Page 30 of The Moon’s Fury (Moon & Sands #2)

H er head was pounding, just like the last time the hateful power inside her had combusted. Her eyes snapped open, and she bolted upright, head swiveling, expecting to find three charred bodies and a burnt forest.

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 I am a 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 to live , 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 .

Zanjeel wouldn’t have killed him so quickly. No, the malicious elder would have kept Tahriq alive to gloat.

His heart constricted painfully in his chest.

Were they feeding him enough? Was he injured? Sick?

A pile of charred bones flitted through his mind, followed by Zaarif’s youthful, innocent face. Any softer feelings were flattened by his anger. His father’s betrayals. Zarian pushed him from his mind, fixing his gaze on the slumbering woman beside him.

He lay awake with his thoughts for another hour before she began to stir. As soon as her sleepy brown eyes met his, he pulled her atop him, driving away the painful thoughts that plagued his mind.

After breakfast and Layna’s daily silpharoon tea, she began to clear away the plates. Zarian waved her away, insisting he’d wash the dishes while she dressed. Her simple gray abaya skimmed her curves, black niqab fastened over her face.

Hand in hand, they exited the inn into bright sunlight and a bustling crowd, and it took all of his willpower not to drag Layna back inside. He steadied his heart with a deep breath.

He could do this.

For Layna, he could do this.

As they walked through the stone-paved streets, heading toward the nearest market, many curious eyes fell on them. He bristled, eyeing every man in their path, searching for deception, evil, anything .

They crossed a street, and a group of women clad in finely embroidered abayas pointed at Layna, whispering amongst themselves.

Layna glanced at him, her face covered, though he could still read the worry in her eyes.

Then, it dawned on him.

There were no other women in niqab .

Shit . He’d forgotten the norm in Senta. He was about to tell her to remove it, but a loud mention of “Alzahra” stole his words and his breath. Layna’s eyes widened with alarm. They slowed their steps, pretending to browse a shopfront.

“—heard the news from Alzahra?” one man said, leaning against the side of the building.

“Who hasn’t?” responded his taller companion, his thobe a pristine, gleaming white.

“The Moon Queen, her mother, and sister all battling illnesses? Seems far too convenient. I bet that greedy old adviser had them murdered and stole the throne. He’s been passing decrees left and right.”

Layna tensed beside him.

The man continued, “A woman without a man is an easy target, that’s what I always say. Even queens, I suppose. And did you hear about the festival? There was a flaming party celebrating her disappearance.”

His fists clenched, hot anger licking up his sides. And if he was angry, he knew Layna was moments from launching herself at the men. He steered her away from the gossips.

“Those fucking donkeys,” she seethed. “Ebrahim would never harm us. And a festival? Are they fucking serious? They hate me that much?”

“Lower your voice, love,” he murmured, glancing around them. “ They must be using him as a puppet to explain away your disappearance.”

“Will they hurt him?”

“No. They need him.”

The tension lining her shoulders eased slightly, though the worry didn’t completely leave her eyes. They continued toward the markets, passing more shops and street vendors. When they came across a cart selling sweets, he purchased a few pastries, which coaxed a smile out of her.

Across from the sweets cart was an inn. Near the roof, a large portion of the stone was charred and crumbling.

“What happened there?” Zarian asked the vendor.

“Bad fire, sahib . We thank the moon no one died. Repairs will start in a few weeks.”

As they continued their walk, Layna kept her arms crossed tightly against the cool breeze, her thin, gray abaya offering scant protection from the chill. Zarian tucked her into his side.

“There’s a clothing shop up ahead. Let’s get you some warmer clothes.”

The bell tinkled as they stepped inside. The door had barely closed when an elderly woman approached, quickly grasping Layna’s elbow. He stiffened, but Layna placed a reassuring hand on his arm.

“My first customers of the day!” the elderly woman announced. Her bright smile dimmed as she took in Layna’s niqab . Her sharp, kohl-lined eyes slid to Zarian, and her smile all but vanished.

“What brings you in today?” The woman eyed him as she walked backward, tugging Layna along with her.

Layna glanced back over her shoulder. “Buy whatever you like,” he reassured, standing guard by the door.

The woman dragged Layna farther away, but Zarian still heard when she gestured to the niqab and surreptitiously whispered, “Does he make you wear it?”

“ Make me? ” Layna laughed, loud and bright. “The poor man can’t even make me wash the dishes.” The elderly woman howled with laughter, and even his lips twitched into a reluctant smile.

He scanned the small shop—empty. Lingering near the door, he watched as the shopkeeper laid out garment after garment for Layna to inspect.