Page 103 of Blood from the Marrow
So much pain. So much blood to answer for blood. Where did it end? How could it end if not with another death? And who here would seek to avenge her death? Would she have to end every being who’d crossed the wall with Sayah? And who would come collect the debt of their lives from her?
Elena was debating how mercy could exist in a world like this, but she needed more time. Needed a way to keep Sayah contained while she made a rational choice.
“I’m not going to let you torture me,” Sayah said, and then she was lunging too fast for anyone’s fatigued reaction.
Pain shot through Elena’s spine, and she had the strangest sensation of falling. It all turned black before she hit the ground. And then there was nothing.
Chapter Forty-Two
A blood-curdling crunchand the sickening sound of rending flesh echoed in Marisol’s mind. She’d come to know the sound so well over the last hour. Knew it so well, she was sure she might never get it to stop playing on a loop in her mind. But this time when she heard it, there was complete stillness preceding it.
Brain unable to make sense of what she was seeing, Marisol stared. Stared while Elena seemed to fall in slow motion. But that wasn’t right. Why would Elena choose the middle of the courtyard to lie down?
A scream, high-pitched and agonized, knocked Marisol’s surroundings back into normal speed. No, fast-forward. Everything raced around her in a blur. Sofia and Librada lunged for Sayah at the same time. Sayah, whose mouth was dripping blood. Her face distorted as if Marisol was suddenly looking at Sayah’s reflection in a funhouse mirror.
Sayah’s mouth appeared huge, way out of proportion with her head. And the blood that poured out did so in buckets. A waterfall of blood, far too much for anyone to hold in their mouth. And then Sayah’s eyes lost focus before she fell, and Librada was standing on top of her while Sofia went at her throat like a lion savaging prey.
Sounds happened around Marisol, but she couldn’t catch more than a syllable or a breath. It wasn’t enough to make sense of what was happening. She was floating in her body, or maybe outside of it; she couldn’t tell.
Clara darted off toward Elena, which was weird, but Marisol didn’t realize how weird until Zuri started running from another direction. She was still trying to figure out where everyone was going when Zuri turned back to her, panic in her eyes. She didn’t slow down while she mouthed, “She killed her.”
It all snapped together too fast. “Elena!” Marisol screamed uselessly.
Running toward Zuri, Marisol couldn’t feel her legs. It was like her body would give her mind back but only at the cost of something else. At the cost of blood reaching her extremities. She pushed faster, momentum carrying her forward when conscious effort failed.
When she reached Elena, she was already cold and unmoving. Kneeling next to Zuri in the mud, Marisol reached for her power. It was wet kindling that didn’t want to ignite, but she muscled her way beyond her limitations and willed her powers to respond.
Pushing Elena’s hair away from her face, Marisol couldn’t figure out what was wrong. She looked normal. Pale and abnormally still, even for her, but more like she was sleeping than anything else. And then Marisol’s broken mind allowed her to register the pool of blood drenched into the mud behind her head. She couldn’t see it, but she could smell it. Could feel it soaking into what had once been soft, green grass before it was scorched. Before angry feet and hands had made gouges in it.
Sound continued around her, but Marisol only heard it as a hum. She cupped Elena’s cheek and whispered, “Wake up.”
Elena didn’t move. Marisol frowned.
“Elena,” Marisol repeated more forcefully. “Wake up!”
And then Zuri’s hand was on Marisol’s shoulder, her expression reminiscent of a gleaming skyscraper reduced to dust and rubble. It wasn’t the tears pouring from Zuri like a broken dam that made all the sound around Marisol come rushing in at once, or the agony in her own scream that burned her throat raw. It wasn’t Librada falling over Elena’s still body like she might love her back to life that made Marisol understand. It was Sofia’s blood-smeared face. The flash of Sofia’s fangs in the moonlight before she took off in a run toward the group of surrendered vampires. The vengeance in her face.
“Elena,” Marisol gasped before straddling her hips.
No. Elena was not dead. She would not accept that.
“Come on, baby.” Marisol’s voice trembled, but her hands were sure when she cupped the back of Elena’s neck and felt the heart-rending, gaping wound. She refused to think about the severity of the injury. People were brought back to life at the hospital all the time.
One hand behind Elena’s neck and the other pressed to the devastating stillness of her chest, Marisol closed her eyes. She turned her attention inward to the faint hum of electricity trying to gather steam. Gritting her teeth, she willed the power to her fingertips. Willed every drop of magic in her blood to respond.
The bleeding stopped moments before the wound filled under Marisol’s touch. Bone then muscle the skin. It stitched itself together while Marisol poured herself into the act of healing. She intended to leave nothing in reserve. The chaotic din of noise around her faded again, but this time her ability to hold herself upright went with it. Dizzy and disoriented, she keeled to the side. It was only Zuri’s body at her side that kept her from falling.
“She’s gone,” Zuri said in a sob, tucking herself under Marisol’s wing. “There’s no healing from that?—”
“No.” Marisol stiffened, forcing herself back to her work despite the intense nausea and dizziness. “I just need?—”
Clara was on her other side, wings more translucent than solid. They’d already healed so many, but what did that matter when she was failing the person she needed to save?
With Elena’s neck repaired, Marisol and Clara put their hands square on Elena’s chest. Maybe if they created something like a defibrillator, that would bring her back. Elena hadn’t been down that long. Mere minutes. She once saw someone come back after half an hour of cardiac arrest.
“Keep your eyes on me,” Clara said, tone gentle when she covered Marisol’s hands over Elena’s chest. “It will be easier to focus if you’re not thinking about her.”
It was only when she looked up at Clara that Marisol realized her vision was blurring. That she could barely feel her extremities.
