Page 33 of The Moon’s Fury (Moon & Sands #2)

H er breaths cleaved her lungs with every harsh inhale. Moons, she was so angry, though she couldn’t exactly pinpoint why. Zarian’s face was contorted with unbridled fury. It made her even angrier.

He stalked toward her and grabbed her elbow, practically dragging her through the alley. They emerged onto the empty street, and she was grateful for the moonsdamned festival because at least there was no one here to witness that .

He headed toward the inn, pulling her along with him.

His grip was painfully tight, but pride held her tongue.

He must have realized it, though, because he loosened his hold and rubbed her arm where his fingers had dug in.

She was seething, indignant rage simmering in her belly, desperate for an outlet.

With every third step, her eyes cut to him in a searing glare, but she didn’t say anything.

At least not yet.

Zarian glanced behind him the entire way. When the inn came into view, he breathed a sigh of relief. The short walk to their second-story room felt hours long as the weight of their collective anger bore down on her.

He closed their room door, and she strode away from him, resisting the urge to massage her arm.

“ That was listening to me?” he bit out through clenched teeth.

“She needed help! I thought we—”

“If you had just waited, like I asked , we could have come up with a plan instead of running in blindly!” His eyes were blazing with rage, and it stoked the flames of her own anger.

The buzzing that had deafened her in the alley steadily grew louder.

She had called upon her fierce, violent light then, and it rose up inside her now, hungry for another taste of freedom.

“I just—”

“We’re being hunted, Layna. We need to be cautious, not impulsive. This is the first real city you’ve ever seen,” he pressed. A vein pulsed in his forehead.

“I have seen real cities,” she snapped, her anger burning hotter.

“You’ve heard about them in a safe council chamber. You’ve been sheltered. I only agreed to take you to the festival because you promised to listen.”

She bristled, and the buzzing grew louder still.

“ Sheltered ?” she snarled, crossing her arms tightly. “I went out alone in Alzahra City all the—”

“Your father’s walled city, where he stationed guards everywhere for your protection! It. Is. Not. The. Same.” His voice was low, but he may as well have been shouting.

“I saw a child , bruised and afraid, who needed help! I did what any normal person would have done.”

His anger deflated at the mention of the little girl, and his tightly knit brows unwound a fraction.

“The Gundaari use children to lure people into alleys—women to sell, men to rob, other children to—” He cut off abruptly, his face pained. “They run rampant in Sendouk. One of their largest operations is in Senta. I’m surprised it took us three days to encounter them.”

Layna processed his words—his admission.

“You knew about this?”

He deflated further.

“Yes,” he sighed. “I came across them years ago on a mission for the Medjai.” He rubbed his eyes aggressively.

“You knew they were here this entire time and didn’t tell me? What happened to no more secrets?” she demanded. He opened his mouth, but she barreled on, adding, “And all these years, you knew they were hurting children, and you did nothing to stop them? The Medjai did nothing ?”

His gaze was fixed to the floor. “It’s complicated. I—”

But her fury would hear no explanations. The angry tendril of rage writhed within her, and the pulsing in her ears became impossible to ignore.

“How have you lived with yourself?”

He looked at her, then.

The blood drained from his face.

“Layna—your eyes. They’re white.”

She ignored him, taking a step forward. The little girl’s bruised face flashed through her mind, her haunted eyes, the healing scab on her lip.

“You would have just left her? That poor, beaten child?”

“Breathe, Layna.”

Fury contorted within her, the raging power inside desperate for an outlet.

She was powerless against it.

She took another step toward him, jabbing her searing finger into his chest. He didn’t so much as flinch.

“How did I fall in love with a man like you?” she demanded in a voice that was both her own and not.

He recoiled as if she struck him.

His face— moons, his face —looked as if she’d torn out his heart and stomped it beneath her boots.

It was his face that cut through the fog of her anger, that silenced her raging power. Immediately, she wanted to take the cruel words back, pluck them from the air and smother them before they reached his ears. She didn’t know why she had even uttered them.

Her heart knew the words to be false, that had to be why it was beating at her chest in outrage.

He took another step back, staring at her with such anguished eyes, it rent her soul in half. She opened her mouth to speak, but he turned away and opened the door.

Layna braced for a loud slam, but the door clicked shut softly, quiet and defeated.

Heartbroken .

She stood there for what felt like hours after he left, numb and alone. Vaguely, she realized that, despite her rage, her light hadn’t escaped her body and harmed Zarian.

Not physically, anyway.

She paced the room, waiting and watching the door, flaking dried henna from her palms, until hours actually did pass, but Zarian did not return.

Her eyelids grew heavy, and she lay on the bed and sobbed and sobbed until merciful sleep embraced her.