Page 85 of The Moon's Fury
“Let’s practice with your dagger,” he said after they finished.
She fetched it from her pack, keeping it sheathed as she took her position across him.
He fought with no weapon—he didn’t need one. Without warning, he charged, easily dodging her swipes, and took her to the ground, rolling so he landed on the bottom. The breath crashed out of her anyway.
“Use my momentum against me. Sidestep at the last moment, and use the dagger where I’m vulnerable. Neck, eyes, stomach. Again.”
It took four more times before Layna managed to swipe his neck when he came at her. If the dagger had been unsheathed, he’d be bleeding out on the grass.
“Good. That was good,” he praised, sending a rush of warmth through her.
“Do you think I could beat Jamil?” she asked, beaming.
“Of course. I’d kill him otherwise.”
She rolled her eyes, swatting his arm. “Let’s go.”
37
Thesunwaswarmon her face as she strung up their clothing under the bright sunlight. She could feel his eyes on her, following her movements. When she turned to look at him, his gaze darted away.
She hid a smile.
“There’s a small village, about an hour’s journey. I’ll go tomorrow for supplies. Will you come?”
She chewed the inside of her cheek. “No.”
Her name was a sigh on his lips, and it sent a shiver through her.
“You won’t hurt anyone. You’re in control of your light. And I’ll be with you the entire time.”
“No,” she said, firmer this time. “I want to stay here.”
He looked as though he might argue further but loosed a deep sigh instead. He left to bathe by the stream, and she busied herself with practicing her light. Repeatedly, she lit and extinguished the firepit until her head felt heavy. Still, she pushed herself harder. Closing her eyes, she focused and coaxed her power to her palms, forming a small orb of light. She couldfeel it pulsing in her hands, a burning ball of pure energy. She opened her eyes and gasped—he had returned from the stream and was watching her, face etched with awe.
And he wasn’t wearing his tunic.
It was the first time she’d seen him so unclothed, and her greedy eyes roved over the sharp contours of his body. He had a circular tattoo on his chest, obsidian ink branching out in symmetrical whorls.
Her eyes rose to meet his and found them crinkled in amusement. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, and she tore her gaze away.
“I dropped my tunic in the stream,” he said by way of greeting, walking past her to hang it to dry. “You’re getting very skilled with the light. Think it over again about coming with me tomorrow.” She gave him a weak smile, eyes still fixed on the ground. A searing heat that had nothing to do with her power curled low in her belly.
Later that night, she awoke, shivering under her thick blanket. The small fire had gone out. Her eyes fell to his large, slumbering form close to the mouth of the cave.
Teeth chattering, she tried to summon her light and start a fire, but her fingertips barely glowed and quickly fizzled out. A strong wave of fatigue hit her, and she stumbled, bracing against the cave wall for support. With a shaky breath, she grabbed a flint and tried again.
“What are you doing?” he asked, voice husky with sleep.
“The fire went out,” she replied lamely. “My light isn’t responding. I think I pushed myself too much earlier.”
He rose slowly, kneeling before her, and took the flint from her shaky hands, his warm fingers heating her cold ones for the briefest of seconds. Deftly, he relit the fire, slowly coaxing its flames until shadows danced along the cave wall.
His gaze locked on her, spellbound, as the backs of his fingers traced a feather-light caress along her cheek. His eyes widened, as if his hand had betrayed him, and he jerked it back as though her touch had scorched him.
Hurt flared within her, but she tamped it down. She bolted to her feet, heading to her blankets, but he grabbed her arm. “Wait—”
She didn’t.
