Page 32 of The Moon’s Fury (Moon & Sands #2)

A young girl darted out of the alley, no more than seven or eight. She was thin, cheekbones protruding, chin-length black hair matted and stringy. Her clothes were tattered and worn, and a fresh bruise marred her cheek.

But it was her eyes that pierced his heart.

Frightened, angry eyes, so much like the boy from years ago.

Eyes thieved of their innocence far too soon.

The girl glanced between them, hesitating.

She made a decision.

“ Sahiba ! Sahiba , come quick! They are hurting my mother!” she cried, darting back into the alley, a tiny blur.

Layna tried to follow, but he held her hand fast.

“Wait—”

“She needs help!”

Before he could answer, she yanked her hand away and ran down the alley.

Fuck .

Fuck .

Fuck.

He bolted after her. Her name was on his tongue, but he swallowed his warnings. He couldn’t shout her name and reveal her identity. His eyes caught sight of her, already halfway down the alley. Fuck .

She’d pulled her abaya up to her thighs so it wouldn’t hinder her, her head swiveling frantically as she searched for the girl.

But the child was gone, as Zarian knew she would be.

Instead, three large men emerged from the shadows, waiting for Layna.

The Gundaari .

The nearest one lunged, grabbing her arm and pulling her to his chest. She struggled in his grasp, fighting to break his hold. The man pulled a white cloth from his cloak and aimed for her face, but Layna reared back, her head colliding with his nose in a sickening crack.

“Fucking bitch!” the man snarled. He didn’t strike her, though, and Zarian knew it was because scars would decrease her value. The thought made bile rise in his throat, his heart thudding frantically until his vision clouded with the red of rage.

The other two men ran toward him, knives brandished in warning. Still running, he flung a short dagger at one of them. It sank into his chest, and the man fell to his knees. The other one didn’t falter, undeterred by his partner’s death. He charged at Zarian.

Zarian ducked under his arm, rising behind him, and jammed a dagger into his neck.

He spun.

His breath left his lungs.

A white cloth was pressed over Layna’s nose and mouth, and the man was dragging her backward. Her movements were sluggish, eyes hooded.

He willed his legs to move faster, nearly reaching them—

Layna’s eyes shot open, crackling with bright light. Her slack features contorted with rage—

—and every inch of her skin glowed white.

In a thousand years, Zarian never would have expected to welcome the sight of the Daughter in place of his Layna, but cool, staggering relief rushed through his veins. Her glowing skin seemed to burn the man, because he released her with a sharp gasp.

She whirled.

The man stood rigid, fear freezing him in place.

She brought her palms up. They began to glow.

Fuck .

Ashes and a pile of charred bones would raise more questions than a bloodied corpse.

He did the stupidest thing he had ever done in his life.

Darting in front of the Daughter’s outstretched hands, he prayed Layna would see him, and ran the man through with his sword.

He braced himself to be incinerated, but there was only silence behind him, the suffocating stillness that remained after danger had passed.

Chest heaving, he slowly turned. Layna stood, dark brown eyes leveled at him.

And she was furious.

Good .

So was he.