Page 68 of Blood from the Marrow
“We must be open to all possibilities.” Elena ran her thumb over the material of Zuri’s shirt until her cortisol dropped. “Sayah and her daughters make for an elite force. Many battles have been won by small forces, even when they’ve faced astronomical odds. I can’t continue to discount every possibility. If it comes to a small skirmish, we may be outnumbered. Sayah has already proven that she loves an ambush. I don’t expect her to fight fairly. To send terms and meet me on a battleground.”
“Who says we’re outnumbered?” The fire in Zuri’s dark eyes burned hot enough to melt bones. “Pretty sure we survived her ass once with only the people in this room.”
Elena didn’t say that Narine’s sacrifice and the surprise of Marisol’s powers had turned the tide. Things they no longer had.
“And this time, we have three of me and a hell of a lot more angels. If I were Sayah, I’d rethink every shitty ass decision I’dever made in my fucking life, and wave a white flag the size of a freight train.”
Zuri’s energy rippled through them. It slithered into the determined set in Librada’s jaw and the thirst for blood in Sofia’s eyes. The only one who wasn’t ready to run screaming into battle was Marisol. Elena doubted she’d ever have a taste for vengeance.
“And you have something she’ll likely never have,” Marisol added, voice a soft contrast to Zuri’s booming. “People who are choosing to stand by your side. I don’t know anything about fighting, but I can’t imagine the best armies are full of people afraid of their leader.”
Elena nodded. It was a good point and true enough.
When a soft knock interrupted the charged silence, Elena was grateful for the distraction. Margot appeared in the doorway, her blue eyes darting nervously between the assembled group.
“The blood has arrived,” she announced. “Diego’s shipment, plus I acquired additional reserves from three local suppliers. Enough for everyone. I hope that is to your liking.”
Lib started for the petite vampire. Margot instinctively stepped back. She looked so much like a frightened rabbit, Elena wondered why she’d ever turned.
“Tell everyone we’re gathering in the main dining hall in an hour,” Elena decided, plan forming as she spoke. “A welcoming dinner for our new allies.”
Margot looked freshly alarmed. “All of them? Together?”
“Every single vampire on the grounds,” Elena confirmed. They needed to start acting like a unified force instead of a collection of rival cartels sharing the same address. As in their first lives, communal meals were a quick way to build bonds. Or the quickest way to conflict. They were about to find out which.
“I’m going to shower then,” Zuri said when it was just the three of them. Her irritation still spiked every word. She coated so many of her uncomfortable emotions—fear, worry, grief—in anger to make it more palatable. “If I have to sit in a room full of vampires drinking blood, I’m looking hot and getting drunk.”
When Zuri sauntered away to the bathroom, Elena had half a mind to follow, but there was something she needed to do first. Something she should have done the moment they arrived.
“Why don’t we join her?” Marisol asked when she slipped her hand in Elena’s.
Elena tugged Marisol in and held her close. Marisol had seen so much darkness. So much cruelty and violence. But her compassion refused to break. Without a word, Elena cupped Marisol’s jaw, her thumb brushing over the faint freckles scattered across her smooth skin.
When Elena kissed her, it wasn’t the desperate hunger she so often felt, but something softer. It was a way to express gratitude she didn’t know the words for in any language. To thank her for the anchor in storm-tossed seas. The light in the dark. The full breath she could finally take.
Elena lingered, letting herself savor the warmth that only Marisol could give her, before pulling back just enough to whisper against her lips, “I’ll be back.”
Dazed and skin flushed, Marisol managed a weak, “Okay,” and watched Elena leave.
Outside, the ocean breeze made the early evening cool. While Elena walked to the ruins of Narine’s rose garden, she inhaled the salt and brine of the sea. It was always taunting her, the sea. A witness to every terrible moment in her life. Mocking her when she lost Catalina. When she nearly died as a stowaway. When she learned of her parents’ death. Then her blood mother, her sons. Death and salt and sea were intertwined in her memory.She couldn’t rip it out without unfastening the tapestry of who she was. What she was.
Elena stopped in front of the healthiest looking bush. Six-feet tall and half as wide, it was more yellow than green. She thought about the constant care Narine had given her roses. She’d lavished them with attention and in just a few weeks of her absence, they’d withered.
It was impossible to miss the Earth’s message. To misinterpret the constant. Everything, no matter how deeply loved, died from neglect.
From her pocket she pulled the pin Narine had given her lifetimes ago. The first birthday gift after Elena had adopted her as her own. Not just a member of her nest, but daughter. As true in her heart as Sofia and Librada were.
On her knees in front of the bush, Elena looked down at the pin. Her chest tightened when she remembered the smile on Narine’s face. The pride she’d felt when she recounted the history of the gold and enamel piece. Shaped like a star encrusted with rubies, the medallion at the center was a lion resting in front of the rising sun. It was an honor bestowed on those who served the Qajar dynasty with distinction, and Narine had loved it dearly.
Elena curled her fingers around it, the points digging into her palm as her chest ached. She closed her eyes, but it didn’t stop the tears from forming. From spilling. From being the salt that stung.
How had it gone so wrong? Losing Narine’s faith. Losing Felix’s. How had she been so blind? Was it naive to have expected love and loyalty? Had she been neglectful? The thought twisted in her gut like a blade, cutting deeper with every answerless question.
She’d never know how she lost them, and that made her as sick as the grief that tormented her. There would never bea chance to set things right. To hold them close even if they thrashed.
With a deep breath, Elena dug into the dry soil with her hands, the sensation raw and grounding. The coarse dirt scraped against her palms and dug into her fingernails like it wanted to pull her in. She dug faster, moving around flaking roots and hitting rocks she ripped out of the ground.
Elena dug. She knew she looked frantic, elbow-deep in dirt and pushing deeper. Her chest ached. Her tears watered the soil so dry it looked like ash. Felt like the empty remnants of life gone.
