Page 9 of Blood from the Marrow
The way Marisol submitted was more exhilarating than Elena’s control. Zuri’s fingers itched to reach out and touch her. To take the chain from Elena’s grasp and feel it digging into her own palm.
When she released Marisol from her kiss, Elena dropped to her knees at Zuri’s parted thighs. Without a word, she held out the second gold ring. It didn’t look so much like a collar anymore. Was it so different from a tight necklace? She’d worn a black velvet choker during her unfortunate grunge phase.
Making a fist in Elena’s hair, Zuri pulled her head back hard and forced her eyes to hers. “Do you have any idea what this is going to cost you?”
Elena strained against her hold as if to show her how much more she could take. Eyes pitch black and fangs on profane display, she offered a smirk dripping with sin. “When will you accept that there’s nothing you want that I won’t give?” She slid her hands up Zuri’s thighs and gripped her hips hard before jerking her closer. “And you’re mine whether or not you wear the symbol on your neck. I’m already on your skin. In your body.”
“You’re a fucking barbarian,” she said, knowing Elena knew how turned on she was. That she’d already agreed. “Kiss me—” Elena’s lips were on hers before she could finish asking. “Don’t make me regret this,” she warned before biting down on Elena’s bottom lip and pulling it hard.
Chapter Five
Elena wasa hundred feet tall when she strolled into the teeming ballroom. The high ceilings and half a dozen chandeliers couldn’t compare to the women on either side of her. Having agreed to wear the dresses she’d brought for them—Marisol’s short and Zuri’s shorter—they were scorching in skintight black leather.
Vegan leather for Marisol’s sake, but Elena had to admit the material of her black leather pants and corset didn’t feel artificial. It was soft and molded to her body. Where the leather was warm, the gold bands on each of her ring fingers were cool. Bands that linked her to the chains she’d have to wait to feel.
Around them, gowns and suits were pale ash against their flame. Beings who’d seen centuries of parties couldn’t tear their eyes away. Elena cut through them, pride pushing against her chest.
“The number of fangs being pointed in my direction…” Zuri, taller than usual in spiked heels, whispered. “Whatever you thought you were going to pay, double it.”
Elena laughed, chain wrapped around her wrist when she tugged her to her side. “You’re only negotiating against yourself,” she replied.
Zuri hid behind the ruse of coercion or self-interest, and Elena let her wear it like armor. Like a disguise. She didn’t care what Zuri pretended. She knew well that Zuri only ever did exactly what she wanted. If she didn’t want this, she wouldn’t be wearing a strapless leather dress that hugged her perfect form, and she sure as hell wouldn’t be wearing a gold ring on her neck.
But Zuri wasn’t wrong about the lust she was inspiring in Sayah’s guests. The want pulsing around the room, growing and swirling and clawing at them, was unmistakable. Elena was the most envied woman in the room and she fucking lived for it.
Instead of a traditional banquet setup, Sayah had created endless seating areas. Scattered chairs, lounges, and settees faced a circular stage at the center of the room. The night would involve some kind of show.
Choosing a black velvet sofa with room for three near the far corner of the room, Elena wrapped her arm around Marisol’s waist and walked in that direction. Despite Marisol having been unusually quiet on the flight to Georgia and silent in the car, she wasn’t as nervous about being in an unfamiliar setting as Elena expected. There was more curiosity than apprehension in her energy. She was unsure… but excited by the unknown rather than scared.
When they approached the sofa, the two male vampires with their human companion stood. They’d given up their seats with muttered apologies before Elena had spoken.
“You’re such a brat,” Zuri said before taking the spot on the left.
Elena suppressed a satisfied grin. She’d gotten to remind Marisol and Zuri of her power without even trying. It was a jolt building on an unbeatable high. “I didn’t do anything,” she protested.
Marisol, eyes gold and green against her dark makeup, shook her head. “Did you send an imperceptible alpha signal?”
Elena chuckled, fangs itching to extend and sink into Marisol’s visible expanse of neck and shoulder and cleavage. Zuri had forced her to promise that she wouldn’t bite until Marisol asked for it, but she was so eager to show her what she was missing. With her affection for Marisol growing by the moment, a bite would only strengthen their bond, only accelerate their emotional intimacy.
But Elena wasn’t in a rush. The most delicious things were earned.
“It’s more like she never turns the damn thing off,” Zuri joked about Elena’s fictitious alpha siren, but her dark brown eyes were gleaming with delight. She loved Elena’s power. Loved how she could control a creature like her with nothing but a look. Or a whispered word. And damn if Elena didn’t love the feeling of surrendering to her.
Elena sat in the middle seat, pulling Marisol onto her lap instead of letting her sit next to her. After a surprised gasp, Marisol didn’t just relax over her like a custom garment. She twisted a little to throw her long, athletic legs over Zuri’s bare thighs. The sight of Zuri’s hands settling possessively over her legs was a rush of desire that made Elena question why they’d ever left their room.
Moments later, Librada and Sofia arrived to stand on either side of the sofa like armed guards. While they waited for whatever was going to happen on the stage, other cartel leaders took turns greeting Elena. They were individual sovereigns, but they signaled their respect by coming to Elena instead of waiting for her to make rounds.
A quarter of the territories were in attendance. The largest and most powerful cartels never missed an opportunity to have their boots licked by the least influential. When the cartel system was created, Elena had voted to establish five regions. The pathetic masses outnumbered the handful who agreed with her.
It was the losers who knew they’d have a better chance at their own fiefdom if there were so many more of them. They’d ended up with one boss per state but big cities like Chicago got their own cartels. New York City was the biggest mess, with each of the five boroughs forming their own cartels. Nearly seventy syndicates shared power peacefully in the end.
Librada leaned over the back of the sofa and whispered in her ear. “Narine has not come.”
Elena had already seen her. Draped in a plunging ultramarine kaftan, Narine wore heavy gold earrings that cascaded over her shoulders like medallions. She’d decided to hold court with the other lesser cartels rather than greet her, but Elena let her have her moment.
Unlike her blood daughters who preferred shadow and service, Narine indulged in attention. Events like these reminded her of her royal days. The youngest daughter of a fourth wife, Narine was born at the height of the Qajar Empire. It had made her a fan of luxuries and less enamored with duty and expectation.
“Don’t be a snitch,” Elena joked, her good mood extending to grace. “I didn’t even know she was going to be here. Let her be.”
