Page 147 of The Moon's Fury

But she saw him clearly now—her good man burdened by the shadows of what he’d done.

Without a word, she crossed the room, wrapping her arms around him tightly. His body was stiff, unyielding like the mountain beneath their feet. He shrugged off his cloak and dropped his bag, a heavy clink ringing out as it hit the floor.

“I had Lash bring up hot water. It’s still steaming,” she murmured.

He let her lead him to the washroom, let her tug off his boots and undress him, her hands gentle, reverent on his tanned skin. Zarian sank into the water soundlessly, leaning back against the metal tub, eyes closed.

Kneeling beside him, Layna dumped in a generous amount of bath salts. She soaked a washcloth and rubbed it over his chest, her movements slow and methodical. She expected him to stop her, insisting he’d do it himself, but to her surprise, he let her.

Zarian spent every moment caring for her, protecting her, spoiling her.

So rarely did he let her return the favor.

She savored every moment.

She moved behind him and kneaded the tense muscles of his neck and shoulders. His head dropped forward with a low groan, and she pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck.

“Thank you,” she whispered against his skin. Wrapping her arms around him as best she could manage, she rested her head on his broad shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry they did this to you.”

He didn’t reply, lifting his hand from the water to thread his fingers through her hair.

“I’m not,” he finally said, his voice hoarse. “It brought me to you.” He rested his forehead against hers. “You ease the heaviest burdens. Numb the deepest wounds,” he murmured, his breath warm against her lips.

He closed the distance between them with a gentle, chaste kiss.

“How did you cope before? With your missions, I mean,” she asked softly, tracing the black whorls of his tattoo.

He took a deep breath, as if gathering strength, before answering. “I drank. It helped take the edge off. Helped me forget. Helped me sleep. And when I stopped drinking, I—sought company.”

A kiss to the tip of her nose—an apology.

But his words didn’t rouse jealousy. A deep, aching sadness seeped through her, quickly followed by the need to console.

“And what do you want to do now?”

“Exactly what I’m doing.”

Layna awoke to Zarian trailing kisses from her ear to her shoulder. She groaned, squinting against the sunlight. He chuckled, tugging at her earlobe with his teeth.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I couldn’t resist.”

It had surprised her last night when he was content to just hold her. Her body was his favorite distraction from the deep-seated pain that had made its home within him.

Her breath hitched as his tongue traced the contour of her ear, his fingers playing with the hem of her nightgown.

It seemed he was ready for that distraction now.

She turned to face him before his skilled fingers danced any higher on her thighs—the sunlight kissed his face, making his hazel eyes glimmer.

“Tell me about last night.”

His sigh spoke of resignation. He shifted to lie on his back and brought her along with him, one arm tucked behind his head. His muscled chest was warm under her cheek, the beat of his heart, steady.

“I found the man easily enough in the tavern. When he left, I followed. He had been drinking, and it was easy to subdue him. I brought him deep into the forest, away from the city and its watch, and restrained him. When he finally awoke, I—questioned him. He admitted none of the men ever return home, that he targets those with no other options. That was mostly it,” he finished, his voice hollow, as if he’d left his soul back in those woods.

“His body…”

“Won’t be found.” He sighed, and she nestled closer, pressing her lips to his chest. “We need to leave tomorrow. I’ll handle Lash.”