Page 63 of The Moon's Fury

She saw neither.

She was back in her cave, her blanket pooled around her waist.

And she was naked.

There was movement at the mouth of the cave. A cloaked man appeared, and she recognized him as the attacker who had lowered his bow.

She yelped, drawing the blanket over her chest. He stepped closer, and her heartbeat doubled, her body quaking with panicked fear.

He was large. And dangerous.

And male.

He held up his hands, as if it might soothe her, as if he and his companions hadn’t tried to kill her.

“It’s all right,” he said, hands still raised. He spoke the same tongue as her, but it was accented with harsh, guttural sounds, while hers were softer, smoother. “You are safe.”

She scoffed, clutching the blanket tighter around herself. His eyes tracked the movement, a strange sadness passing through his gray eyes. “I’ve not touched you except to check your fever. You’ve been asleep for three days.”

“What happened?” she rasped. Suns, her throat was painfully dry. She eyed him warily—he was so bulky, he nearly covered the entire mouth of the cave. The large man picked up a skein—her skein—off the ground and handed it to her. When she didn’t reach for it, he set it down within her reach and took two long strides back. Her gaze remained fixed on him while she gulped the water.

“Slow down,” he said, nodding to the skein.

“May the sun blind your mother,” she snapped. How dare he command her? Her voice was hoarse, cracked from months of disuse. He seemed taken aback by her curse. “And your father,” she added for good measure, taking another long swig out of spite. “Tell me what happened. Or leave. Or kill me. Whatever you’re going to do, do it quickly.”

His mouth opened and closed. He sighed before sitting across her. “After you told us to run, your eyes glowed white. Light erupted from you. My two companions were…” He trailed off. “I managed to duck out of the way. Mostly.” Pulling back his cloak, he showed her the shiny, red burns covering his arm like a painful, mottled sleeve. “And then you collapsed. Your wounds had healed themselves.” His voice brimmed with awe.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” she asked woodenly, stony gaze fixed on his puckered, red skin.

He was quiet for several heartbeats. “They told me you were a monster. You clearly are not. And I no longer wish to be a sword they can point as they please.”

“But Iama monster. I killed my entire village. And your friends.”

He regarded her with a strange look, one she couldn’t decipher. “A monster wouldn’t have told us to run.”

The sun had only just begun to cast the night away when Zarian stirred awake the next morning. His body’s internal rhythm refused him extra sleep, even for a single day. Rubbing his eyes, he carefully rolled onto his side. Layna’s dark, wavy hair spilled over her pillow, cascading onto his. Sunlight dappled across her bare back, and his eyes traced the ridges of her spine, stopping at the sheets that concealed the rest of her. He could feel his body responding and debated waking her in the most pleasurable of ways.

His gaze snagged on another large, purpling lovebite, darkening the delicate skin between her neck and shoulder, faint teeth marks still visible. A thundering wave of guilt crashed over him, dousing any desire, leaving only choking remorse behind.

Moons, he was lucky he hadn’t hurt her.What about next time?his mind whispered. She’d lied through her teeth when she said she wouldn’t wake him again.

Sighing, he lay on his back, one arm propped behind his head. She’d want to explore the city today. And he could think of no rational reason to deny her.

Not one she’d heed, anyway.

How could he tell her that, of all his nightmares, the darkest ones were born from Senta’s sinister underbelly?

But as much as he wanted to keep her hidden, safe from potential harm, his Layna deserved more, as she had rightfully demanded. She deserved tolive, not just survive. Moons knew how long they’d be running from the Medjai. His rational mind called him an idiot, but he pushed the raging thoughts away.

We’ll return before dark.And there were no signs of the Gundaari last night.It should be safe during the day.

His mind drifted to his last encounter with the Gundaari, to the boy they’d used in their dealings. He had murdered the men involved, then returned to the Oasis and promptly drowned himself in ale. He’d confronted his father about the Medjai’s alliance with them, leaving his office a ravaged mess.

His father—guilt rapped its knuckles on Zarian’s conscience. If the elders had sent the Medjai after Layna, then where was his father?

In his heart, he knew the answer.

The dungeons.