent offering. A plea for forgiveness.

“You were behind it, weren’t you?” Elena hissed, vision blurred and chest heaving. “You orchestrated the attack. You poisoned me. You left me to die. Killed my progeny.”

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