Page 34 of The Moon’s Fury (Moon & Sands #2)

S he awoke alone, bright sunlight streaming in across her face.

The other side of the bed was cold, untouched.

Zarian had not returned.

Did he leave me here?

Did I wound him so deeply that it obliterated his love?

Her heart hammered against ribs, each beat echoing her growing anxiety. The silence suffocated her, wrapped around her lungs like a vise and squeezed. Her eyes scanned the room again and again and again as if she might conjure him with sheer force of will.

Layna rose from the bed. She paced anxiously, her eyes repeatedly drifting to the door. It remained stubbornly shut.

With a sigh, she used the washroom, splashed water over her face, and changed out of last night’s abaya. She lingered for a moment, hoping that if she wasted enough time, Zarian would be waiting for her when she emerged.

But there was still no sign of him when she finally mustered the courage.

She dropped onto the sofa, unsure what to do. Should she go looking for him? His anguished face flitted in her mind, his eyes swirling with hurt. Resignation.

She was the real monster, not the Daughter.

Layna lost track of how much time she wallowed on the sofa before the thud of boots sounded in the hallway.

She held her breath.

The door opened with a gentle click. Zarian entered, the air around him alive with a delicious, spiced aroma. He was carrying bags of food, his face wary in the light. Relief washed over her in an overwhelming rush, her heart finally settling back into a normal rhythm.

She didn’t register crossing the room, coming to stand before him. His lower lip was split, and there was a large gash on his cheekbone. One of his eyes was purple and swollen.

Her heart stuttered in her chest.

“You must be hungry,” he said quietly, setting the food on the table.

She flung herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Burying her face in his chest, all the tears she’d managed to hold at bay burst forth in a loud, shuddering sob. She clung to him as if he might disappear again, her body shaking with the force of her tears.

“I’m so sorry, Zarian,” she cried, her apology muffled against his chest.

He relaxed against her, tension melting away, though what had worried him , she didn’t know.

She was the one who had sinned.

He wrapped his strong arms around her, and she had never felt such relief, one that breathed air back into her desperate lungs. He walked her backward until her legs hit the sofa. He sat down first, and she sank into him, still crying against his neck.

Moons, she was so wretched, letting him comfort her when she’d been the one to wound him so deeply.

When her tears finally dried up, her voice was hoarse as she apologized again. She cupped his face and pressed her forehead against his, willing him to see the love in her eyes now that the embers of her anger had burnt out.

“You’re a good man, Zarian.”

He scoffed and turned his head away, but she grasped his chin and forced him to meet her gaze.

“You are . You’ve showered me with more love than I deserve.

You’ve seen the ugly parts of me, the cruel parts, and still look at me as if I am the sun.

You put my happiness, my needs, my wants, above everything .

“Nothing compares. Nothing will ever compare. I’ve watched you show kindness to the sorriest of animals while others ignored them. You are a brother to Soraya—you helped her and Almeer when everything inside you warred against it. And that was when I refused to even speak to you!”

Fresh tears welled, her heart wrenching in her chest.

“Because you’re a good man. Hamzh in Janta, and Baran here, they treat you like a brother.

Like a king. Even my father’s most beloved citizens didn’t hold as much respect for him as I saw in those men’s eyes.

For you , Zarian. I don’t know what you did, but you must have helped them in some incredible, unrepayable, life-altering way that they find themselves happy to be so indebted to you. Because you are a good man.”

A lone tear rolled down Zarian’s cheek, and she kissed it away. “And you couldn’t kill your brother, after everything he did, because you’re a good man ,” she whispered, and those final words cracked his wall of composure.

She held him to her chest as he was racked with sobs, so violent that they shook her body along with his. She rubbed soothing circles into his back with one hand and tangled her fingers in his hair with the other as he cried, releasing years, perhaps decades, of grief against her.

When he finally stilled, he exhaled one last shuddering sigh, breathing in her scent as if she were his salvation. When he pulled back, his eyes were bloodshot, but the chaos had left them.

Zarian swallowed hard. “It was after my brother was banished. I had already started drinking when my father sent me to Sendouk, but it spiraled out of control afterward. I don’t even remember the mission, but I remember the boy.

