Page 84 of The Moon's Fury
“We’re still four days from the main city.”
She turned to face him then, her brown eyes meeting his hazel ones. He studied her face for a moment, then said, “Tell me what’s going on in that beautiful head.”
She played with the neckline of his tunic. “I know the plan was topass throughShahbaad undetected to get to the Grand Libraries, but—”
“But you want to go to the palace,” he finished. “To see if your mother and Soraya are there.” She nodded slowly. He sighed, shifting onto his back, tucking his other arm beneath his head. He was quiet for several heartbeats, and she readied herself to persuade him.
“All right, my love,” he finally said. “To Shahbaad Palace it is.” He must have noticed her surprised face because he added, “Do I think it’s a good idea? No. It will be crawling with Medjai, lying in wait for us. But I understand why you want to go. And I’ll follow you anywhere.”
She kissed him then, slow and searing, her heart bursting with love.
“If Soraya is there, we can go to Thessan together. She’s always wanted to see the Grand Libraries,” she murmured.
Two days later, they reached a flowing river, and Layna had never been so happy to see a body of water. Her scalp ached, her hair was matted, and she was certain grime coated every inch of her skin. She fastened herniqabas they walked along the river, passing travelers, fishermen, and women scrubbing their families’ clothing. No one spared them a second glance.
After thirty minutes of walking and Layna staring longingly at the gushing river, they reached a section where a small stream branched out. They followed the winding offshoot for anotherhour until the path grew overgrown and deserted. A quiet, shaded spot came into view, where dense copses of leafy trees straddled the stream on either side, and Zarian deemed it safe to stop.
They dismounted, and she pulled out a change of clothes, a washcloth, and a bar of soap from her pack. She strode to the stream and removed her tunic. Her thumbs were hooked in the waistband of her trousers when she felt Zarian’s eyes on her. She faced him, his gaze unashamedly trailing over her curves, laid bare before him in only a thin chemise.
“Can you turn around?” she asked, a bright flush creeping up her cheeks.
His answering grin was feline. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” He leaned against a thick tree trunk and crossed his arms over his broad chest. She squirmed under his appraising gaze.
His grin widened. “Where is the temptress who pinned me to the wall in Sendouk and ravished me? Or the minx who, just days ago, woke me with her—”
“You were only pretending to be asleep!” she snapped. “I never wake up before you.”
She didn’t think his smirk could ooze anymore arrogance, but somehow it did. “I’m failing to understand the problem, my love. I’mintimatelyfamiliar with your body. Every inch of it. Where did this sudden modesty come from?”
She fumbled for a response, her cheeks burning.
“Zarian,” she gritted out. Was he going to make her say it? She’d just finished her moon’s blood onhorsebackfor the love of—
He chuckled, raking his eyes over her again. “Face the other way. And keep scanning the tree line.” She sagged with relief. He had decided to be merciful. Without another word, he turned around, giving her one last appraising glance.
She finished undressing, then waded into the stream. The water rose to her waist, the gentle current kissing her skin as it flowed past. She scrubbed until layers of grime and dirt washed off her skin. Heeding Zarian’s instructions, her gaze returned to the tree line with every second swipe of the washcloth, but they remained undisturbed.
“Nearly done?” Zarian called over his shoulder.
“Yes!” she answered back, tugging a clean tunic over her head. He grabbed his own set of clothes and washcloth, and they switched places.
She began to face away when Zarian winked and said, “You can watch. I don’t mind an audience.” She blushed and stubbornly turned away on principle. His laughter rang out behind her, and she flushed even more.
The unmoving tree line didn’t hold her interest for long, and soon she found herself turning her head, painstakingly slow as to not even conjure the thought of a sound.
Her greedy eyes drank in the marvel of the man before her.
Where the water had lapped at her waist, it just reached the top of Zarian’s thighs. The rippling muscles of his back bunched and contracted as he scrubbed the washcloth over his chest. Drops of water gleamed on his tanned skin. She watched with rapt attention as a large droplet traced a path down the ridges of his spine, lower and lower until—
“Layna?” She snapped out of her trance, closed her mouth which had somehow parted, and whirled back around.
“Yes?” she squeaked out.
She could hear the smile in his voice when he asked, “Come help me with my back? Since you’ve been staring at it for twenty minutes.”
She sputtered. “It was not twenty minutes!” She stalked over to him, snatching the washcloth from his outstretched hand as his shoulders shook with laughter.
They sat on the ground, Zarian’s dark locks dripping onto the grass around them. They quickly ate a meal of dried, salted lamb and apples.
