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“Or you could come back,” Marisol suggested. “What’s the rush?”

“Think you’re going to get it out of me that easy?” Elena laughed, catching her backdoor attempt to find out her plans. “Maybe I’m more forthcoming when dripping wet,” she said with a voice so sexy it was criminal. And then she disappeared through the doorway again.

Marisol rolled her eyes, but even Zuri breathed her amusement.

“After two hundred and ninety-four years on this spinning rock, maybe I wouldn’t tell anyone what the hell I was doing either,” Zuri murmured, thumb stroking a slow, soothing rhythm against Marisol’s abdomen.

“You’re only thirty-eight and have a tantrum if I text to ask where you are,” Elena shot back over the sound of the shower.

Zuri chuckled instead of disagreeing, but Marisol couldn’t get beyond Elena’s age. She’d known how old she was, but something about hearing it dropped so casually made it feel real for the first time. It was like how she couldn’t really conceive of flying thirty thousand feet in the air while on a plane. She knewshe was high off the ground, but couldn’t comprehend just how high. Elena’s age was a huge number. Too big to put into context.

What had she lived through? What had she seen? What the hell did the world even look like that long ago? The questions bubbled up in her throat, but they were too stupid to ask. How would she even frame the question without sounding ridiculous:So, like, the Spanish Inquisition. Zero out of ten?

“You alright, Bambi?”

Zuri’s soft voice pulled Marisol out of her middle school history class. But it was her dark eyes, intently scanning her face, that forced her out of bed. Zuri always looked at her with so much worry concealed behind her intimidating gaze.

Last night had been so good. Something about moving through the world with them—of being invited rather than an unexpected extra—had made her feel more like an equal. She didn’t want to change that with dumb questions that reminded either of them just how much of an outsider she was. And she didn’t want Zuri to think she needed looking after.

Hand extended in invitation, she gave Zuri a slow half-smile. Marisol had never felt particularly sexy or alluring, but she loved how she could change Zuri’s energy with her expression. How Zuri couldn’t stop her gaze from slipping down Marisol’s naked body in open approval.

“Shower?” Marisol asked before moistening her lips, bottom lip intentionally trapped between her teeth way longer than necessary.

“You learn a little too fast,” Zuri decided before flinging off the sheet.

Marisol’s skin warmed and her brain jolted to life like she’d taken three shots of espresso. “I promise to only use this newfound power for good,” she joked before feeling brave enough to give Zuri’s perfect ass a healthy slap when she crossed in front of her.

Shooting her a surprised glance over her shoulder, Zuri smirked. “Be careful, Bambi. You don’t want me to think you’re ready for the training wheels to come off.”

Gulping around the sudden dryness in her throat, she watched Zuri’s incredible form disappear into the bathroom.Training wheels? What the hell could possibly come next?A barrage of images flickered in Marisol’s mind, returning the moisture to her mouth too fast.

Showering together proved to be exactly as inefficient as Marisol expected, but just as hot. It was nearly an hour before Zuri strolled out with her hair still covered in the stylish black wrap that had kept it dry. While she towel-dried her hair, Marisol wore the same hotel-style terry cloth robe Zuri had put on, though it looked significantly better on Zuri’s curves.

Naked and standing in front of the mirror, Elena used a diffuser to style the waves that always looked so effortless. The scattered products on the vanity proved Marisol wrong. She couldn’t imagine Elena popping into a drug store to pick up mousse on her way home. She couldn’t imagine her doing anything mundane. But Elena hadn’t popped into being as the head of a vampire gang. She hadn’t been born into the life she’d created.

Attention drifting over Elena’s strong body accentuated by curving lines, Marisol tried to imagine her as an ordinary person. When she was wheeled into the ER, her affluence was apparent. Her clothes, her makeup. Even unconscious, Elena screamed wealth.

But the quiet authority couldn’t be rooted in her clothes. Elena was standing a foot away from her in nothing but the blow dryer in her hand and she was… formidable. Doing something millions of people did daily, Elena exuded power.

Was it her body language? Strong legs, toned from centuries of moving with a predator’s grace, were parted. She took up allthe space she wanted. She was comfortable. Sure. Unshakable. Confident.

Marisol couldn’t imagine Elena ever wavering. Ever cowering. Ever stammering.

Had she been like that as a child? Or had she honed this persona over decades like a blade over a whetstone? Or had it been a pressure intense enough to reshape carbon atoms that made her into… who she’d become.

“What?” Elena’s unpainted lips quirked into an amused little grin, gaze finding Marisol in the mirror.

It was only then that Marisol realized she’d stopped drying her hair. Straightening, Marisol hung the towel on a gold hook near the door.

“Nothing,” she replied too loudly before trying to remember how to walk without running. They weren’t going to want her around if she acted like some kind of paranormal groupie with a thousand questions.

In the bedroom the size of Marisol’s apartment, Zuri had already changed into skintight jeans and a loose black top. The sight of her didn’t help Marisol’s racing pulse, albeit for significantly different reasons.

“There’s shit in there for you too,” Zuri said when she turned toward her, tugging the wrap off. “Did she fill the closets on that ridiculous private island, too? Probably. She’s only gotten more extra with time.”

Looking at where Zuri pointed with her eyes, because apparently her grandmother had also taught her that it was rude to gesture with her finger, Marisol furrowed her brow. Across the room, beyond the huge sitting area on one side and writing desk and wall of bookshelves on the other, Marisol found the closet. Althoughclosetdidn’t seem like the right word.

Big enough to make Carrie Bradshawfall to her knees and weep, clothes and bags and shoes lined the built-in andindividually lit rich wood spaces. The entire right side was obviously packed with the kind of form-fitting things Zuri liked. At the back, sleek suits and tailored pieces obviously belonged to Elena. On her right, the mostly casual clothes were meant for her.