Page 115 of The Moon's Fury
Zarian slowly unsheathed a second dagger. He stood tall, stretching to his full height. The wolf growled again, the only warning before it lunged in a shadow of black fur.
At the last moment, Zarian crouched low and ducked under the wolf as it flew over him. He shoved both daggers up into its soft underbelly, yanking them across, blood spurting from the gashes. With a sharp yelp, the wolf fell to the ground, collapsing on the soft earth.
He knelt next to the shaking animal and placed a hand on its side. It wouldn’t be long now. Seconds later, the light died from its eyes. With a sigh, he cradled the large beast and headed back to camp.
His eyes fell on Layna as he passed through the trees. She was sitting on the ground, staring at the fire, exactly where he had left her. As he drew closer, her dim eyes drifted to him. At first, they didn’t even flicker, but then her gaze dropped to the large, furred body in his arms.
Her eyes widened. She shot to her feet.
“Zarian,” she breathed. “It’s—”
“Not a rabbit,” he answered with a grin. “We’ll be eating well tonight.”
She drew closer, looking at the dark wounds on the wolf’s underbelly. “Are you hurt?” she demanded.
“No,” he lied.
With narrowed eyes, Layna scanned his face, chest, arms for any injuries. When he set the wolf down, she stepped behind him.
Layna gasped.
“You’re bleeding!” She placed a hand on his back, urging him to remain still while she examined the wounds.
“It’s fine.” He turned away, out of her reach.
“Let me see.”
“Layna, really. It’s just a few scratches. They’ll heal quickly on their own.”Please let it go, he silently begged. She was breathing quickly now, her eyes wild.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Take off your shirt,” she snapped.
“If you want me naked—”
“Zarian.”
She was seething now.
There was no way around it.
With a sigh, he unlaced his baldric and pulled it over his head, wincing at the stretch in his upper back. His tunic came off next, blood-slicked fabric sticking to his skin. Goosebumps rose across his flesh as his skin met the night air.
“Moons, Zarian! They’re notjustscratches,” she exclaimed. Her cold fingers traced the outlines of eight jagged puncture marks in his back.
“Are they still bleeding?” he asked over his shoulder. When there was no response, he turned. There were tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Layna…”
He reached for her, but she flinched and angrily wiped her tears.
“I’ll wear my chainmail baldric next time,” he said softly. “I should’ve been wearing it to begin with.”
She said nothing, but her thoughts were written clearly on her face.
I can’t heal you. I’m broken.
She fetched a washcloth and canteen, gently cleansing his wounds. Her fingers were soft against his bare skin. It was difficult to resist the urge to lean back against her—he was starved for her touch.
“What can I use to wrap these?” she asked woodenly.
