Page 52 of The Moon’s Fury (Moon & Sands #2)

“ L et’s take a break,” Zarian said, coming to a stop beside her.

“Again?” She looked down from Najoom. This was the third time today, and it wasn’t even close to noon.

“I’ve been walking for days. My legs are tired.”

Liar.

Her eyes narrowed into a glare. He grinned. His eye had improved—the swelling was nearly gone, and the angry purple bruise had faded to a mottled yellow.

The sight of it stoked her anger.

“Fine,” she huffed. “I’ll walk. You ride.” She dismounted quickly, brushing past Zarian and stalking away.

He grabbed her elbow before she made it far. She spun around, eyes blazing.

“What—”

“Let’s spar,” he said quickly. “We could both blow off some steam.” His warm, hazel eyes were filled with concern, and she hated it. She tried to wrench away from his grasp, but he held her tightly, pulling her closer to his chest.

“I thought you said your legs were tired,” she snapped.

“Of walking. I have plenty of energy to knock you on your pretty ass.” He smirked, oozing arrogance. “Unless you’re afraid to lose.”

“ I know what you’re doing ,” she snarled, baring her teeth like a sandcat. “It’s not going to work.”

He loosened his hold. “Layna, you’ve barely spoken over the last few days. I have better chances of holding a conversation with Naj.”

“So go talk to your horse, then.”

She tried to pull away again, but his grip became iron.

“Layna, stop ,” he sighed. “The rage is going to eat you from the inside out.”

Her simmering temper boiled over.

“You expect me to just be happy? Move on like nothing happened? They killed my mother!” she shouted.

“Of course not. You have every right to be angry. But don’t close yourself off like this.

Talk to me. Find an outlet for that rage.

If you don’t, it will burn through you, reduce you to ash until there’s nothing left.

I’ve already walked the path you’re on, and I promise it only leads to more despair.

You own my soul, Layna. Let me help you. ”

He was right. His handsome face was so earnest, so filled with love. He was knocking on the doors of her cold, broken heart.

He’d wait there forever.

She looked at him—at the fading injuries on his face.

The injuries she couldn’t heal.

She wiped away her tears before Zarian could.

“We should keep moving,” she said hoarsely. “There’s a lot of ground to cover before nightfall.”

This time, he didn’t stop her when she pulled out of his grasp.

Dagger in hand, Zarian knelt in a secluded spot and waited. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to wait long.

He’d left Layna at their makeshift camp to hunt. Despite his cajoling, he couldn’t coax her to come. She was retreating more and more into herself each day. He was actually relieved when she let her anger take hold earlier, because then at least she had felt something .

Quieting his mind, he listened, focusing on nothing but the sounds of the forest.

The whispering of the night wind.

The gentle rustling of fallen leaves.

The loud crunch of dried twigs underfoot.

His eyes snapped open seconds before a massive creature pounced on him with a loud growl. Sharp claws dug deep into his back and knocked him forward. Hot breath fanned against him, drops of saliva dripping onto his neck.

He had seconds before the beast tore into him.

With a loud grunt, he reared up with all his strength, flinging the animal off his back. There was a loud thump—it didn’t land far.

He stood quickly, facing the animal. The black wolf nearly reached his waist. Poised on its haunches, it bared its sharp teeth and snarled.

Zarian slowly unsheathed a second dagger. He stood tall, stretching to his full height. The wolf growled again, the only warning before it lunged in a shadow of black fur.

At the last moment, Zarian crouched low and ducked under the wolf as it flew over him. He shoved both daggers up into its soft underbelly, yanking them across, blood spurting from the gashes. With a sharp yelp, the wolf fell to the ground, collapsing on the soft earth.

He knelt next to the shaking animal and placed a hand on its side. It wouldn’t be long now. Seconds later, the light died from its eyes. With a sigh, he cradled the large beast and headed back to camp.

His eyes fell on Layna as he passed through the trees. She was sitting on the ground, staring at the fire, exactly where he had left her. As he drew closer, her dim eyes drifted to him. At first, they didn’t even flicker, but then her gaze dropped to the large, furred body in his arms.

Her eyes widened. She shot to her feet.

“Zarian,” she breathed. “It’s—”

“Not a rabbit,” he answered with a grin. “We’ll be eating well tonight.”

She drew closer, looking at the dark wounds on the wolf’s underbelly. “Are you hurt?” she demanded.

“No,” he lied.

With narrowed eyes, Layna scanned his face, chest, arms for any injuries. When he set the wolf down, she stepped behind him.

Layna gasped.

“You’re bleeding!” She placed a hand on his back, urging him to remain still while she examined the wounds.

“It’s fine.” He turned away, out of her reach.

“Let me see.”

“Layna, really. It’s just a few scratches. They’ll heal quickly on their own.” Please let it go , he silently begged. She was breathing quickly now, her eyes wild.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Take off your shirt,” she snapped.

“If you want me naked—”

“ Zarian .”

She was seething now.

There was no way around it.

With a sigh, he unlaced his baldric and pulled it over his head, wincing at the stretch in his upper back. His tunic came off next, blood-slicked fabric sticking to his skin. Goosebumps rose across his flesh as his skin met the night air.

“Moons, Zarian! They’re not just scratches,” she exclaimed. Her cold fingers traced the outlines of eight jagged puncture marks in his back.

“Are they still bleeding?” he asked over his shoulder. When there was no response, he turned. There were tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Layna…”

He reached for her, but she flinched and angrily wiped her tears.

“I’ll wear my chainmail baldric next time,” he said softly. “I should’ve been wearing it to begin with.”

She said nothing, but her thoughts were written clearly on her face.

I can’t heal you. I’m broken.

She fetched a washcloth and canteen, gently cleansing his wounds. Her fingers were soft against his bare skin. It was difficult to resist the urge to lean back against her—he was starved for her touch.

“What can I use to wrap these?” she asked woodenly.

“There are liniments in the pack, my love.”

With efficient, clinical hands, she wrapped the wounds.

“Thank you, love.”

She only gave him her silence.

He watched as she repacked the supplies. Grimacing, he hefted the large wolf away from their campsite and began to skin it. Movement flashed at the corner of his eye.

Layna was laying down the bedroll, preparing for sleep.

“We—we didn’t even eat yet,” he said, exasperated.

“I’m not hungry.”