It was late, and I was returning to the Oasis.

There was a lone woman walking down the street.

The boy emerged from the alley. He was crying and asked for help. She followed him in.”

He glanced at her. “This must sound familiar.” She nodded, silent.

“I followed them. There were four men waiting. The Gundaari train children to target women walking alone. The girl from last night, she hesitated because she saw me.” He swallowed again, lips twisting in anguish.

“I killed three of the men, but the fourth one grabbed the boy and held a knife to his neck.

“I let the man escape. The idiot led me to their hideout.” Zarian scrubbed a hand over his face, shadows darkening his eyes.

“There were four more children there.” His voice cracked.

“I realized then that they were the Gundaari. I knew the Medjai worked with them, but I had no idea they used children. I killed all the men. Probably traumatized the little ones. It took my father months to smooth it over with their leader.” He took a deep, shuddering breath.

“The boy from the alley, he was the oldest. Harteem. He told me his father had a shop in the markets. I took all the children there. That’s how I met Baran. He’s Harteem’s father.

“The Gundaari usually kidnap orphans, but Baran had borrowed money from them. When he couldn’t repay, they took his son.”

“But what about the king? Doesn’t he do anything?”

Zarian shook his head. “Jehan either turns a blind eye out of fear, or he’s being bribed. And people who file reports with the local delegates somehow always disappear.” He rubbed his eyes, frowning. “I took Baran’s wife, Harteem, and the other children to Shahbaad, gave them all the gold I had.”

“Baran didn’t go with them?”

“His wife wouldn’t let him—she blamed him for their son being taken in the first place. He remained here. The Gundaari searched his shop and home, and when they didn’t find Harteem, they left him alone.”

He looked at her then, his eyes haunted by the horrors he’d witnessed.

“I tried, Layna—I talked to my father about it. Told him we should eliminate the Gundaari, that it was disgusting that we worked with them. But he made an excuse. He always had an excuse.” A humorless, disbelieving laugh tore from his throat.

“I knew the Gundaari was still operating, still hurting children, and I didn’t do anything. And I kept going on missions, kept drinking, kept existing. What kind of man does that make me?” he scoffed. She cupped his cheek, but he shook off her hand.

“After a while, I realized the Medjai were not some benevolent organization. The elders had their own machinations, I just didn’t know what they were.

I think my father, in his own way, tried to shield me from the darker aspects.

But I heard whispers of what other Medjai would do.

There was one man—Ruslayn—he was the worst. Cruel and malicious and unnecessarily violent.

Especially toward women. Moons, the things he’d done.

I addressed it several times with my father and the elders.

They’d always make a show of listening and taking notes.

Of calling a hearing and putting him on trial.

But nothing was ever done. I couldn’t understand it.

‘He’s too valuable,’ my father would say.

Or, ‘His methods are effective.’ They’d turn a blind eye, and it absolutely enraged me. ”

Zarian’s words flowed easily now, like an overflowing pitcher of water finally tilted to release some of its burden.

“He despised me, too. Ruslayn, I mean. I kept dragging him through these false hearings, and I swear, it made him think he was untouchable. He became worse—more violent, more cruel—because he knew the elders would allow it. After a while, I gave up.”

He took a deep breath. “After the business with Ruslayn, my relationship with my father grew much worse. My brother had harbored the same depravity as Ruslayn, but not nearly as bad. I had told my father, hoping we could find a way to help him. He banished him instead. When Ruslayn was left unchecked, I realized my father exiled my brother because he hated him, not because of his vile actions. My drinking was out of control by that point.”

“How did you stop?” she asked quietly. Something sharp and jagged clawed at her heart.

“It took time. Jamil was my biggest support. He’d drag me out of taverns every other night. Sometimes he’d have to subdue me if I was belligerent.”

“Jamil can best you?” she asked with a twitch of her lips.

“Only when I’m raging drunk,” he replied, the corner of his mouth tipping up. He loosed a deep sigh, and his shoulders seemed lighter, as if the weight on his soul had lightened.

“Where were you all night?” she asked, eyeing his battered face, though she already knew the answer.

“I went back to the alley and traced their trail to their hideout. It was a different building than before. I found the girl there. Five other children. The men are all dead. Baran will get the kids to safety.”

