Page 98 of For Love and Blood and Fury

“No, you can’t understand, but what shocks me is that you haven’t even tried,” she replied with quiet disappointment.

All Marisol wanted was for Elena to take a beat and consider whether mass murder was really the only acceptable resolution. But the more Marisol talked, the more she was obviously saying the wrong things. She wanted to reach out to Elena. To quell her anger and speak to her rational side. To tell her how much she cared about her. How she didn’t want to lose her or Zuri, but she didn’t want Elena to take any lives if it could be avoided.

Behind her, the sliding glass door opened again before Marisol could formulate her plea. Before she could figure out a way to tell Elena just how deeply she felt and how far she would go to protect her. To tell her she didn’t have to stain her hands with so much more blood.

Zuri’s presence on the terrace preceded her voice thundering into the humid night. “Enough,” she commanded, voice like a predator’s growl. Like she’d been eavesdropping. Stepping between Elena and Marisol, her gaze flickered back and forth. “Both of you, back the fuck off.”

Elena glared at her. “This does not concern you?—”

“The hell it doesn’t.” Zuri’s stare was unwavering like she was pinning Elena in place with her gaze. Like Zuri hadn’t witnessed how effortless it had been for her to kill two vampires. “It’s no time to be fighting. So Bambi, you go inside and soak in that stupid clawfoot tub or something,” she said like an angry sitcom dad TV before turning to Elena. “And you go tell your merryband of bloodsuckers to take a fucking walk. Murder will still be on the damn menu in a couple of hours.”

“I don’t have time—” Elena started, but Zuri didn’t let her finish.

“Then you better make it,” Zuri interrupted. “Cool off both of you.” The words coupled with her glare was a warning. “I’m not here for this dysfunctional ass shit. You have an hour to get it together so we can talk this shit out, or I’m gone. We fucking talk. We don’t fight.”

She turned her attention to Marisol as if Elena didn’t need to hear what she was going to say. Like she’d already learned the lesson. “Bambi, I don’t make empty threats. You’re either ready to drop this holier than thou bullshit in an hour and resolve this, or this is it for me.”

Swallowing the surprise that had turned into a lump in her throat, Marisol furrowed her brow. She started to walk off the terrace, not because Zuri had told her to, but because she needed to take some emotional inventory. If she was coming off as self-righteous, she was definitely not getting her point across.

Chapter Fifty-Four

Sitting alone on the terrace,Zuri finished her wine. The city lights reflecting off the glassy high-rises around her blurred and faded. It was a product of her unfocused gaze rather than the modest splash of cab in her glass.

If Zuri had to pick the single strongest emotion breaking out of the glob swirling in her gut and cresting into her chest, it would be tired. Was tired an emotion? It felt like a fucking emotion.

It felt like cement in her bones and lead in her heart. Each beat was more constricted than the last. The muscle had fallen into the quicksand she’d been warned about as a kid. Each struggle to pump only hastening the end.

She hadn’t wanted to be here. Hadn’t intended to be back in Elena’s orbit. But there she was anyway. Sitting in a different over-the-top, ostentatious-ass luxury property with the same damn fear crushing her in a choke hold.

Life with Elena would always be like this. As much as she touted her bullshit about vampires being so evolved that they’d moved beyond conflict, they would always be beings defined by violence. Even the first moment of their second life wasn’t a savage bite and bleeding nearly to death, they were stillborn from humanity. And humans never stopped wanting and scheming and climbing and killing.

When witches challenged each other, it was rarely deadly. They were of the elements and the natural order. Life should only be sacrificed when life itself hung in the balance.

Zuri closed her eyes and let the breeze move around her. She needed the clarity the wind granted her. Needed to slow everything down and examine it piece by piece. At the very least, she needed to decide whether she was leaving. Whether she was choosing to stay.

Calling on her grandmother, Zuri imagined her drifting gracefully onto the terrace before immediately unleashing a tirade of questions:Where the hell are you? What are you doing here? Oh, is that teak?

She relaxed at the thought of that, pulse easing into more of a jog than a sprint. Wrestling her attention back to her breath, she lost the image of her grandmother’s gray and white curls. A few moments after the conjured image vanished completely, her grandmother’s real voice resonated inside her skull. Not with words but vibrations. A tuning fork struck against bone. A hum that reverberated in her being.

Grasping for her, Zuri willed herself to remember the warmth of her tight embrace. The comforting scent of her skin mixing with blooming gardenias, the aroma of savory food simmering in pots. Of herbs and soil and oils.

“You’ve gotten fiercer since you last called.” Even in her mind, she heard her grandmother’s knowing chuckle. Could almost see her amused little grin.

“Don’t pretend you don’t see everything,viejita.” Zuri’s chest tightened, but she reminded herself not to harbor a second of sadness. She still had some contact with the person she’d loved most in life. It was enough and she was fortunate.

“I can’t say it surprises me. That vampire always had such a pull on you.”

Zuri imagined her grandmother looking into the condo from the terrace. Imagined her milky brown eyes tracking Elena’s movements inside. Her grandmother had never been afraid of anyone in life or death.

“Yeah, well. I didn’t plan to get tangled up here.” She stopped short of talking about the coven. Of telling her how she’d been feeling unmoored. The coven mess was like a fire in the shed, and she was more worried about the whole house going up in flames.

“Didn’t you?” Her grandmother laughed in earnest and Zuri imagined looking at her from across the kitchen table—Marisol’s kitchen table—small espresso cup to her grandmother’s lips before she sipped. “Oh,pero mija, who is that?”

Zuri regretted having thought of Bambi. She wasn’t the problem right now either. Marisol was just… She searched for words, but none showed up for work.

“Both of them at once?” Her grandmother’s surprise was mixed with unexpected delight. “Good for you,” she decided abruptly. “You know, during the Summer of Love, I myself took more than one lover?—”

Zuri cringed at the wordlover. “If you put that thought in my head, I’m never honoring you with that overpriced rum you like so much.”

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