Page 93 of The Moon's Fury

“When none of you returned, we assumed she”—the rust-haired man shot her an apologetic glance—“had killed all of you. I’ll go back. Tell them I saw no sign of you, and that I was able to … finish her.” Another pursed, sorry smile in her direction.

“Why?” he asked, sitting beside her, so close that the length of their thighs pressed together. “This is your chance to leave. Why waste it on us?”

Us.

The word bounced around her insides before settling pleasantly in her belly.

“You’ve saved my life time and time again, brother. And”—his gaze darted between them—“opportunity will find me again. You’ve already found freedom. I’ll not see it robbed from you.”

“…and this is how you sharpen it.” Jamil dragged the whetstone across the dagger’s blade.

She rolled her eyes. She’d asked him to teach her how to hunt, and he was being exceedingly thorough. “Iknowhow to sharpen a dagger. How different can it be from a sword?”

Jamil’s lips curved into a soft smile, his straight teeth glinting in the firelight. It was a rare, beautiful sight, and her traitorous heart clenched.

It had been doing that quite often this past week.

Only because we’ve been alone together for so long.

It’s normal for anyone to desire their only companion.

“Not very different from a sword,” he agreed. “Ready?” He helped her off the ground, and a spark skittered along her skin where his hand touched her.

They walked together into the forest, footsteps quiet in the night. Jamil pointed out a good spot for a snare and showed her how to construct it with a few pieces of wood and a thin rope.

They knelt behind a bush and waited. Whenever her gaze left the snare to find Jamil, his eyes were already fixed on her. She gave him a tentative smile, and his eyes dropped to her lips.

Traitorous warmth pooled within her.

She cleared her throat, and he averted his gaze.

She wasn’t sure how much time passed after that, but eventually a rabbit approached their snare and was quickly trapped.

“Do you want to do it?” he whispered, holding out the freshly sharpened dagger. His green eyes were bright in the moonlight.

Soraya eyed the dagger, then flicked her gaze to the trapped, pitiful hare. She shook her head. “Next time.”

She couldn’t watch as Jamil did the rest.

“It’s done,” he said softly. He angled the rabbit’s body away from her, always considerate. She’d grown increasingly aware of his quiet kindness during their travels.

He always offered her the tenderest, juiciest cuts of whatever game they roasted over the fire.

More than once, she had stirred in the night to find his blanket draped over hers while he lay uncovered, arms tucked closely beneath his body.

And just yesterday, she’d mentioned in passing that she was tired of nuts and eager to resume a normal diet in Sendouk. This morning, without a word, he’d set a handful of freshly picked berries beside her breakfast.

She eyed him sideways as they headed back toward their campsite, dinner in hand. He met her gaze, his lips curving in a soft smile.

She tripped, quickly righting herself, cheeks burning.

When they reached camp, Jamil skinned and cleaned the rabbit while she prepared the spit over the fire.

Silence stretched between them, and for the first time, it felt awkward. Soraya never had a shortage of words or questions, teasing comments always poised to pour from her lips like water from a jug.

But tonight, she was struggling.

Now that they were alone, without her mother as a chaperone, something felt different.