Layna pulled him into an embrace, her strong, good, guilt-ridden man. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured against his hair. He inhaled deeply and held the breath, as if gathering strength from her scent. When he pulled back, his eyes were clear.

He trailed a reverent hand down her cheek.

“Hungry?”

They sat at the table and ate cold lamb shawarma in silence.

“When do we leave?” she asked.

“Tonight.” His face was remorseful. “We can’t risk staying now. We’ll check once more with Baran, but I have a feeling Jamil and your family haven’t arrived yet.”

Her lower lip trembled. “Do you think they’re all right?”

“Yes. Jamil will protect them.” He placed a hand over hers. “We’ll travel slowly to Shahbaad. Give them time to catch up,” he reassured, lacing his fingers with hers. She smiled softly at their joined hands.

“You should sleep now, before we leave tonight,” she said, tracing a gentle line against the shadows marring his eyes.

He hummed in agreement. “I was hoping you might heal me first.”

“Oh! Yes, of course. Sorry, I forgot about that,” she muttered.

They settled deeper into the sofa, and she called to her serene, gentle light until her henna -adorned hands began to glow.

She placed her palms over his eye and the gash on his cheek.

When she dropped her hands, his face was flawless.

Nudging her off his lap, Zarian removed his baldric and tunic, and when he turned around, she gasped.

A large, purpling bruise darkened most of his lower back.

She pressed her palms over it and focused. Her white light covered his back until his skin returned to its normal, healthy shade.

“Turn around,” she instructed, intent on healing the scratches on his arm and the smaller bruise on his chest.

“Leave those. You’ll wear yourself out.”

“I can do it,” she insisted, pushing past his hands and setting her glowing ones to his chest. She could feel his eyes on her face, watching for any sign of exhaustion. In minutes, he was completely healed, save for his split lip.

An idea sparked in her mind. The light flowed easily, instinctively to her palms, but was it possible to channel it another way? Closing her eyes, she focused on the thrum in her veins, the vibrating, flowing rush.

She redirected it, coaxing and cajoling.

Commanding.

I am your master. You are not mine .

Her light didn’t immediately respond. It felt unnatural, but slowly, she could feel it flow upward to her face. She opened her eyes.

Zarian’s awestruck gaze was fixed on her mouth. Slowly, she pressed her glowing lips to his and held them there, a pleasant tingling passing between them. When she pulled back, his lip was seamless.

“Magnificent,” he breathed. He pressed forward to capture her lips again, eyes dark with lust, but she pushed against his chest. He’d never sleep if he had his way.

The sight of the henna on her hands reminded her.

She presented her palms to him, the intricately patterned henna a dark shade of brown. “The artist said that, um, wives … conceal their husbands’ names in their design. You have to find it.”

He kissed her palms, first one, then the other, his tongue darting out in the barest of caresses. “And what do I get if I find it?”

“You get to sleep,” she laughed. He pulled her close, examining her hands with care. It didn’t take long before he found his name, cleverly concealed in a paisley design between her thumb and index finger.

Though he seemed to forget his prize, because his hands tugged at her tunic. She batted them away.

“Sleep first. I can rest on Najoom, but you’ll need it tonight.” With a reluctant nod, he sprawled on the bed, long limbs askew. Minutes later, the gentle sound of his deep breaths filled the room.

Layna packed their things so they’d be ready to leave as soon as he woke. After she finished, she lay down beside him, just to feel his solid, reassuring warmth against her back. But eventually, sleep found her, too.

When she awoke, the room was dim, the sun just beginning to set.

Gentle breaths fanned against her neck. Zarian’s heavy arm was slung across her waist, his leg thrown over both of hers.

Gingerly, she tried to squirm out of his grasp but was met with a displeased grumble.

He tightened his hold, burrowing his face further into her neck.

With a sigh, she settled against him and waited for him to wake. She didn’t have to wait long—soon, she found herself pinned beneath him, his impatient hands hastily removing her clothes.

Afterward, she had barely caught her breath when he rolled her onto her stomach. “We’ll be without a bed for weeks,” he rumbled, breath hot in her ear. “Better make good use of this one.”