Page 39 of The Moon’s Fury (Moon & Sands #2)

S nikt.

She watched, mouth falling open, as the rabbit darted inside her snare and shot back out.

A deep chuckle sounded behind her, and she turned, ready to direct her glare at the source.

His muscular arms were crossed, the sun shining off his pitch-black hair.

His gray eyes were crinkled at the corners, as they were more often lately, and the sight doused her outrage.

“Here,” he said, stepping forward and kneeling beside her faulty snare. “Make sure these ropes are tighter next time. You’re getting better.”

As they walked back to their— her —new cave, he easily caught two rabbits for dinner with just his hands and dagger. He said nothing, but she could feel the masculine satisfaction radiating off him.

They arrived at the clearing that marked their— her —home.

She had to stop doing that.

He set to skinning the rabbits, while she took down their dried clothing and folded them into neat piles. They had fallen into an easy rhythm these past few weeks of coexisting. She had slowly regained the weight she lost on a steady diet of rabbit and other unlucky game animals.

“Will you light the fire for me?” he called, his hands bloody.

She padded toward him. Raising her hands, she directed a beam of hot light at the firepit, and the kindling quickly caught flame.

“Thank you, Shamzaadi,” he said with an easy smile.

She fixed a glare on him, though it was harder and harder to summon heat.

He’d taken to calling her Shamzaadi, sun princess, and the term had grown on her.

“You slept through meditation this morning,” he commented, skewering the meat on a thin branch. Her eyes tracked the movement of his arms, biceps flexing, forearms corded with thick veins.

“Are you feeling all right?”

He’d encouraged her to meditate with him every morning, and she enjoyed the peace it brought to her loud mind. It had also been instrumental in harnessing the power inside her—he’d helped with that as well.

“Yes,” she replied quickly, cheeks warm. She hadn’t slept well the night before.

When the meat was cooked through, she sat down beside him. Her knee brushed against his, and she didn’t scoot back as she might have done weeks ago. He tore the meat into pieces, always giving her the most tender parts, and they ate in companionable silence.

“Will you … leave soon?” she asked, her heart thrumming in her chest. Quiet , she told it.

“So eager to be rid of me, Shamzaadi.”

It wasn’t a question. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

“I—no. It’s just … don’t you want to move on with your life? You’re finally free of them. You could go wherever you pleased.”

He was silent, chewing thoughtfully for longer than seemed necessary. He swallowed, and her disobedient eyes dropped to his throat. Then they dipped lower, tracing his thick collarbones, following the smattering of fine chest hair down the vee of his tunic and—

“I could,” he said, and her eyes snapped back to his, a furious warmth flushing her cheeks.

“What?” she asked, brows furrowed.

“What you said. I could go wherever I pleased.”

He didn’t say anything else.

That night, when she lay down in her bedroll, sleep eluded her again. She tossed and turned, her body painfully aware of the large, kind man sleeping just a few feet away.

The journey to Shahbaad was long, but blessedly uneventful. Layna was grateful for the warmer clothing—the climate was much cooler on this side of the continent.

As the days went on, they fell into a routine.

At first light, Zarian would wake her from whichever sheltered area they’d slept the night before.

They’d eat breakfast, then she’d drink her silpharoon tea.

Zarian had the foresight to purchase a small kettle and metal stand before they left Sendouk.

He’d stake the rods over the firepit, and Layna would use her light to start the fire.

One morning, instead of lighting the fire, she tried channeling her light into one hand and heating the kettle directly. It had worked so well that the hot metal burned her skin. It seemed that, while her light didn’t harm her, other objects it heated were fair game.

After breakfast, they’d mount Najoom and ride for hours. Often, Layna used this time to summon her light, calling it to the surface at different points of her body. She always rode in front now—it was easier for her to rest against Zarian when practicing left her fatigued.

And it made it easier for Zarian’s wandering hands to have their fill.

When they stopped for Najoom to rest, Zarian would train her with the dagger he’d given her in Sendouk.

On other days, she’d practice forms with one of his swords—she hadn’t brought hers with her the night they left Alzahra.

Even his smaller sword was too heavy for her, and after the first few days, her arms ached under its weight.

They avoided the main roads that travelers frequented, remaining close to the trees where possible.

