Page 113 of The Moon's Fury
Was the light still inside her?
Would she be able to find it again?
She had to. She couldn’t avenge her mother’s murder without it. She couldn’t reclaim her—
“You’re brooding.” Zarian’s voice yanked her from the vortex of her thoughts.
“I amnotbrooding,” she said hotly.
“You’re digging your legs into poor Naj’s sides. My arm is about to fall off from holding him back.”
“No, I’m n—” She looked down. He was right. Her entire body was tense, and her legs were pressing hard into Najoom. The large stallion was huffing and snorting, his head swinging from side to side. Zarian gripped the reins tightly, the corded veins in his forearm bulging as he kept Najoom from bounding off ahead.
And she hadn’t even noticed.
She searched for a sharp retort, something to satisfy the simmering rage that now lived inside her where the light used to reside.
Nothing came to mind, so she settled for silence.
She was careful, though, to keep her legs relaxed even as her mind tightened a noose around her.
They rode through the morning, stopping briefly for a short lunch. He watched Layna closely as she ate their modest meal of yet more dried meat and nuts. She caught him staring and narrowed her eyes as if to say,Why the fuck are you staring at me again, you big brute?He quirked a smile, and she huffed, turning back to her meal.
She often retreated inside her mind, hands clenching into fists. Sometimes, he could hear her jaw working furiously as she ground her teeth.
So much anger. It reminded him of when they first met, when everything he’d said grated at her nerves. As much as it stirred his nostalgia, her fury worried him. He remembered the rage he’d felt after his brother was banished—the writhing, burning anger that took precedent over everything else.
The insatiable need to destroy, to avenge, tohurt.
He remembered the crushing sorrow that followed the rage. He remembered the cold despair that wound itself around his heart and seeped into the marrow of his bones. The all-consuming grief melded itself to his skeleton. It became part of him. He had drowned himself in alcohol to escape it, to feel nothing, remember nothing, if only for a few hours.
And it had worked. He felt nothing for years.
Until he met Layna.
He looked at her now, sitting across from him. She was tearing into the meat with sharp bites as if the poor animal had personally affronted her.
Fire raged in her eyes.
Fury underscored every line of her body.
He looked at her and saw himself.
46
“Let’stakeabreak,”Zarian said, coming to a stop beside her.
“Again?” She looked down from Najoom. This was the third time today, and it wasn’t even close to noon.
“I’ve been walking for days. My legs are tired.”
Liar.
Her eyes narrowed into a glare. He grinned. His eye had improved—the swelling was nearly gone, and the angry purple bruise had faded to a mottled yellow.
The sight of it stoked her anger.
“Fine,” she huffed. “I’ll walk. You ride.” She dismounted quickly, brushing past Zarian and stalking away.
