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“You’re dead,” she said while he gathered himself. “Every person you infested with your worthless theory is dead. Everything you did was for nothing. You failed.”

The rage in Baylor’s eyes was a burning volcanic pit that reason couldn’t extinguish. Nothing but death would stop him, and Elena was happy to don death’s mask and do her work.

When he lunged at her again, she didn’t dodge. Instead, she swatted away his outstretched hand and punched the center of his chest at blinding speed. With the powerful strike, she stopped his heart mid beat.

Baylor’s response was a strangled gasp. Accepting defeat looked like wide eyes and paling skin. When he dropped to his knees, Elena’s fingers were a cobra’s bite shredding through bone and sinew to reach into his chest cavity and tear out his heart.

He was still alive when she showed him the limp muscle, when she let it slip through her fingers and land on the filthy floor. Vampires could regenerate anything as long as their brains were still intact. But without his heart, Baylor’s brain would starve before it could regenerate the critical organ. His last moments would be fear and pain and the utter hopelessness of his plight. A small comfort given the needless destruction he’d wrought, but Elena basked in it until Baylor managed another breath.

She didn’t wait for death. Swift and decisive, Elena tore into his throat. Slicing through muscle and cartilage, she found his spinal cord and severed the connection to his brain. True death followed immediately.

“Call the others,” Elena said, spitting out the acrid taste of Baylor’s blood. “Tell them to return here as soon as they’ve finished.”

Without giving voice to the question, Sofia asked why with the subtle twitch of her brow. She was probably expecting Elena to leave the bloodbath as a warning to anyone else who might challenge her.

“We are going to erase them,” Elena explained. “We’re going to make it look like Baylor never existed.” She set her jaw. “He’s not going to be anyone’s martyr.”

It was going to be a long night, Elena knew, but the thoughts of returning to Marisol and Zuri fueled her resolve. Of keeping them truly safe. Of finally having the freedom to be together without a mortal threat hanging over them. Of helping Zuri with her coven and figuring out what Marisol needed. They’d given Elena everything, and she was going to repay them for as long as she had them.

Chapter Fifty-Six

Luna and Lobaused each of Marisol’s thighs as a headrest while she sat on the floor, her back against the bend of the enormous white sectional. They’d whined at the door for nearly an hour after Elena left, as if they’d known she was leaving to meet danger head-on. Now their snoring was soothing Marisol more than she was comforting them.

“Alright, Sprite is not exactly a replacement for lime juice, but it’s not the worst thing I’ve ever put in my mouth,” Zuri announced, walking in from the kitchen with two tall glasses of something fizzy. “Just pretend it’s a take on a mojito.”

“I don’t know if we should be drinking alcohol when?—”

“This is exactly when we should drink, Bambi.” Zuri offered her one of the glasses and wouldn’t move until Marisol relented and took it.

Instead of sitting on the couch like Marisol expected, Zuri sat on the floor close enough that there was only a sleeping dog between them. She complained and grumbled and cursed about her legs falling asleep but Marisol saw through her protestations. Luna lifted her fawn-colored head before rolling backward and trading Marisol’s lap for Zuri’s.

Marisol wanted to ask her what she was supposed to be doing. To ask how they were just supposed to sit there without knowing what the hell was happening. But she couldn’t bring herself to sound so weak.

“Have you identified where you draw power from?” Zuri brought her straw to her lips. “In your body?” With her free hand, she rubbed Luna’s chest.

“Are you trying to distract me?” Marisol took a sip and tried not to react to the overpowering burn from the rum.

“Obviously,” Zuri said and set her glass down next to her. “But I still want an answer.”

Marisol smiled despite herself. In her life, she’d never encountered a kinder heart wrapped in more barbed wire. She wondered how long it had taken Elena to fall for Zuri, but had no doubts why she’d obviously never gotten over her.

After another sip and failed attempt to hide her grimace, Marisol went inward. She’d been paying attention to her body in new ways. Doing what she could to gather usable intel.

“It starts as… a faint buzz in the middle of my chest.” She pressed her palm to her sternum like that might trigger it. “Kind of like when all the blood rushes to your hands or feet and you feel a million little pin pricks under your skin.”

Zuri drank while she listened. “And then what?”

Marisol closed her eyes and willed herself to remember the sensation. It was so wired into her body, it was like explaining what it felt like to have nails or hair. It just was. “Then it kinda shoots up the middle”—she motioned over her chest—“and over my shoulders down to my scapulas.”

“That’s good progress. You can’t connect to your power until you know where it lives.” She put her glass down when it was half empty, and Marisol wondered if she’d put as much rum in hers. “It will be helpful to know next time you get period cramps,” she joked unexpectedly.

Unable to stop the flush, Marisol’s skin turned hot.

“Oh, Jesus, Bambi, you’re a fucking nurse. Don’t tell me you’re squeamish about?—”

“No, it’s not that, it’s, um…” She winced, self-conscious at being an anomaly in so many ways. “I’ve never felt cramps.”

Zuri’s dark eyes widened and she reached for her glass again. After she’d taken down another gulp she asked, “Are you fucking with me?”