Page 156 of The Moon's Fury
“See?” Ruslayn said, this time addressing his companions. “Nothing.” As if to prove his point, he brought one of her arms forward, keeping her locked against him. She struggled in his grasp, but he tightened his grip, grinding against her, and she froze in disgust. He laughed darkly. “Keep fighting me,habibi. It’ll be that much sweeter when I take you.”
And then he took hold of her right arm and snapped her wrist.
Layna was not proud of the loud, shrill scream that escaped her. Tears stung her eyes, streamed down her face. She was vaguely aware of Zarian shouting, but it was muffled over the ringing in her ears. Her breath escaped in sharp pants, searing pain winding through her.
He dropped her arm, and it fell limply to her side, her broken wrist radiating sharp, throbbing pain.
“Now that we’ve established you won’t be bringing the library down on our heads”—the bastard winked at Zarian—“let’s get to know each other better, shall we?” He grasped her chin, tilting her face toward him. A shock of pitch-black curls framed his face, falling over his forehead. His eyes could only be described as ice blue, eyeing her with both hunger and malice.
“Mmmm,” he moaned, cold eyes scanning her face. “Exquisite. I’ll have to thank that Navrastani girl. I might not have met you otherwise. Andwe”—he smirked at Zarian—“wouldn’t have had this reunion.”
Burhani.
It had been Burhani.
That fucking—
Her thoughts fled as Ruslayn leaned closer, dragging a rough thumb across her lips.
“What a lovely color,” he murmured. “Tell me,habibi, are you this delicious shade of pinkeverywhere?”
From her periphery, Zarian lunged forward. He shouted, spewing curses, some Layna had never heard before, threatening Ruslayn’s life in the most brutal of ways. He made it three steps, dragging the two men along with him, until the third man wrapped a muscular arm around his neck and squeezed.
Ruslayn watched with what could only be described as glee. “I never thought I’d see this day,” he murmured to himself. Then, with his free hand, he began searching for the straps of her borrowed baldric.
Slithering fear snaked up her throat when he found them, easily snapping them until the baldric hung open.
“I will fucking kill you,” Zarian seethed, his voice hoarse. “If you lay a hand on her, if you touch her, I will impale you with my sword. I will carve you open and leave you begging for death. I will—”
Ruslayn laughed, cold and menacing.
“You’ll what?”
His large hand slowly trailed up her stomach, between her breasts. He wrapped his fingers around her neck, squeezing slightly, demonstrating what he’d do if Zarian continued to test him.
Zarian growled, hazel eyes glinting, and Layna knew,just knew, the only thing stopping him from cutting down the three men was that Ruslayn would snap her neck before he could reach her.
“You fucking—”
“Habibi, did you know he’s much more fun when he’s drunk?” His fingers caressed her throat, coming to grip the neck of her tunic. He nodded to the third man. “Rynh, get our prince a drink. He’s going to need it for what comes next.”
The third man, Rynh, fisted his hand in Zarian’s hair and wrenched his head back. He pried his mouth open, forcing the same alcohol that helped burn the parchment down his throat.
Zarian thrashed in his hold, coughing, sputtering, gagging, but the fingers holding his jaw open were relentless.
His throat bobbed futilely, a fit of loud coughs wracking his body.
She had never felt such burning hatred.
Finally, the man released Zarian.
In time to watch as Ruslayn tore her tunic down the front with a loud rip. The men let out a loud cheer as she was bared, and she tucked herself inward as much as she could, hunching her shoulders to hide from their leering gazes.
She couldn’t meet Zarian’s eyes, afraid of what she’d see.
Ruslayn wanted to break him, and she was fearful he’d succeed.
It had been weeks since she’d attempted to reach for her light, but she tried again now, desperation clawing at her heart. She hunched in further, eyes scrunched tightly, and searched inside herself for even the slightest whisper of power.
