Page 85 of The Moon's Daughter

It was time.

She was suspended in a void, a realm where reality blurred at the edges. Falling, plummeting through infinite darkness, her screams evaporated in the air. The sensation of freefall consumed her, a sharp tug in her gut, an eternity passed in mere moments. And then, abruptly, swift impact—her breath stolen by the sudden, jarring halt.

Blink.

She inhaled deeply, and the air was rich with sandalwood and spice. Groggily, she opened her eyes, finding herself in an unfamiliar bed, the warm glow of sunlight dancing through sheer curtains. She was laying on a bare chest, solid and warm, marked with the unmistakable Medjai tattoo. Looking upward, she saw the peaceful, sleeping face of Zarian, a tranquility in his features she had never witnessed in waking life.

Blink.

In the hush of twilight, pain throbbed through her wrist, a sharp whisper of hurt. Zarian, shadow and light, sat across her, splinting her wrist. His fury blanketed them, his expression thunderous, a muscle in his cheek still pulsing with untamed fury—yet his hands on her were as gentle as a soft desert breeze. A cut marred his cheek, a dark bloom, but it was the storm in his eyes, fierce and protective, that captured her breath. She reached out, her movements slow, tentative. Her fingers brushed against his cheek, attempting to soothe the maelstrom within him. Zarian paused, his stormy gaze locking with hers. His jaw unclenched ever so slightly, the angry muscle in his cheek stilling under her touch.

Blink.

Zarian’s kiss, searching and intimate, his lips sticky sweet, enveloped her senses. Breaking away, she playfully licked the corner of his mouth, her hands tightly gripping his tunic, a teasing smile on her lips. His eyes darkened as he looked down at her, and the swirling desire within them sent a shiver through her.

Blink.

They stood in a vast room, empty and abandoned, moonlight filtering through tall windows. Here, Zarian was her trainer once more, guiding her in close combat—not with swords, but with wits and agility, teaching her to face stronger, larger adversaries. He darted behind her and secured one muscular arm across her chest, immobilizing her, while the other wrapped tightly around her waist. She quickly broke the hold, just as he taught. Turning to face him, she was pleased by the clear pride on his face.

Blink.

She awoke disoriented in a cramped room. Zarian had not returned. Did he leave her here? Her heart hammered against ribs, each beat echoing her growing anxiety. The silence suffocated her, wrapped around her lungs like a vise and squeezed. Her eyes scanned the room again and again and again as if she might conjure him with sheer force of will. But then, finally, the door opened with a gentle click. Zarian entered, the air around him alive with a delicious, spiced aroma. He was carrying bags of food, his face wary in the low light. Relief washed over her in an overwhelming rush, her heart slowly settling back into a normal rhythm.

Blink.

Her heart seized painfully; Zarian stood before her, a trickle of blood escaping the corner of his mouth, the vibrant light in his hazel eyes dimming to a haunting emptiness. The sight struck her like a physical blow, pain sharp and immediate in her chest.

Blink.

They were aboard a small rowboat. Under the sun’s relentless blaze, Zarian rowed with steady, powerful strokes, the corded muscles in his arms glistening in the heat. Sweat beaded on his forehead, tracing a path down his determined face. He smiled at her, warm and weary. She raised a skein of water to his parched lips, watching hungrily as his throat bobbed as he gulped it down. She insisted again that he allow her to row, even for a few minutes, but again, he immediately refused.

Blink.

Zarian knelt, chest bared and vulnerable. He gasped for air, a desperate, futile struggle for life. He swayed, struggling to stand, only to collapse with a loud thud she felt in her bones. Blood seeped from his mouth down over his neck, staining his lips a gruesome red. She screamed and screamed and screamed.

Blink.

On a secluded rooftop under the night sky, she looked at Zarian as he moved above her, moonlight illuminating his handsome face. Arms wrapped tightly around his neck, forehead pressed against his, legs twined around hips, pulling him closer, still closer, forever closer. He buried his face in her neck, breath hot against her damp skin, his movements becoming erratic. Her back arched off the thin mattress, mouth open in a silent scream.

Blink.

Zarian, consumed by a blinding white light exploding from his eyes and mouth, his body contorted in electric pain. The light flared, brighter and hotter and hotter and brighter, an unforgiving, all-consuming, hope-shattering inferno that reduced him to nothing but charred bones. The image etched itself into her mind with cruel clarity.

Blink.

His beautiful hazel eyes, unseeing and lifeless. Zarian!

Blink.

Please, Zarian! No! Mournful eyes locked on her, he tried to speak, but all that emerged was the gurgling sound of blood.

Blink.

No! Zarian! No!

Layna awoke with a strangled scream, jerking upright as if trying to physically escape her nightmare. Her heart raced, a wild drumbeat against her chest, her skin slick with cold sweat. The terror felt so vivid, so tangibly real, that the boundary between dream and reality blurred. The room spun around her, a dizzying whirl of shadows and shapes as she fought to steady her breathing.

A noise from the balcony cut through her disorientation. Hope surged through her as the double doors swung open, flooding the dark room with blinding sunlight. Squinting against the glare, she saw a tall, muscular figure silhouetted against the brightness.

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