Page 79 of The Moon’s Fury (Moon & Sands #2)

C ool blue water lapped at his skin as they descended. Layna’s hair rose up around them, a tangled, dark halo. He kept one arm around her waist and used the other to hasten their descent. She was rigid against him, but otherwise calm.

His feet touched down on the cool sand. It was dim—the water was clear, but there was no direct sunlight in the cave to light their way.

Zarian scanned around them, eyes trying to pierce through dark water for large shadows.

Sharks didn’t typically wander this far from the open sea, and he had swam around the cove when he first dove in to check.

But if one snuck in and found them, even a harmless one, he’d never get her back in the water again.

His gaze slid to Layna; her eyes were wide, darting around the cove floor.

He turned her around, her movements slower in the water, and pressed between her shoulder blades, indicating she should step forward. She took one step, then another, until her palms lay flat against the rock wall.

Two minutes.

His hand found her shoulder, guiding her into a crouch. He kneeled behind her. Her body was tense, practically vibrating from holding her breath.

The face of the rock was rough against his palm. By their feet, a faint, blue light cast a glow, nearly imperceptible if you weren’t already looking for it. Layna turned to look at him, brows furrowed.

He nodded, and she knelt, prostrating on the seabed, face pressed against the soft sand. He followed.

Three minutes.

The rock wall sank inward at the bottom. Cutting through it was a vein of brilliant, pulsing blue.

It was the color of the sky on a bright, clear day, submerged here below the ocean depths. The thrumming blue was calming, almost soothing, oblivious to the chaos and misery it had wreaked in the world.

After a scant moment, Layna rose, kneeling on the ground, her hair floating in the water around them like a cloud.

Four minutes.

She met his eyes with her wide, panicked ones, pointing to the surface. She moved to stand, but he tugged her back down and melded his lips to hers. Her eyes fluttered shut, but he kept his fixed on her radiant face.

He coaxed her lips open with his and exhaled deeply, filling her lungs with his remaining air, her chest expanding against him. They broke apart, and her eyes had lost that panicked edge. She smiled, soft and filled with pure adoration, looking at him through her eyelashes, and

he

fucking

melted.

Moons, this woman.

Fuck his air, he’d siphon the blood from his veins, carve his heart from his chest, rent his soul in two, as long as she kept smiling at him as if he painted the stars in the sky.

Five minutes.

His chest ached.

He rose and brought her along with him. His lungs burned—typically, he could hold his breath for nearly eight minutes, but he’d given away the last of his air.

He tapped her hip three times, and they crouched together, his arm wrapped around her waist, then pushed off the sandy sea floor.

He kicked with his legs, and Layna copied his movements, albeit stiffly, and soon they broke through the surface.

He trapped her between the rock ledge and his body as they both sucked in large, gasping lungfuls of air. Droplets of water cascaded down her face, dripping onto the bare skin of her collarbone, her dark hair flat against her head, molten brown eyes shining.

She was a fucking goddess.

It wasn’t lost on him that, despite her fear of the water, his brave woman dived down with him .

Trusted him .

Believed, without a whisper of a doubt, that he’d protect her.

Despite all he’d done, Layna loved him.

Some primal instinct surged in his veins, roaring in his ears, and stirred the desire that was always simmering whenever he was near her.

He captured her lips in a furious kiss, knocking their teeth together. His tongue swept into her mouth, claiming her as his and stealing the breath she had just taken. His free hand dipped below the water and searched between them for the edge of her clothing. He hooked his fingers in the side and—

Layna stopped him with a hand on his chest. He froze, breaking the kiss and pressing his forehead to hers, a question in his gaze.

“Could we go back to the villa first?” she asked, her voice hoarse. He didn’t miss the way her wary eyes scanned the water.

He inhaled deeply, reining in his lust-addled mind, brushing a kiss against her forehead.

“Of course, love.”

A kiss to her nose.

“I got carried away.”

He pressed his lips to her ear and whispered, “But one day soon, I am going to have you. Right. Here.”

They walked back to the villa, the breeze refreshingly cool against her damp skin. “I can see why no one found the sihrrock before.”

Zarian hummed, his hand skating along her back. “Marwon was swimming in the cove. He would never have noticed it if he hadn’t seen that faint glow in Valtisaan.”

They maneuvered around a large bush on the trail. Layna worried her lower lip between her teeth, glancing at Zarian, then back to the path.

“Ask your question, love. It’s all right,” he said softly.

Fuck . Layna often forgot her face spoke to him before she did.

She hesitated for a heartbeat. “How did you learn to swim?”

He worked his jaw, a muscle feathering in his cheek. “I was seven, maybe eight. There was a large tank. They threw me into it every day until I learned.”

“I’m so sorry,” she breathed, squeezing his hand.

He shrugged. “I learned to swim,” he said quietly. “Some didn’t.”

Later in the afternoon, they headed into town, pockets weighed down with gold Zarian had hidden in the villa. As they entered the market, she tugged at his arm and whispered, “Are we Zem and Ahna?”

He shook his head, smiling. “No, just Layna and Zarian.”

They visited nearly every shop, buying new clothing, sandals, lotions, and other necessities. Layna picked out new furnishings—wooden panels, carved with swirled patterns; cloth tapestries in hues of cerulean and navy; sweet-smelling coconut shell candles; a basket filled with colorful seashells.

They’d garnered a crowd of onlookers by the time they were done. Most of the islanders eyed them with curiosity, and some of them already knew Zarian.

One man approached them, eyes full of mirth as he clapped Zarian on the back. He was a few years older than Zarian, and his eyes had permanent crinkles at the corners, as though he spent most of his time laughing.

“ Me ha mea laa e nahay ana oe, e malohini .” The man smiled broadly, his face friendly.

“ Ae ,” Zarian responded. “ Maakou e hana iya Ashra i ko maakou ghar inaa ae .” The man’s smile widened, and he shook Zarian’s hand. He gestured toward her, and Zarian said, “ O keiya koyu akoha, o Layna .” The man bowed to her, hand over his heart.

More people came up to them, men and women, all eager to listen to the foreigner speaking fluent jazirluga . Zarian spoke to them all, his hand a comforting weight on her back, as a small crowd formed around them.

There was one man toward the back whose dark eyes were hard as he watched them. Did he know Zarian? Or was he just wary of strangers? The man left the gathering shortly afterward, stalking away.

Zarian borrowed a large wooden cart from one of the men, promising he’d bring it back the next day. The man readily agreed, and they loaded their purchases and headed home.