Page 41 of The Moon's Fury

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She frowned. “Take the bed. I’ll be up for a while yet.”

Too tired to argue, he trudged to the washroom.

Layna watched as the washroom door closed quietly behind him. The incessant humming in her veins grew louder, as if protesting the distance between them. With a sigh, she dropped her head into her hands.

She had done it.

She had actually left her home, her kingdom, and her family behind.

Yet somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to feel guilty.

She was being hunted, and she feltrelievedof all things. Ebrahim would likely take her place ruling Alzahra, but whether she’d ever return—ifshe even wanted to return—was a question she couldn’t yet answer.

What kind of person does that make me?

Her mother and sister flickered through her thoughts, and guilt stabbed sharp and sudden—they’d been forced to flee as well because of her.Where were they now? Were they safe?

The shower shut off in the bathroom, pulling her from her thoughts. Her gaze slid to the closed door.

And Zarian … things had changed rapidly between them. They had been apart for a week after a horrible fight—she hadn’t even apologized for her harsh words, let alone think about what they should do next. It was a discussion long overdue.

Zarian emerged from the washroom, borrowed sleep trousers resting low on his hips, inky black hair still dripping. Her heart clenched at the sight of his face.

He was pale, with deep purple bruises shadowing his eyes, barely managing to keep them open. Zarian leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head before crossing the room and collapsing onto the bed. Within moments, he was asleep, his steady breathing the only sound in the small room.

For a while, she remained at the table, afraid to make a sound in case it disturbed him. She was content to just watch the gentle rise and fall of his chest. When she was certain he was in a deep sleep, she cleared the table and rinsed the dishes in the small sink. Afterward, she bathed quickly, eager to be free of days’ worth of sweat and grime, changing into a navy nightgown she had brought with her.

The sun had set only an hour ago, and she was wide awake. Their dinner had been delicious—tender, seasoned lamb over yellow rice with a tangy yogurt sauce—and her stomach waspleasantly full after three days of surviving on nuts, dried fruit, and stale pastries.

Her gaze darted back to Zarian’s slumbering form, and her mind conjured up Soraya’s teasing face and cheeky smile. A wave of grief, almost comforting in its weight, washed over her at the thought of her sister.

Her eyes landed on a small stack of books on the table. She grabbed one filled with classic folk tales and settled onto the couch. Another hour passed as she lost herself in tales of magical lamps, murderous husbands, and daring sailors.

When her eyelids began to feel heavy, she snapped the book shut, eyeing the bed where Zarian slumbered. With hesitant steps, she approached. He was truly a massive man, taking up nearly the entire bed, limbs splayed haphazardly in every direction. An affectionate smile tugged at her lips, and without further thought, she lay down next to him, curling up against his side until sleep claimed her.

19

Sheinhaleddeeply,theair rich with sandalwood and spice. Groggily, she opened her eyes, finding herself in an unfamiliar bed, the warm glow of sunlight dancing through sheer curtains. She was lying on a bare chest, solid and warm, marked with the unmistakable Medjai tattoo. Glancing upward, she saw the peaceful, sleeping face of Zarian, a tranquility in his features she had never witnessed in waking life.

The length of her body was pressed against his, her leg slung over his waist. Her blood ran hot as she blinked away the last vestiges of sleep and became increasingly aware of their intimate position, separated only by her thin nightgown and his sleep trousers. She chanced another look at him—still sound asleep.

Propping herself on her elbow, she studied his handsome, chiseled face. The purple bags had significantly lessened, and his skin had returned to its healthy, tan color.

Let him sleep, you wanton woman, her mind lectured, but she found herself helpless against the need to touch him. With fingers as light as a raithbee, she skimmed the sharp contour of his cheekbone, trailing down over his stubbled jaw. Her gentlefingertips moved lightly across his thick collarbones before tracing the dark whorls of his tattoo. With every exploring caress, molten desire pooled in her belly and shot through her limbs, her heart racing in her chest. Her hand traveled lower, tracing the ridges of his abdomen and—

His body tensed against her.

She froze, slowly looking up at him, cheeks warm.

Bright hazel eyes were fixed on her, full, sensuous lips curved into an amused smile. She reluctantly removed her wandering hand, but before she could pull back completely, he grabbed it, pressing her hand to his cheek.

“Someone’s having a good morning,” he teased. His smile widened as she glowered.

“Zarian, I swear by the moon, if you don’t make love to me this instant, I will combust.” A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest and sent vibrations through her. In the next heartbeat, he had flipped her onto her back and climbed atop her. The delicious weight of him was all-consuming. She swallowed deeply, her mouth suddenly dry. The power beneath her skin hummed louder, and for a moment, Layna thought she might actually combust.

But then he buried his face in her neck and groaned, a ragged, pained sound, and all her thoughts fluttered away. Her chest heaved beneath him as he trailed kisses from her neck to her temple.

“You always smell so intoxicating,” he growled in her ear. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” Zarian nudged her legs apart and settled his weight between her thighs.