For Love and Blood and Fury (Lilith’s Legacy #1)

Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

The small wooden table in Zuri’s kitchen usually sat two. Marisol knew that because of its size. And because only two chairs matched the simple round table. And because Zuri told her so while grabbing a folding plastic chair from a shed outside.

Marisol shifted her weight between her bare feet, desperate to feel less in the way. “Can I grab us something to drink?”

“There is water in the fridge,” Zuri replied, her back to Marisol while she chopped fresh herbs on a worn cutting board. “Or there are a few bottles of red in the pantry.” Without looking at her, she gestured toward a small door in the tight kitchen.

Marisol hesitated, her gaze lingering on Zuri’s back. The tank top she was wearing clung to her curves, accentuating her full hips and the gentle sway of her body as she moved. All three of them had used the same shower gel, but it smelled different on Zuri’s skin. Richer, somehow.

Despite herself, Marisol’s cheeks warmed, heat creeping up from her chest and over her throat. She traced Zuri’s shoulders with her gaze. Followed the smooth curve of her waist, and the way her dark curls danced around her neck as she worked.

Averting her eyes, Marisol decided that alcohol was a dangerous choice. Her brain was already scattered. She went to the fridge and pulled out a pitcher with a built-in filter.

What the hell am I doing? She let the cold air of the mostly empty fridge blast her back to her senses.

It was insane. In the span of a few days, fundamental things she knew to be true had been shattered. She’d discovered she was some kind of witch, made out with a vampire, and nearly been killed by another one.

The last thing she should be doing was harboring an attraction to a woman who could make a man relive his worst nightmare with a touch. A woman more intimidating than an actual fucking vampire. A vampire that dripped sex and confidence in a way Marisol could never match, she decided with a deflating ego.

Marisol shook her head, trying to clear the fog of confusion and desire that clouded her thoughts. She needed to focus. She needed to understand what was happening, figure out her place in a world she hadn’t known existed.

After she filled three small water glasses because it felt weird to leave Elena out, Marisol leaned against the butcher block counter. She watched Zuri crack brown eggs into a bowl, her movements fluid and graceful. She whisked the rich orange yolks with a practiced hand.

While she considered her incredibly inappropriate attraction, Marisol decided that her brain might be shielding her from shock. There was no other reason she’d be thinking about Zuri and Elena like this while a homicidal maniac might be advancing toward them. He’d seen Marisol’s power. Would he be after her, too? She should think about surviving, not?—

“Do something useful, Bambi, and pass me the salt.” Zuri’s dark eyes landed on her for the briefest moment. They were a warm hand slithering between Marisol’s thighs, effortlessly parting them.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

“My name is?—”

“I know what it is.” Zuri smirked before clearing her throat. “But who doesn’t like a nickname?”

Feeling bold and borrowing the power of the women she was sharing space with, Marisol straightened. “ Friends call me Sol.”

Zuri poured the egg, herb, and mushroom mixture into a pan and took her time washing her hands. Marisol’s heart raced harder every second that passed.

When she turned to her, Zuri’s expression was dark and unreadable. But the way she craned her head forward just a little, just enough to highlight the cleavage visible from her V-neck, made Marisol stop breathing.

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re not…” She dropped her gaze to Marisol’s lips before floating back to her eyes. “Friends.”

Heart caught in a chaotic dance of desire and uncertainty, Marisol drifted toward her. Images of Zuri straddling Elena’s lap made her pulse thrum, drawing Marisol closer. Attention fixed on Zuri’s lips, she wondered what would have happened if she’d slipped in behind Zuri. If she’d turned her head toward Zuri and kissed her with Elena’s mouth still on her chest.

Desire roared in her body, making her reckless. Could she really believe Elena? That she wasn’t under some kind of spell? If someone would have told her last week that the strangest thing to happen to her was not being attracted to two women at once—women who had not only dated in the past, but had obvious lingering feelings for each other—she wouldn’t have believed it.

