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

Chapter 41

Chapter Forty-One

The humid Miami air clung to Elena, thick with the ghosts of gunpowder and salt and the metallic tang of blood. Standing outside what should feel like her home made her ill. Each inhale was a punch to the gut, a visceral reminder of the violence that had stained more than just the asphalt.

Jaw clenched, she forced herself to walk. To put one foot in front of the other even though her entire body screamed in protest. She was whole again, healed, but the memory of her broken body, of her helplessness, lingered like a phantom limb.

The converted warehouse loomed ahead, huge against the starless sky. The empty parking lot signaled it was closed, and the unusual silence made it feel foreign. Like a nightmare version of itself.

It was hers. Every brick, every beam, every inch of this territory. It belonged to her. And yet, as she approached, a wave of unease washed over her, a prickle of awareness that made her skin crawl. Her loss was impossible to ignore here. It pushed in all around her, making it hard to breathe and harder to think.

She scanned the alleyway, gaze sharp, senses on high alert. The memory of the attack, vivid and brutal, flashed in her mind. For a breathless moment, she wished Marisol had never given her memories back. That she could walk here without remembering.

The gunfire, the scent of blood and rage, the vampires, enraged faces, bared fangs. Robert, Lance, Jesus, Olivia. Blood, death, failure. Her failure. Her one duty to keep the ones under her protection safe: devastatingly unfulfilled.

She felt the searing pain in her own hip, the paralysis spreading like wildfire. The agony of losing her progeny, one by one. Swallowing the grief, Elena replaced it with something useful.

Rage, a primal, consuming force, roared to life within her. It burned in her chest and invigorated her muscles. She wanted to scream, to unleash the fury that clawed at her insides, to tear the world apart with her bare hands. And she would. She would find the creatures responsible and make them beg for the relief of death.

She pushed the heavy metal door, but it didn’t budge. Fury, white hot and immediate, roared through Elena’s veins. She shoved again, harder this time. The door rattled in its frame, but refused to yield.

Locked? Disbelief coated her anger. It was absurd. This was her domain. Her sanctuary. Who the fuck had locked her out?

She glanced at the handle, sleek and industrial. It mocked her with its normalcy. Its utter disregard for the chaos thundering inside her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d needed a key. Couldn’t remember a time she hadn’t moved through the world with absolute freedom.

Zuri suspected Librada and Sofia, but she couldn’t believe that they’d betray her. Stomach souring at the prospect of a coup, of learning that she’d been ousted in a power play, she banged on the door.

“Open this fucking door!” she roared, fangs lengthening. She was ready to tear the useless thing off its hinges when there was a faint click.

The door swung outward, revealing the dimly lit interior of the bar. Librada stood in the doorway. Her auburn eyes, sharp and watchful, met Elena’s.

“Mother,” Librada whispered. Fear and shock and too many emotions to untangle wafted from her.

“Mother?” Elena echoed. The term seldomly used was a venomous hiss.

Before Librada could blink, Elena was on her. She slammed Librada against the wall, her hand a vice around her second’s throat.

Librada didn’t resist, didn’t even flinch. Her eyes, wide with a terror that mirrored Elena’s own grief, stared back at her.

“Where is everyone?” Elena asked through gritted teeth, fangs inches from Librada’s jugular. The scent of her fear, sharp and acrid, filled Elena’s nostrils, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough to quell the rage that burned within her.

“They’re looking for you,” Librada choked out, her voice a strained whisper. “Sofia… she heard a rumor… you might be in Atlanta. Everyone’s gone. Searching.”

Elena tightened her grip, her anger a living thing that pulsed in her veins. “So everyone knows Sangre Eterna is weak? That its leader is— was —incapacitated?”

“No,” she gasped, her eyes pleading. “We’ve been careful. No one knows. I swear.”

“Careful?” Elena scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain. “By closing my fucking bar? By locking me out of my own home?” She squeezed her throat tighter, the pressure enough to crush a mortal’s neck. “Why aren’t you out looking for me, then?”

Librada struggled to swallow. “Luna and Loba,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I came to feed them. They’ve barely eaten since you’ve been gone.”

“You’ve betrayed me,” she growled, fangs grazing Librada’s skin. “My most trusted daughter, the one who’s been by my side for centuries, tired of playing a supporting role,” she spit out, the fear burning a hole in her chest.

Librada’s eyes filled with tears, silent trails that streamed down her pale cheeks. She didn’t speak, didn’t defend herself. Instead, she turned her head to one side, exposing the vulnerable flesh of her neck. A silent offering. A plea for forgiveness.

“You were behind it, weren’t you?” Elena hissed, vision blurred and chest heaving. “You orchestrated the attack. You poisoned me. You left me to die. Killed my progeny.”

Librada closed her eyes, a tear escaping and tracing a path over the curve of her jaw. “I failed you,” she whispered, her voice choked with anguish. “I didn’t protect you. My life is yours to take.”

Elena stared at her, rage simmering, her heart a cold, heavy stone in her chest. The scent of Librada’s fear, her despair, filled her nostrils. Elena leaned in again, her fangs a hair from her exposed throat.

One bite, she thought, one swift, decisive movement, and it would all be over. The betrayal, the pain, the doubt. It would all disappear.

