Page 118 of The Moon's Fury
He didn’t respond. He ate his meal in silence, eyes fixed on the fire.
Layna watched him, nibbling on her own dinner.
“You’re upset with me,” she said hesitantly.
“What gave you that impression?” There was so much ice in his voice, she was surprised the stream didn’t freeze over.
She took a deep, shaky breath. “I haven’t treated you well. These past few days—”
His eyes finally snapped to her.
And he lookedpissed.
“The past few—I don’t give afuckabout the past few days!” he roared.
Fury radiated from him in hot waves, and it took every ounce of her resolve not to flinch.
Her anger was a cold beast, but Zarian’s rage shook the mountain.
“I thought you were upset bec—”
“I am not a prized fucking stud for you toride and discard!” The fire danced in his narrowed, hazel eyes, and for the briefest of moments, she was glad it formed a barrier between them. A vein throbbed angrily in his forehead, and the tendons in his neck bulged.
She was at a loss for words.
His shoulders were vibrating with barely restrained rage. Watching him warily, she racked her mind for something to say, something to make this right.
He looked away from her and took a deep breath.
Then another.
And another.
The stiff line of his shoulders relaxed slightly, and he unclenched his hands and rested them on his knees.
“Come here,” he said gruffly. She hesitated, biting her lower lip. When she didn’t move, he sharply added, “I won’t ask again.”
The bite in his tone had her bolting up and past the firepit in seconds. Her footsteps slowed when she reached him, an angry mountain of a man. She wrung her hands together, unsure where to sit.
She didn’t fret long, because he tugged her into his lap. Layna sat stiffly, straddling his thighs, hands braced on his tense shoulders.
“Relax,” he muttered, working his jaw, still not looking at her.
It didn’t ease her nerves.
Anticipation needled her, sharp prickles against her skin.
“You’ve been through a lot,” he finally said, voice low in the night. “I understand that. Rage at me, scream at me—I can takeit. Moons, you could beat me bloody, and I’d still stand. I’ll gladly be your punching bag if that’s what you need. And you can have me any way you want—I am yours. I find comfort in your body often enough.
“But what you did today—” His fingers tightened around her waist. She saw it in his eyes, the storm of hurt and anger, though his gaze stayed locked on the fire beyond her shoulder. “I can’t take that. I felt used. And I never want to feel that way again. Not with you.”
“I’m so sor—”
“If you had justtalkedto me afterward,” he spoke over her, his voice as hard as marble. “It would have been different. It wouldn’t have hurt the way it did. But watching you leave me on the forest floor, just a body to sate a need—” He scoffed, turning his head away. “All those months in Alzahra, I denied us because itmeantsomething to me. With you, it felt sacred.”
He finally looked at her tear-stained face, and she understood why he’d been avoiding her gaze. He released a deep sigh, and his anger escaped along with it, dispersing into the cool, mountain air.
“Youare sacred.” His hands were gentle as they wiped the tears from her face.
