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

Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-One

Head pounding after too much wine and not nearly enough water, Zuri woke up to find Elena in bed next to her. She held her breath and brought her awareness to her body. Still dressed.

“It was your idea,” Elena said, obnoxiously knowing she was awake. “You all but pleaded with me to get in your bed.”

By the way Elena was choosing not to wrap her arms around her, Zuri was sure that they hadn’t had sex when she was apparently drunker than she realized.

With a groan, she rolled out to her feet without looking back. She didn’t want to see Elena’s face looking up at her from a familiar place. She was done making fucking mistakes.

By the armchairs, Marisol was curled into a lump under a blanket, not a single part of her visible. The sight was a fist clenching around Zuri’s stomach. She hated that she was sleeping on the floor.

The desire to leave the house, just for a quick trip, followed her to the bathroom. While she brushed her teeth, she considered the danger of darting to the sporting goods place near the highway. It might be an hour round trip, but then Marisol would have an air mattress to sleep on.

She was in the shower when she discarded the idea. It was too dangerous. For all she knew, a legion of vampires were waiting to snatch her the moment she was on the wrong side of her wards. It was stupid to go out alone, and neither of her begrudging roommates were going to be any help.

Could she dare have something delivered? Could it be so dangerous just to grab a package from the gate?

In the small mirror above the pedestal sink, Zuri looked at herself wrapped in a towel. Instead of asking her reflection what the fuck she was doing, she found her curl reactivating spray. Using her finger, she coiled the curls that had gone flat or frizzy. Without all of her products, there was only so much spring she could manage.

A fresh T-shirt and leggings later, Zuri was heading for the kitchen to make coffee. By the aroma and the empty mess of pillows and blankets on the floor, it was obvious that Bambi had beat her to it.

A strange sound from the bed forced her attention in that direction before she crossed into the kitchen. Elena, steak knife in hand, threw the blade at a cutting board leaning against the extra plastic chair.

“What are you doing?” she asked, instead of what the hell did you talk Bambi into now ?

Elena flung the knife. It spun nearly too fast to be seen before it lodged in the very edge of the cutting board with a nerve-racking thud. “It’s a new form of meditation,” she said when she looked over at Zuri and grabbed another knife from the mismatched pile at her side. “Extremely relaxing.” She flipped the knife by the blade, caught it by the handle, and threw it at the board. This time, she hit closer to the center.

“You’re going stir crazy,” Zuri said, her voice flat despite the fear clawing at her chest.

She knew Elena wasn’t bored. She was devising ways to protect herself, to regain control. Vampires were all about power. They craved it, they wielded it, they reveled in it.

No matter what Elena said, those centuries of backstabbing and power grabs had left vampires cold and calculating. Elena was different. Or at least she had been. But even she couldn’t hold on to her position forever, not like this.

Zuri’s stomach twisted. If Elena didn’t heal, she’d be ripped apart by her own kind. They’d smell her weakness, sense the opportunity, and they’d pounce. She couldn’t let that happen.

The time crunch was a vise around Zuri’s chest, squeezing the air from her lungs. She had to heal Elena. Now.

Fuck . Knowing that didn’t change anything. Marisol’s magic was still a mystery, a chaotic force that she couldn’t control, couldn’t direct. And Zuri’s own magic wasn’t designed for this. It wasn’t meant to heal vampires.

Desperation gnawed at the edges of Zuri’s mind, pushing her towards a dangerous idea.

“Bambi, let’s go,” she barked when she walked into the kitchen, startling Marisol who was about to cut into a watermelon from her patch.

“What? Go where?” She was dressed in yesterday’s tank top, bandage visible under the loose garment along with her braless cleavage.

Zuri couldn’t get distracted. “I booked us a mani-pedi,” she snapped, charging out of the house.

Mind moving too fast for conscious thought, Zuri barreled for the greenhouse without slowing to get in the golf cart. She wanted to run. Run out of her skin. Run into the future when this nightmare could be behind them. Run back to routine and certainty and normalcy.

“Hey, wait for me,” Marisol shouted.

Zuri didn’t slow down. She yanked open the greenhouse door, the humid air thick with the scent of damp earth.

Marisol was only a moment behind her. “What are you doing?”

Zuri ignored her, her mind racing ahead. She grabbed a small clay bowl from a shelf, then crossed to the rain barrel in the back.

From a small metal box, she pulled out the items wrapped in a faded purple cloth. With a deep, steadying breath, she called on her ancestors as she unveiled their relics. A worn leather-bound recipe book, black sand from a remote Cuban beach, a tarnished silver necklace, a half-empty bottle of whiskey, a long cigar. Each object was a connection to the generations of witches who came before her.

Zuri set out all the artifacts. She poured a small amount of whiskey into an empty bowl and lit it. Flames ignited over the surface, sending a sweet, smoky aroma into the air. Then, she placed the bowl of rainwater next to the impromptu shrine.

“What’s all this for?” Marisol asked.

“I’ve been trying to teach you from the outside,” she replied, her voice low and steady. “But the answers we need, they’re already inside you. Buried deep in your memories, in your blood.”

