Page 68 of The Moon’s Fury (Moon & Sands #2)
T he man wrenched her arms back and dragged her from the shadows. “That’s enough.” Layna tilted her head to look at him—his lips were pulled back in a violent smirk.
Zarian’s eyes landed on them, and he froze, eyes panicked and wide, blade hovering midair.
He looked as if he’d just walked into the scorching flames of hell.
“Ruslayn.” He breathed the name like a curse. Ruslayn pulled her arms back farther, and a pained gasp escaped her.
Zarian’s jaw clenched, eyes frantically scanning for an escape.
He swallowed, dropping his sword and raising his hands in surrender.
The remaining three men flanked him; two held him captive, one holding each arm.
The third, coward that he was, hauled back and punched him in the abdomen.
Zarian doubled over, his breath escaping in a whoosh , but didn’t make a sound.
He straightened, sucking in sharply. “Ruslayn, we can—”
“Talk?” the man behind her finished. She could hear the smirk in his voice. “Oh, I have plenty to say. Worry not, Prince .”
“What are you doing?” hissed one of the men holding Zarian. “Kill her now. You saw what she did in Shahbaad.”
Zarian growled, pulling against the men. They tightened their grips, muscles bulging against leather to keep him restrained.
Ruslayn hummed. He ignored the man and addressed her directly, his breath a hot whisper against her ear. “I did see what you wreaked upon Shahbaad Palace.” He tsk ed. “Naughty girl.” He pulled her against him, her back flush to his chest.
A shaking wave of revulsion shuddered through her.
Layna’s eyes fell to Zarian. He was focused on Ruslayn with pure, unadulterated hatred, and she knew the only thing preventing the man’s death was the fact that he had her at his mercy.
“I think, habibi , that something has changed since Shahbaad. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been cowering in the shadows while he did the dirty work, hmm?” Fuck, fuck fuck . “Otherwise, you wouldn’t let me do this.” He licked her face, wet and slow, from chin to temple.
“Don’t fucking touch her!” Zarian roared, lunging forward with so much force that the two men skidded alongside him.
Ruslayn only laughed, reveling in Zarian’s rage.
The man behind Zarian looked concerned, a deep crease between his brows. “Ruslayn. It’s too risky. Finish this.”
But Ruslayn paid no heed. He tugged the satchel from her body and tossed it toward them. “Check the bag. His, too.” The third man came forward and dumped the contents of both satchels, sifting through them.
“Medjai texts.”
Ruslayn tsk ed again. “We can’t have those falling into the wrong hands, can we? Burn them.”
Layna’s blood ran cold as she watched helplessly while the man piled the parchments against the stone wall.
No.
No, no, no.
He uncorked a flask, dousing the parchment before grabbing a torch and setting fire to her last hope.
Her eyes met Zarian’s, flames dancing in their furious depths.
She had been a fool to insist on coming here.
“See?” Ruslayn said, this time addressing his companions.
“Nothing.” As if to prove his point, he brought one of her arms forward, keeping her locked against him.
She struggled in his grasp, but he tightened his grip, grinding against her, and she froze in disgust. He laughed darkly.
“Keep fighting me, habibi . It’ll be that much sweeter when I take you. ”
And then he took hold of her right arm and snapped her wrist.
Layna was not proud of the loud, shrill scream that escaped her. Tears stung her eyes, streamed down her face. She was vaguely aware of Zarian shouting, but it was muffled over the ringing in her ears. Her breath escaped in sharp pants, searing pain winding through her.
He dropped her arm, and it fell limply to her side, her broken wrist radiating sharp, throbbing pain.
“Now that we’ve established you won’t be bringing the library down on our heads”—the bastard winked at Zarian—“let’s get to know each other better, shall we?
” He grasped her chin, tilting her face toward him.
A shock of pitch-black curls framed his face, falling over his forehead.
His eyes could only be described as ice blue, eyeing her with both hunger and malice.
“Mmmm,” he moaned, cold eyes scanning her face. “Exquisite. I’ll have to thank that Navrastani girl. I might not have met you otherwise. And we ”—he smirked at Zarian—“wouldn’t have had this reunion.”
Burhani .
It had been Burhani.
That fucking—
Her thoughts fled as Ruslayn leaned closer, dragging a rough thumb across her lips.
“What a lovely color,” he murmured. “Tell me, habibi , are you this delicious shade of pink everywhere ?”
From her periphery, Zarian lunged forward. He shouted, spewing curses, some Layna had never heard before, threatening Ruslayn’s life in the most brutal of ways. He made it three steps, dragging the two men along with him, until the third man wrapped a muscular arm around his neck and squeezed.
Ruslayn watched with what could only be described as glee. “I never thought I’d see this day,” he murmured to himself. Then, with his free hand, he began searching for the straps of her borrowed baldric.
Slithering fear snaked up her throat when he found them, easily snapping them until the baldric hung open.
“I will fucking kill you,” Zarian seethed, his voice hoarse. “If you lay a hand on her, if you touch her, I will impale you with my sword. I will carve you open and leave you begging for death. I will—”
Ruslayn laughed, cold and menacing.
“You’ll what?”
His large hand slowly trailed up her stomach, between her breasts. He wrapped his fingers around her neck, squeezing slightly, demonstrating what he’d do if Zarian continued to test him.
Zarian growled, hazel eyes glinting, and Layna knew, just knew , the only thing stopping him from cutting down the three men was that Ruslayn would snap her neck before he could reach her.
“You fucking—”
“ Habibi , did you know he’s much more fun when he’s drunk?” His fingers caressed her throat, coming to grip the neck of her tunic. He nodded to the third man. “Rynh, get our prince a drink. He’s going to need it for what comes next.”
The third man, Rynh, fisted his hand in Zarian’s hair and wrenched his head back. He pried his mouth open, forcing the same alcohol that helped burn the parchment down his throat.
Zarian thrashed in his hold, coughing, sputtering, gagging, but the fingers holding his jaw open were relentless.
His throat bobbed futilely, a fit of loud coughs wracking his body.
She had never felt such burning hatred.
Finally, the man released Zarian.
In time to watch as Ruslayn tore her tunic down the front with a loud rip. The men let out a loud cheer as she was bared, and she tucked herself inward as much as she could, hunching her shoulders to hide from their leering gazes.
She couldn’t meet Zarian’s eyes, afraid of what she’d see.
Ruslayn wanted to break him, and she was fearful he’d succeed.
It had been weeks since she’d attempted to reach for her light, but she tried again now, desperation clawing at her heart. She hunched in further, eyes scrunched tightly, and searched inside herself for even the slightest whisper of power.
Ruslayn was still taunting Zarian, but she drowned him out, focusing on her rage, letting it consume her thoughts, her heart.
Her entire being.
She prayed to the moon, to the sun, to anything that would listen.
Please. Please let me use my powers. Please let us escape this.
Please, let Zarian live. Please.
She called to her light, begging, pleading.
Wake up. Fucking wake up!
Tears pricked her eyes, and she squeezed them tighter. Slowing her breaths to calm the racing of her heart, she tried again, desperately searching for a flicker of light.
But it was no use.
Where her power had flowed like a raging river in her veins, there was only dried-up dust.
Please, Daughter. Don’t leave me bereft. Not now.
A heartbeat.
Two, then three beats.
There was no answer.