They rarely encountered anyone. Once, they had come across a small hunting party of four men.

Zarian had tensed behind her, but greeted them courteously as they rode past. The men returned his greeting, and Layna felt curious eyes on her, though they said nothing further.

Zarian didn’t stop that night to sleep.

Besides that incident, they had kept a slower pace, allowing time for Jamil to catch up with Soraya and Hadiyah.

But a niggling thought kept prodding her mind.

“What if they didn’t go to Sendouk?” she’d asked Zarian. “What if they went somewhere else?”

“Where?”

“Shahbaad. My mother can be very persuasive. She may have decided it was safer for her and Soraya to return to my grandfather.”

Zarian mulled her words. “She is indeed persuasive,” he agreed, a shadow passing over his face.

“But going to Shahbaad Palace would have been extremely stupid. It must be crawling with Medjai—it’s not a far stretch to assume you’d seek shelter with a relative.

Jamil would have been a fool to take them there.

” He rubbed a hand over his chin, and suddenly he looked less certain. “A fool in love,” he murmured.

“Love?” she questioned, brows furrowed.

“I think Jamil might have feelings for Soraya.” Her jaw dropped, and he quickly added, “I don’t know for certain. I’ve never pressed him on it. But I get this sense of wistfulness from him whenever he speaks of her.”

She weighed his words. “If you’re right, then poor Jamil. The woman he loves, loves another. And he has to spend every minute with her.”

“And her mother.”

She laughed. “I don’t envy him.”

Zarian finished packing their supplies and pulled her to her feet. “Not everyone is as blessed as you when it comes to travel companions. I come with many benefits , wouldn’t you agree?” he teased. A slow, lazy grin curled his mouth, his fingers skimming her waist.

She suppressed a smile, rolling her eyes. “You mean constantly being subjected to your arrogance and self-praise? That’s been my favorite part.” She grabbed the bag out of his hands and walked toward Najoom, smiling as his laughter rang out behind her.

Something had changed between them since Sendouk.

It was a new sort of ease, a lightness born from baring their hearts—a steadfast surety that felt like a warm, weighted blanket draped over her shoulders.

They had seen the darkest fragments of each other’s souls, the jagged, sharp edges they hid from the world and themselves.

And they loved each other more for it.

Zarian seemed more at ease now than he had their entire journey—even while traveling out in the open. His eyes still constantly scanned every horizon, but he also teased her more and laughed more. She had missed that between them.

He came up behind her and pressed a kiss to her temple. They finished packing Najoom and continued on their way.

Days later, they found themselves in a small cave where they’d taken shelter for the night. It was big enough for Najoom, and Zarian was coaxing him inside. The large stallion seemed skittish at the thought of being enclosed on all sides, no open sky above.

“Come, Naj,” he said softly. He clicked his tongue, adding, “It’ll be just like in Tarakshan, come.”

While Zarian led his mount into the cave, Layna unrolled their blankets.

Glancing up, she spotted him coaxing Najoom to settle a few feet away—the black stallion didn’t like to be touched while he was asleep.

She had made the mistake once of gently running a hand over his mane while he slept.

He’d bolted up instantly, ready to tear off her hand.

Luckily, Zarian had darted between them and calmed him.

With Najoom settled, he walked over.

“I’ll sleep by Najoom.”

He’d had another nightmare last night. She’d woken him, and while he hadn’t hurt her in his panicked state, it had spooked him.

“You’ll do no such thing,” she said firmly, patting the blanket.

He hesitated for a moment, then sighed and settled behind her. She lifted her head, and he slid his arm beneath her neck, drawing her close. He never lasted long without reaching for her—and she basked in every second of it.

Nestled against him, she was grateful Zarian exuded an enormous amount of heat. The nights were cold, but she hardly noticed it.

“Did you have nightmares in Alzahra?” she murmured.

He tensed. “A few,” he admitted, his breath warm against her neck.

“What did you do?”

“I’d wake up eventually—panicked, drenched in sweat. Then I’d meditate until I could sleep again.”

Her heart twisted. “You’ve been alone for so long.”

He hummed softly but offered nothing more.

“Have you had any more dreams? About the eclipse?” he asked.

“Not since you told me what happened. I think my mind was trying to piece it together, filling in the gaps of what I’d lost.”