Page 40 of Blood from the Marrow
“Jesus,” Zuri whispered, eyes wide like they always were when she remembered who the hell Marisol was.
“You’re not going to tell me where I can and can’t go. And you’re not going to leave me behind,” she said with a voice that shattered at the end.
Zuri looked at her with all the love one person could feel for another. She stepped into her space and Marisol reflexively curled her iridescent wings around her.
“Okay, Bambi. Potential suicide mission for both of us then,” Zuri whispered against her lips. “I’m not leaving you.”
Marisol didn’t wait. She crashed into Zuri, pouring every ounce of her fear and pain and relief into their kiss. Zuri’s mouth was heat and safety and home, and Marisol clung to her like the world might split open if she let go.
Zuri kissed her back, deep and unhurried. She grabbed fistfuls of Marisol’s shirt, keeping her tethered to the ground when all she wanted to do was float away.
Marisol lost herself in the electric press of Zuri’s lips, the strength of her arms, the fevered intoxicating rush of being seen and chosen, over and over, even when loving meant risking everything.
All she needed was the press of Elena’s body at her back. Her arms encircling her as she kissed the back of her neck. Locked between Elena and Zuri was the only time Marisol felt safe. Felt belonging at her very core.
Elena’s absence was heavy and cold, but Marisol found hope in the way Zuri held her tight. Hope that Elena would come back to them. That the frayed strands of their bond would be mended. Restored. And when hope was all she had, she made sure it was enough.
Chapter Eighteen
Time had gottenstrange to Elena. She slept sometimes, ate never, and sat at her desk waiting always. Waiting for what, she was no longer sure. But she felt it getting closer. Saw it in her periphery. An animal stalking her in the shadows waiting to pounce. Waiting to give her the end she deserved.
Days bled into nights bled into days. She faced east, eyes closed, and wondered why she hadn’t chosen an office with a window. If she hadn’t picked a room at the center of the penthouse, she’d feel the sunrise on her skin. Maybe she’d open a window if she had one. Let the natural order of things drain her energy until there was no more to take.
Would it feel like ceasing to exist, or would the sun and salt make her feel like going back home? To return to the time before she made so many irreversible mistakes. Her sore chest throbbed. A time before she ruined so many lives. Before she could destroy more.
It was hard to believe that Elena had once felt so connected to her body. That she’d labored under the intoxicating illusion of control. Of blind confidence in her ability to know everything around her. Everyone around her.
For days innumerable, she’d been watching herself from somewhere above a body that felt foreign. Borrowed. Stolen. She’d known so many lovers much better than she knew herself now.
Elena’s fingers curled into fists. She couldn’t stop the images of Marisol and Zuri from flashing in her undisciplined mind. To see their eyes, wide and earnest and shining with all the love she didn’t deserve. Love she could never deserve when all she’d brought to their lives was danger.
Tired, Elena stood from her desk. The moment she moved, Luna and Loba stirred from where they’d been sleeping at her feet. The only comfort she hadn’t managed to push away was the dogs. Even now, she was too weak not to be selfish.
Dutifully, they followed Elena to the door. She crouched down to hug them. But she couldn’t give them more than a moment before emotion, useless and barbed, burned in her eyes and chest and the soul she didn’t really think remained until it collected more gouges in the flimsy fabric.
She couldn’t bear to look at the members of her cartel. The ones who refused to leave the penthouse. She couldn’t think about the greater number Librada alleged was gathered around the city awaiting a command. Anticipating a clarion call that was never coming.
Deflecting the unwarranted hope bombarding her while she walked as if blocking it would do anything to mitigate her self-hatred, Elena opened the door to a bedroom that once felt like hers. Two women whom she’d once deluded herself into believing she deserved walked out of the closet.
It was the moment Elena had been waiting for. The one she’d made herself hope would come.
And yet. The sight of Marisol and Zuri carrying luggage was debilitating. The moment when they stopped and stared at her, a living nightmare.
Their eyes on her were a bullet to the sternum—sharp, shattering, everything inside her failing at once. Her body went rigid, unsteady heart thundering against weak ribs. The pain worse than any physical projectile to ever shred her body.
This was it. She was hollowed out, scooped empty by the realization that hope was about to walk away from her. Panic crawled up her throat, acidic and unrelenting, making it impossible to breathe.
This was what she’d wanted, but she still had to wrestle her desire to beg. To reach for them. To say something that would make them stay, but the words were trapped in her clenched teeth.
She wanted to run. Either toward them or away from herself, Elena couldn’t tell. But the instinct burned in her muscles while she stood frozen. Rooted to the floor by grief and guilt and regret, she waited for what light remained to abandon her to the darkness she’d created.
This was right, she reminded herself while she tried to get her body to move. If Elena’s wealth was worth anything, it was her ability to spare no expense in keeping them safe. Keeping them out of her destructive orbit with new identities and an Alaskan home she would turn into a bunker. If any vampire was determined to aid her, they could do it by protecting Elena and Marisol in a way she could not.
This was it, she repeated. And it was for the best. Elena’s selfish desires couldn’t matter now. Not when the price for what she wanted was so high.
“Oh, shit.” Zuri turned to Marisol as if Elena weren’t standing in the doorway. “What do you think Venice is like in October?” Her acting was so over the top, Elena was immediately ejected from her morbid thoughts.
Marisol hesitated, but her stumble only lasted a moment before she picked up Zuri’s strange game. “Northern Italy inautumn?” Her acting was worse than Zuri’s. “I’m going to say sunny days and cool nights? I’ve never been to Europe.”