But as Elena considered it, a memory, sharp and vivid, flashed through her mind as if Zuri had dragged her back to it. 1770. The convent in Seville, its cold stone walls echoing with the hushed whispers of prayers. Librada, a young nun, barely twenty. Her face pale and drawn, her eyes filled with a quiet desperation.

Elena had seen it, the flicker of rebellion in her unbroken spirit, the yearning for a life beyond the confines of the convent walls. A life stolen from her before she’d even had a chance to taste it.

Elena had offered her freedom, a taste of the darkness, of power and self determination. And Librada had accepted, her gaze unwavering, her voice firm despite the tremor in her hands.

“I will serve you,” she’d whispered, her words a vow, a pledge of unwavering loyalty before Elena drained her to the brink of death.

And she had. For centuries, Librada had been Elena’s shadow, her shield, her confidante. She’d fought by her side, protected her back, advised her with a wisdom that belied her youthful appearance.

The Cuban War of Independence, a bloody whirlwind where Librada had fought like a demon, her fangs a blur, her eyes blazing with a fierce protectiveness. The chaos of a lawless Sicily, where Librada had negotiated with crime lords, her voice calm and steady despite the threat of violence. The glittering casinos of Havana, where Librada had uncovered a treacherous plot and crushed it before it could materialize, her mind sharp and calculating, her loyalty unwavering.

Never once, in all their centuries together, had Librada questioned Elena’s authority. She’d never challenged her decisions, never shown anything but absolute devotion. The thought of her orchestrating an attack, of betraying the trust that bound them together—it was anathema.

Elena’s grip on Librada’s throat loosened, her fangs retracting. She searched Librada’s face, her gaze intense, hope pressing against her ribs.

“Look at me,” Elena commanded, her voice low and steady. “Will you submit to compulsion?”

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation.

For nearly an hour, Elena asked her every permutation of did you act against me she could construct. She covered every angle, whether direct or indirect, but there was no hint of ill will. Of anything other than love and loyalty. There was only an intense responsibility and agony that it was her fault for failing to suss out the threat before it materialized.

Elena released Librada, the tension draining from her body as she accepted the truth. Her trust, it seemed, was unbroken. But the mystery remained.

“Sofia?” Elena asked, her voice still laced with suspicion. “Could she be acting against me?”

Librada shook her head, eyes filled with a fierce conviction. “Never. Sofia loves you. The loyalty she feels for you… It’s unassailable. She has been inconsolable since you disappeared. She hasn’t slept or fed or spent a single second doing anything other than scouring the Earth for you.”

Elena nodded, a sliver of unease still twisting in her gut. She pushed it aside, and motioned for Librada to follow her through the unsettlingly empty bar and into her lounge. Her heart ached at the thought of her progeny, scattered and vulnerable. She pushed the emotion aside and found her focus.

As soon as they stepped into the empty lounge, two massive forms, fawn-colored and powerful, bounded at Elena, tails wagging, tongues lolling out in eager greetings.

“Luna. Loba.” Elena knelt, wrapping her arms around her beloved mastiffs, burying her face in their thick fur. Their scent, familiar and comforting, filled her nostrils with muscle unraveling relief.

Librada dropped beside her, the dogs shifting their weight to accommodate both of them. Luna, the larger of the two, rested her head on Elena’s lap, her warm breath a soothing rhythm against her skin. Loba, more energetic, nudged her head under Librada’s arm, seeking attention.

“They’ve missed you terribly,” Librada said softly, petting Loba’s belly.

Elena nodded, suddenly exhausted. She leaned back against the bar, the dogs settling more comfortably in their laps like they didn’t know their size.

“Who could be behind this?” Elena asked, her voice weary. “Who would dare attack Sangre Eterna?”

“It has to be another vampire,” Librada replied, her brow furrowed. “An attack on one of our own… It’s unprecedented.”

Elena shook her head. “No,” she said, her voice low. “Not unprecedented. Just… old. Forgotten.” She remembered the ancient wars, the brutal conflicts that had nearly decimated her kind. The betrayals, the power grabs, the thirst for dominance.

“It happened so fast,” Librada said, her voice tight, thumb rubbing the dark tip of Loba’s ear. “We lost your scent where your blood spilled. It was like you vanished. You just disappeared.”

Elena’s grief was a spike through the heart. She didn’t want to see the blood. To remember the agony of loss.

“As for the cowards…” Librada’s lip curled in disgust. “We’ve searched everywhere after losing their scent in the bay,” she continued. “They disappeared like rats into a sewer.”

Elena closed her eyes, her head pounding. A wave of paranoia washed over her, a sickening sense of vulnerability she’d never experienced before. How could such a threat have caught her so unawares?

Maybe she’d been too hasty, she thought, a flicker of doubt creeping in. Maybe she shouldn’t have left Zuri’s place. Maybe she should have stayed hidden, protected, until she knew more. Until she knew anything. Maybe she could have called Librada to her side instead of coming home.

But it was too late for regrets. She was back in the game, and she was going to make it clear that her retribution would be tenfold. But what if it wasn't enough?

What if, despite her best efforts, Zuri and Marisol were caught in the crossfire? The thought sent a chill down her spine, an icy dread that settled deep in her bones. It was wrong for them to be anywhere other than under her roof. She had to rectify that. Now. She wouldn’t be able to focus otherwise.