Page 101 of The Moon's Fury
And she hadenjoyedit. If that man hadn’t catcalled them, her limbs would still be coiled around him, her mouth still pressed to his.
She quickened her steps and heard Jamil’s deep sigh behind her, his footsteps receding slightly. Good. He was giving her space.
She needed it.
Warring thoughts twisted in her mind like dark, writhing vines, fighting for dominance.
She loved Almeer.
She did, she did, she still did.
And Almeer loved her. He had no idea where she was, and Soraya knew, deep in her heart, he’d spend the rest of his life waiting for her.
But the strongest vine was a bright, emerald green. It snaked over the rest, vying for her attention.
Soraya pressed her fingers to her still-swollen lips. She could no longer deny that something had shifted within her heart. She’d always seen Jamil as a friend, but these past few weeks together had convoluted her feelings, mingling friendship with respect, admiration, gratitude, desire.
And maybe—
“SORAYA!”
Jamil’s panicked shout rang out behind her, then something barreled into her back, knocking her forward. There was a loud thud, a pained grunt.
The shouts grew louder.
She spun.
Jamil was crumpled on the floor, a pile of bricks scattered haphazardly around him. Loud cries rang out from above, but they were muffled against the ringing in her ears.
“Jamil!” she cried, rushing to kneel beside him. He groaned.
He was awake, thank the moons.
“Can you sit up?” she asked, her heart beating a punishing rhythm in her chest. His eyelids fluttered, blinking rapidly until his clouded gaze was sharp once more.
“I’m fine,” he rasped, rotating his shoulder and wincing. A group of men was approaching. “Missed my head. Are you all right? I knocked into you pretty hard.”
A disbelieving, hysterical laugh tore from her throat.
“I’m fine, you idiot.” She sniffled.
When had she started crying?
Men surrounded them, helping Jamil up and dusting off his clothes, replacing the bags in his hands, all the while uttering aggressive apologies.
“Should I call for a doctor,sahib?” one mustached man asked, patting Jamil’s arm.
Jamil waved him off, rotating his shoulder again to appease him. “Come on,” he said, and she fell into step beside him.
Her panic faded, but her heartbeat didn’t slow. She glanced at him every few minutes, worried eyes scanning his face for any sign of pain. There was none.
They reached the inn, quickly checking on Ahmar before heading to their room. As soon as the door closed, she pulled the bags from his hands.
“Let me see your shoulder,” she demanded.
Jamil eyed her warily. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
She bristled. “Why not?” He didn’t respond, averting his gaze, and she understood. “Because of the kiss?”
