Page 69 of The Moon’s Fury (Moon & Sands #2)

“ R uslayn, please.” Zarian’s voice was quiet. Desperate. “I’m begging you. Don’t do this. I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” the malevolent, hateful man behind her asked.

“Anything.”

“Would you take her place?”

Layna’s eyes snapped open.

Her heart protested, afraid to hear his next words.

“Yes.”

Her panicked gaze shot to his, and he gave a barely imperceptible shake of his head.

Don’t say anything. Don’t give him anything else he can use .

Ruslayn was silent, mulling over Zarian’s offer.

“Please. Please, Ruslayn. Don’t hurt her. I’ll get on my knees and beg. Just let her go.”

Something broke inside her at the sound of Zarian’s hoarse, desperate voice. Blistering fury—rage that had been simmering since this vile man accused her of cowering—boiled within her.

He had made her mighty lion beg .

For this, she would not let him live.

Fuck the Daughter . She was going to make him fear her .

Layna willed her frantic heart to slow, taking deep breaths, still curled up, trying to conceal as much of her body as Ruslayn’s firm grip would allow.

He still hadn’t responded to Zarian, letting his silence wrap around them like a suffocating shroud.

“As tempting as it would be to have you,” he finally crooned, “tonight I’m in the mood for goddess .”

Steeling herself, Layna slowly straightened, pulling her shoulders back. Her skin prickled as the leering gazes of the other Medjai slid to her chest. She didn’t dare look at Zarian, afraid she’d lose her resolve otherwise.

“Oh?” she purred, dropping her voice to the husky whisper that brought Zarian to his knees. “And you think you can handle a goddess?” She arched her back, her exposed skin pebbling in the cool air. The other Medjai ogled, but she didn’t let that rile her.

Zarian would not let them live.

She gazed up at Ruslayn, eyes hooded and lips parted. Arching her back, she relaxed in his grasp. His brow furrowed, hungry eyes darting between her lips and chest.

“Well?” she prodded, lips curled in a teasing smile.

“You think yourself worthy of the Daughter ?” she scoffed.

“Your prince”—she flicked her head toward Zarian—“takes me to the stars and back every night.” She nibbled her lower lip between her teeth and watched as his gaze followed her every movement.

“It’s why I’ve kept him around for so long,” she drawled.

“You think you can please me better than him ?”

A pained sound escaped Zarian, but she dared not look.

She kept Ruslayn pinned with her sultry gaze.

The gears of his filthy mind turned, weighing what route would torment Zarian more. Forcibly defiling her, or having an eager, willing participant while Zarian watched?

His voice was honeyed with promise when he finally said, “Yes, habibi . The stars, you said? I’ll take you to the heavens with just my tongue.”

Layna pressed into him, his leather baldric cool against her skin. Rising on the tips of her toes, she brushed her lips against his.

“Prove it,” she whispered.

He crashed his lips against hers, mouth moving feverishly. It made her sick, but she responded, her tongue tracing the seam of his lips until he parted them.

She could hear nothing but silence and Ruslayn’s heavy breaths.

He pulled her closer into him, flattening her chest against his, one hand fisting in her hair.

Another distraught, pained sound escaped Zarian, so anguished that Layna knew she’d hear it in her nightmares for as long as she drew breath.

Ruslayn smiled against her lips. His arousal pressed against her, but she couldn’t tell if it was because of her kiss or Zarian’s distress.

“Was that all?” she murmured as they parted for air. “I expected … more from this tongue that will take me to the heavens.”

His lips claimed hers again. Bile rose in her throat as his tongue invaded her mouth, but she forced it back down.

Almost. Just a little more .

Zarian began struggling, trying to reach them. Grunts and the sound of scuffling boots echoed around them. Her broken wrist throbbed, the pain making her dizzy, but she ignored it, pushing through the searing stabs.

She moaned loudly, the wanton sound swallowed by Ruslayn’s hungry mouth. She took his lower lip between her teeth and bit down until the coppery tang of blood filled her mouth.

“You’re a little wildcat, aren’t you?” Ruslayn whispered, nudging forward to capture her lips again, but she tilted her head back.

“I am,” she murmured against his mouth. “And I will. Not. Be. Tamed.”

Before his lust-addled mind could process her words, she shoved her dagger up, piercing through the soft, vulnerable skin behind his chin, up into his mouth.

Her broken wrist screamed in protest, sharp shockwaves of pain radiating up her arm.

She twisted the blade as much as she could manage, her hand shaking violently, wrist bent at an unnatural angle.

Hot blood spurted across her face as Ruslayn’s eyes widened in shock, her blade lodged in his mouth.

Shouts and the crunch of bone rang out from her left, but she kept her gaze fixed on Ruslayn.

“ You bihh ,” he sputtered. Her dagger had impaled his tongue. It wasn’t a killing blow, but warm satisfaction swirled through her.

He released her, using one hand to stem the bleeding, the other to grasp the hilt of her dagger protruding from beneath his jaw.

Her gaze darted to Zarian. She was out from Ruslayn’s grasp, and that was all he had needed. Two men already lay dead on the floor, daggers finding homes in throats and eye sockets. His sword pierced through the final man’s abdomen.

He turned and set his sights on Ruslayn.

Ruslayn, who had managed to remove her dagger from the soft hollow behind his chin.

Ruslayn, whose panicked gaze darted between Zarian and the door.

Ruslayn, who must have seen his death in Zarian’s eyes, because he turned and fled.

Zarian flung a thin dagger, and it sunk into the back of his leg.

He fell to the ground with a pained cry.

“Are you all right, love?” Zarian asked, but his cold eyes were fixed on Ruslayn’s crawling form.

She nodded, following his gaze. The Medjai had made it to his feet and was hobbling. A dagger to the other leg brought him back down with a resounding thud.

Hands intertwined, they followed the short trail of blood until they reached him. Zarian nudged him onto his back with his boot. He crouched and grabbed Ruslayn’s chin, tilting it up to inspect his gaping wound.

He tsk ed. “My goddess did quite the number on you.”

Fear and hate and rage mingled in Ruslayn’s eyes, but along with it was resignation.

Zarian’s voice was soft, almost intimate, when he asked, “Do you want to kill him, love? Or should I?”

She regarded the bleeding man before her, clutching her injured wrist to her chest. “Together.”

Zarian’s sword gleamed as he placed it in her left hand and wrapped his fingers over hers. With his chest against her back, he guided the sword between Ruslayn’s legs.

“I promised impaling you in the most brutal of ways if you laid a hand on her.”

Slowly, together, they pushed the sword through his manhood. His cries rang out around them, piercing the silence with their intensity.

“And I never break my promises.”

His grip tightened around hers, poised to deliver promised death when—

Muffled footsteps echoed behind the wall, heavy thuds on stone stairs.

Fuck .

She turned to Zarian, panic flaring in her chest.

“Medjai?” she whispered, wrist throbbing, breath shallow.

“Let’s not wait to find out.”

His gaze flicked to Ruslayn, bleeding out in a dark pool on the floor.

The footsteps grew louder, closer.

Indecision flickered in his eyes, a storm of fury tempered by the instinct to protect—to survive.

Then—

A swift lunge, the sickening squelch of flesh, a waning grunt.

“Let’s go.”