Once We Were Starlight

CHAPTER EIGHT

“The one in the front,” Zakai whispered, his cinnamon breath close to my ear, his mouth barely moving. “He looks like a desert crab. I bet if I threatened him, he’d scrabble like one too.”

My lips tipped, but the anger in Zakai’s voice stopped me from relaxing. I was on edge, and I’d felt the distance between Zakai and me growing more vast by the day since Ahmad had taken his life and Bertha had left us. These days, it seemed, Zakai was always angry. Despite the obvious satisfaction Zakai had taken in Haziq’s viper bite, Haziq was recovering, even if his foot was still bandaged. And yet the light of hatred in Zakai’s eyes had not dimmed in the slightest, but only grown brighter and taken on a more fiendish edge when Haziq ordered his men to drop Bertha’s body somewhere far away in the desert to be eaten by creatures of the night.

“It’s only her body,” Zakai had whispered to me, his jaw so rigid he spoke from between his teeth. “Her soul is free.” And then he’d taken me in his arms as I’d sobbed.

There was a deep pit of emptiness in the wake of her loss. I often stumbled over the grounds of Sundara, my throat clogged, my muscles achy as I searched for her, even knowing she would not be found, some part of my mind still unwilling to accept that she was really gone forever. I forced myself to picture her sometimes as I stared out into the wavering sand. I imagined her body melting under the merciless sun as critters ingested her, piece by piece, and I hurt so badly I could barely breathe. Some days it seemed likely that my pain would grow so mighty I would splinter, falling apart and dissolving into a thousand grains of misery, raining upon the ground, no longer myself, but one with the desert.

Some days I hoped it might be so.

I glanced at the man Zakai had referenced, the desert crab. There was something unusual about him, something other than the dusty color of his hair and the paleness of his eyes. “Let’s pretend those men aren’t there,” I whispered back, meeting his eyes. “Take me like it’s only us.”

Zakai hesitated, seeming momentarily surprised, his eyes held to mine. But the anger that had been simmering in his gaze melted to lust and my breath came easier, even as the rush of blood made my body throb.

Zakai twisted his hand through my hair, tugging harshly so I let out a deep moan, a surge of moisture between my legs making me squirm. My gaze went hazy as his hand moved up my rear, taking a handful of flesh and twisting. I grimaced as my belly tightened and my nipples pebbled. My breaths turned to pants as his eyes met mine. I forgot about the ones who watched.

Zakai flipped me over, and then wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me up and without warning, penetrating me roughly. I gasped, a shiver rolling through me as he once again, grabbed my hair, pulling it as he thrust in and out, his other hand moving under me and pinching my nipple. The sounds of our mating grew wetter and louder as I clawed at the bedroll beneath us. Zakai rode me mercilessly, until we both cried out in parallel pleasure, Zakai collapsing on top of me as we fought to catch our breath and make sense of the world we found ourselves in once again.

As my eyes opened, they met those of the man with the sand-colored hair, and eyes as blue as the sky overhead. Zakai and I were natives, but this man appeared to be made of the desert itself. As I watched him, his gaze confounded me, not for its directness, but for what I saw there: not lust or interest or even the boredom sometimes present in our audience’s eyes. He looked stunned . . . and sad.

Suddenly uneasy, I looked away, just as the curtain dropped closed.

Back in our room, I used a soft cloth to remove the kohl from my eyes as Zakai stood at the window, his arms crossed over his chest while he stared at the moon. “You like it when I hurt you,” he murmured. “Have you ever thought about why?”

I blushed though his gaze was still averted. I shrugged. “Do I need to?” I knew what he said was true, but I had never considered it very closely. And after knowing what had happened to Ahmad, the enjoyment of it shamed me too. “It just . . . feels good,” I said. That combination of pleasure and pain, it made my mind go blank. And because I trusted Zakai, I allowed myself to give in to it with abandon. We’d never let the ones who watched see that before. We’d always kept that to ourselves. When on stage, Zakai had always taken me gently, completely controlled. Nor had I ever climaxed in front of anyone other than him. “Are you . . . regretful about tonight?”