Page 94 of The Moon's Fury
Not Jamil; he was still the same, kind man.
It washer.
Hereyes tracking the flex of his biceps as he brushed down Ahmar.
Herears desperate for the rare, rumbling sound of his laughter.
Hernose that had grown accustomed to his fresh, cedar scent.
Herbody that was painfully aware of his beside her at night.
Suffocating, needling guilt coiled around her heart. They’d reach Sendouk tomorrow, and a change of scenery would help. Maybe she could take a walk alone, without his emerald gaze constantly finding her, and clear her head. Maybe she—
“What do you miss most about Alzahra?” Jamil asked suddenly, bright eyes fixed on her. The fire cast long shadows on his face, but the white of his scar shone in the light.
“Layna,” she said immediately. “Then my greenhouse and rosebushes. And Sirocco, of course.”
The fire crackled, and Jamil turned the spit slowly.
“…And Almeer?” he asked, eyes fixed on the flames.
A deep flush crawled up her neck, painting her cheeks in embarrassment.
How could she have forgotten Almeer?
“Oh yes, of course. I miss him terribly. I just—you said Alzahra. And, um, he’s in Zephyria now, so…”
When he didn’t respond, she glanced at him from beneath her lashes. His jaw was clenched, eyes narrowed.
Her brows knit together. She was ready to ask about his shift in mood, when he spoke.
“Rabbit’s ready.”
They ate in silence, then set up their bedrolls. She spread out her blanket, the edge overlapping with Jamil’s—it was colder at night, so they had taken to sleeping closer together.
She cocooned herself in the blanket, watching as Jamil folded his muscular body down beside her. Her heart thundered in her chest at his proximity. His eyes found her, as they so often did, and she bubbled with the urge to shatter the taut silence with words.
“Have you been to Sendouk before?” she asked, even as exhaustion weighed on her lids.
“Yes.”
“Did you like it?”
“No.”
She huffed a frustrated breath. Jamil’s lips twitched, and his emerald eyes twinkled with mirth. They were the brightest shadeof green, and for a moment, she was standing in her humid greenhouse, surrounded by her beloved plants.
Her eyelids became heavy as sleep slowly found her.
“What do you miss about the Oasis?” she murmured, eyes fluttering shut.
A heartbeat.
“Nothing.”
The rising sun illuminated Soraya’s face, inches away from his. This past week of travel had tested his restraint in ways he never thought possible.
His respect for Zarian had increased tenfold—how had his friend remained sane in Alzahra for months, near the one he loved yet could not have?