“But we’ve already tried giving her my blood?—”

“I’m trying something else.” She took another deep breath, her chest tightening with a mix of anticipation and fear. “I need you to go deep, Bambi,” she explained. “I need you to focus, to concentrate, to dig until you hit bone. Until your head pounds and your vision blurs and you taste magic on your tongue.”

Marisol swallowed, her eyes wide. “You want me to get a migraine?” she asked, a nervous laugh escaping her lips. “Is that really how you want to get inside me?”

Zuri ignored her attempt at humor. “We have to figure this out. Like days ago.”

Marisol’s smile faded, her expression turning serious. “Okay,” she whispered. “I’m ready.”

“Good,” Zuri said, a flicker of hope igniting in her chest. “Because we’re running out of time.”

Chanting in a language older than time, a language whispered to her family by the wind and the rain and the fire, Zuri sat on the floor. She’d usually do something like this with her sisters playing the rhythm on drums, but she’d make it work.

Marisol’s hands were trembling, but Zuri didn’t reach for them. She gestured for Marisol to sit on the floor between her legs instead.

Understanding what she envisioned, Marisol sat with her back to Zuri, but she wasn’t close enough. With both hands on her waist, Zuri gripped her hard and pulled her back until she was flush against her.

Ignoring the way her hair smelled, the way her proximity made her heart race, Zuri held her in a tight embrace.

“Your grandmother must have used her power, Bambi, and I’m going to fucking find out how, okay?” Zuri closed her eyes, ready to deep sea dive with nothing but a snorkel and desperation.

“Is that safe?” Marisol turned in her arms, her lips so full and pink, inches from hers. “Zuri, I don’t want you to get hurt?—”

“The more you concentrate, the faster I can go,” she replied as sharply as she could despite the lump in her throat making it hard to breathe.

“What can go wrong?—”

“Concentrate,” she demanded.

Worry bleeding from the unguarded eyes intent on killing her, Marisol turned and rested her hands over Zuri’s pressed to her abdomen. This time, when Zuri entered her memories, she walked in.

The familiar kitchen, warm and inviting, soothed Zuri’s frayed nerves. She watched Marisol and her grandmother sorting beans, a wave of bittersweet nostalgia washing over her. But this wasn’t her past, this was Marisol’s. And Zuri was just a visitor, a ghost drifting through someone else’s memories.

She pushed deeper into the labyrinth of Marisol’s mind. She saw flashes of birthday parties, family dinners, whispered secrets, shared laughter. She felt the warmth of Marisol’s grandmother’s love.

It was such a strong emotion. Zuri latched onto it when she neared her grandmother in the kitchen. In the memory, ten-year-old Marisol tilted her head to the side and looked up at Zuri like she could see her.

Brow furrowed, Zuri stopped behind Marisol’s grandmother. Hands on her shoulders, Zuri tried to fashion her gift into something new. Tried to push far beyond its limits.

“Do you want help?” Marisol’s voice vibrated through Zuri as she strained.

Before she could finish thinking yes , light exploded in her retinas. A jolt of energy, pure and potent, surged through Zuri, blasting her back through generations—not just into Marisol’s grandmother’s mind.

The kitchen dissolved, replaced by a swirling mess of images and sensations. Zuri tumbled through centuries, her magic spiraling out of control. She saw glimpses of ancient rituals, whispered prophecies, forgotten battles. She felt the rise and fall of empires, the clash of ideologies, the ebb and flow of magic.

And then, she landed. In a time before time, in a place beyond comprehension. She stood before Lilith, the mother of vampires, her beauty terrifying. Beside her stood a figure made of pure light, androgynous and blindingly bright. Zuri couldn’t look directly at them, the power radiating from them too intense, too overwhelming. The raw connection between the two beings was enough to tell Zuri they were in love.

The scene shifted. Time sped up, images flashing past like a runaway microfilm reel. Zuri witnessed the creation of the Aglion, a race of healers born from the union of Lilith and the being of light. She saw their rise, their peaceful existence, their unwavering commitment to healing and compassion.

Their fall came next. The vampire wars, a brutal conflict that consumed the world, a clash of ideologies that pitted vampire against vampire, witch against witch. For reasons Zuri couldn’t understand, the Aglion became targets. They were hunted, persecuted, nearly wiped from existence. Only a handful survived, their lineage scattered, their knowledge fragmented, their power fading.

Zuri’s head throbbed under the weight of too much information. She clung to her magic, gripping it like a lifeline as if gravity were peeling her fingers from the edge of a cliff.

And then she saw Lilith again, her auburn eyes like liquid fire filling with a desperate plea. “Help my child,” she whispered, her voice haunting. “Show her the way.”

Zuri gasped, the image of the amulet, the one Marisol wore, flashing in her mind. The simple silver circle, adorned with a delicate inscription, was a name written in a language lost to time. Aglion. A medieval reminder that had failed at its one job.

Zuri’s eyes flew open, her body drenched in sweat, her head pounding. Sprawled out on the floor, she was disoriented and trembling.

At her side, Marisol’s face was pale, her breath shallow, her massive spectral wings on shocking display while her mouth moved soundlessly. All Zuri could hear was the deafening echo of Lilith’s voice—begging her to help Marisol but failing to say how—until her vision turned black.