Page 38 of Blood from the Marrow
When the massive tree was finished and the rain stopped and the wind softened into a gentle breeze, Zuri dropped to her kneesagain. This time in intentional reverence, her blood-streaked palm pressed to one of the many exposed roots curving out of the ground like a giant’s huge shoulders.
She thanked her grandmother and when the scent of gardenias curled around her, she thanked Marisol’s grandmother too.
“So I guess that’s how you consecrate some mother-fucking ground,” Candela said with a rush, clapping her hands before looking down at the tattoo that had already healed bright red on her skin.
Zuri stood, body sore like she’d been hit by multiple trucks. She looked at her forearm, skin smooth where it had absorbed the ink like it had been there forever. Like it was always meant to be there.
Breathless, Avani threw her arms around Candela before roping Zuri into a crushing hug. “We really did it,” she panted.
We did, Zuri thought but couldn’t speak. She wished they had more time. More space to understand the impact of being a coven of three with three relics instead of one. To understand their magic as a trio. Fuck, she’d just made it rain—what did that mean?
Zuri let the warmth of her coven sisters sink into her bones just for a moment. But the truth kicked her in the gut as if to remind her that she had to leave what they’d just breathed to life. She was leaving for Venice that night, and her sisters couldn’t come with her without setting the vampire on edge. If a bunch of vampires turned up at her door, she wouldn’t roll out the red carpet either.
She’d tell them about Venice before they left. After she’d floated the idea of building a tiny coven house under the protection of the wide canopy of their ceiba tree.
“What do you say?” Candela grinned. The small spark sitting on her middle finger danced before she whipped it aroundherself like an incendiary lash. “Should we test this shit out by fucking up some vampires?”
Avani laughed. The wind picked up into a targeted gust, feeding oxygen to Del’s fire. There was no doubt in Zuri’s mind that they’d be ready to defend Elena when the time came. That she’d have a chance at protecting her.
Zuri straightened, vengeance replacing fear. Behind her, thunder rumbled.
Chapter Seventeen
Drainedafter having accommodated thirty people in the bayside mansion that Elena had obviously never lived in, Marisol dragged herself into the penthouse after sunset. She’d been a little surprised that they’d only lost two families, but she was sure it had more to do with indoor plumbing and actual beds than a willingness to help Elena.
Judith had all but told her she’d only stayed to convince the others not to sacrifice themselves for the potential of hope. Marisol hadn’t disagreed. She’d reminded those who would listen that they had a lot to consider. That maybe a shot at a life actually lived was better than a stunted one endured while constantly running. Was there really any safety in that?
Marisol trudged down the hall like each leg was cased in cement. She’d barely been living before she met Elena, but at least she’d had hot showers and a job and friends—well, colleagues she enjoyed, anyway. The point remained. She was happier in mortal peril as long as she was with the women she loved. The women who loved her.
Marisol laughed to herself at the height of her delirium. She heard Zuri in her mind saying:Jesus, Bambi, mortal fucking peril? You should get into motivation speaking.
As soon as she stepped into the sprawling main living space, Marisol felt like there’d been a shift in the scores of vampires just waiting around. They were still just kind of sitting there—robots waiting for activation codes or whatever the heck Zuri called them—but there was a noticeable lift in the air.
Could it be hope? Had Elena come out of her office? Had she said something to them?
Energized, Marisol had to resist sprinting to the bedroom. She trusted the people she’d been sharing space with for the last couple of weeks, but she couldn’t help thinking about a predator’s instinct to chase things that ran.
When she pushed open the door to the bedroom, she was greeted by an enormous and perfectly made bed. A bed that had been cold and empty without Elena in it. Before she could feel sorry for herself, a thud sounded in the closet, followed by a string of Spanish curses. Zuri.
One of Elena’s leather duffle bags sat on the upholstered bench at the center of the walk-in closet, Zuri nearby, picked a pair of boots off the floor.
“What are you doing?” Marisol chuckled, the sight of Zuri easing her tense muscles and loosening the sour knot in her stomach. “If you’re going to stress-organize, you should at least pick a place that doesn’t already look like a Macy’s.”
Zuri turned her attention toward her, dark brown eyes so rich, all Marisol wanted to do was wrap herself in her warmth. Escape into the comfort of Zuri’s arms and not go back out there. Not ever. But she couldn’t indulge the weakness. If her grip slipped on what she had, she might never gather another ounce of strength again.
“How’d it go at the house?” Zuri strode toward her, reaching for her hip and pulling her in.
Face nuzzled in the crook of Zuri’s neck, she took a deep, greedy breath. She inhaled every drop of her scent. Zuri wasearth and spice and a magic that had nothing to do with her powers.
“It was fine. This Judith?—”
Marisol’s fatigued brain belatedly alerted her to the flash of ink that hadn’t been there before. She pulled away, taking Zuri’s wrist and turning her forearm over to reveal a red geometric tattoo of interlocking triangles.
“What the heck is this?” Marisol leaned in closer, inspecting the ink that didn’t look at all fresh.
“What do you mean?” Zuri couldn’t play dumb if she’d had a degree from Juilliard.
Marisol flicked her gaze up at her.
