Page 106 of The Moon's Fury
Her fingers froze as she turned the page.
There was a new addition to her journal.
Pressed between the pages was a prickly offshoot ofsumzeher.
Her pulse pounded in her ears, her entire world narrowing to the act of love before her eyes.
Because that is exactly what it had been.
Love.
Something cracked inside her chest. Something else came loose.
She knew what she needed to do.
Jamil walked back to the campsite, tonight’s unlucky meal clutched in hand.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. It had been a mistake herding her into the alley, caging her against the wall, where they shared their first kiss.
Their first nothing.
Her words still pierced his heart, even a week later. He had already known it meant nothing, that she was in love with another man.
He knew thathewas nothing.
It just gutted him to hear the words fall from her lips.
He should have let the Gundaari spot him.
They’d have killed him, and that would have been easier than sharing a bed with her, her soft curves fitted perfectly against him. Moons, the thoughts that had flitted through his mind, the restraint it took to keep his hands still. In her sleep, she’d rubbed against him all night until he was a shaking mess of desire and frustration. As soon as he woke the next morning, he’d bolted into the shower, desperate for release.
He reached their campsite where Soraya sat pensive by the fire, brows inching closer together with each passing second. A spark of worry flickered in his chest, a desire to console.
He shoved it down.
Quietly, he began preparing the rabbit.
“I have a favor to ask you,” Soraya said, her voice firm. “And you’re not going to like it.”
He arched a brow.
“Take me to Zephyria.”
44
They’dbeentravelingforweeks, sleeping under the open stars, and walking endlessly during the day.
Her feet ached. Her legs ached. Her back ached.
But her heart ached the most.
He noticed her sluggish steps and rested a comforting hand on her lower back, the contact burning through the thin fabric of her tunic.
“A few more weeks, Shamzaadi. I’ve heard this village welcomes all. And I’ll steal the next horse I see,” he reassured. He rubbed soothing circles, his touch never straying too low.
He never touched her beyond what was appropriate.
It was maddening.