Pulse rattling against her ribcage, Marisol wanted to know whether Zuri really was attracted to her too. Whether she’d ever taste her full lips the way she had Elena’s. Whether this much decadence and indulgence was possible.

And then Zuri was turning around, saying something about burnt omelets and salt. Marisol’s brain snapped back from the fantasy. Elena was right about one thing, she thought while tearing her eyes away from Zuri’s ass with way too much effort. Every being attracted to women had to be attracted to Zuri.

She’s so different from Elena , Marisol thought, her mind racing along with her heart. Elena is all sharp edges and seductive darkness. Zuri is… earthy, grounded, a force of nature .

There was no doubt in Marisol’s mind that she was in over her head. Violently out of her depth. But despite treading water, she couldn’t stop wanting to know what existed a little further outside her comfort zone.

When the food was ready, they helped Elena join them around the small table. Feeding, as she called it, hadn’t helped her physical condition, but her energy was better than it had been in the hospital. In clean clothes and a familiar environment, she appeared more in control. More like the woman in the expensive suit Marisol had cut off her body.

“Sleeping arrangements,” Zuri said after taking a bite of the best omelet Marisol had tasted in her life. “We should?—”

“Do you have a hole for me to crawl into?” Elena crossed her arms across her chest, a single brow arched.

The air around them tensed, though Marisol couldn’t guess why. Zuri looked up from her plate, glare pointed at Elena.

“Did you think I was going to leave the windows covered forever?” Zuri’s body was tense, her words sharp.

Marisol’s gaze shifted between them, filling in the blanks. The small house was half-covered in glass like a greenhouse. At sunrise, there wouldn’t be a single part not bathed in sunlight.

“Is that true, then?” Marisol took a gulp of water. “You can’t be in the sun?”

Tension easing, Elena looked at her and nodded. “I won’t burst into flames,” she promised. “At my age, it’s more like it drains my energy. After prolonged exposure, my ability to regenerate would stop and?—”

“And she’d die a rather slow, painful death,” Zuri finished, as if to say that had been her plan when she’d designed the place. Tension returned like a belt snapping. “The linen closet,” she added after a beat, attention on Elena unwavering. “It’s windowless.”

For interminable seconds, Elena’s face was unmoving. Her unblinking gaze was so focused, so intense, that Marisol was sure that Elena was going to lunge at Zuri fangs first. And then she quirked her brow, amusement playing on the corner of her lips. “Back in the closet, Z?” She put her palm to her chest. “How cruel.”

Marisol unclenched all the muscles she’d tightened and all but released a cleansing breath. She’d never get used to these two. They were like two great nations slamming into each other on a battlefield.

“We could all share that nice big bed of yours,” Elena suggested like Zuri hadn’t kinda threatened her a moment earlier. “If we snuggle in close there’s definitely room for three.”

“No, we don’t have to,” Marisol started to object.

“Don’t worry, Bambi. Those armchair cushions and blankets make a very comfortable bed?—”

“For a puppy maybe,” Elena cut in before Marisol could respond.

“I’m fine on the floor,” Marisol said before Elena could make things more awkward than they already were.

“Of course you are. What are you, twenty? You’ve never thrown your back out opening the trunk too fast. You’re?—”

“I’m thirty-one,” she corrected.

Zuri looked at her like she didn’t believe her.

“I’d love to show you my ID, but it’s not like I had a chance to grab my bag,” Marisol shot back, a little too much bass in her tone.

Elena laughed, copper eyes bright. “Bambi bites.”

Zuri’s dark eyebrows flew up her forehead. The universal sign for oh, you think that’s funny? “She’s two hundred and ninety-two.” She revealed in a way that sounded like a dig at Elena.

Dropping her smile but not her amused energy, Elena shrugged. “But I’ll never look a day over twenty-eight.”

Openly annoyed with Elena, Zuri stood. She cleared Marisol’s empty plate before Marisol registered her movements.

Suddenly exhausted and unsure of what to do with herself without the distraction of eating, Marisol’s gaze darted between Elena and Zuri.

What the hell happens now?