The Sacred Luna

ya's

man city that the money flows both directions. From the car window, I count glass towers and gated compounds and manicured gardens the

ected in three days of captivity - the blank face. Smile wit

't know - men and women in expensive clothes watching me walk toward a man I've never spoken to, their expressions ranging from polite curiosity to open assessment. A

the Blood

riests have always looked to me - like a man who has memorised the words without bothering

first thought, the one that arrives before manners or caution or the blank face can intercept it - is that he looks li

and eyes the colour of winter - pale grey, sharp, the kind of eyes that do not look at you so much as process y

ers every inch of me with the brisk efficiency of a man checking inventory. Something crosses his face when his eyes return to mine - a flicker.

r and loyalty and devotion, and each one leaves my mouth and dies in the air between us, and the priest nods and the guests nod and Tyron watches my lips form the words with that

wrapped for someone else to open. I didn't write the vows. I didn't choose the flowers or the venue or the music or the man. The only thing I

nd tells me nothing about the man attached to it - and turns me toward the audience, and the audience a

nd of food that announces wealth with every bite. I sit at the head table beside Tyron and he speaks to his guests with easy authority and does not speak to me, and I do not speak to

s, a servant leads me

ugh the doo

r, petals scattered across the vanity, a garland pinned above the headboard. But the roses are

lea

eached into the night sky and emptied handfuls of moonlight into the room. They glow with a light that isn't light exactly - more

ing very still, and the expressions on their faces range

r carries across the room the way whispers always do when people are too ala

ay dawn is simply here - arrived without announcement, present

he bed and

d it. The glow pulses faintly - or maybe my hand is trembling, I can't tell. I hold it i

eight

hat has been sitting between my shoulder blades since the night I counted stars at the crossroads - loosens. Just for a breath. Just

tion to anything I know. It is simply comfort arriving from a direction I cannot

. My heart is beating faster than

opens b

aw at the altar but something involuntary, something his body is doing without his permission. His hand comes up to press his sleeve aga

His voice is thick and

re stripped and replaced. The garland above the headboard is pulled down and the vases are emptied and within minutes the room is cleared an

for one absurd second I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. The almost disappears when I remember the grip of his hand at

. The door closes.

e between us fills every corner the way those moon lea

- his gaze against my ribs, steady and un

ed with its clean white sheets that look like a field of surrender. I stand with m

me. The silence stretches until it becomes its own presence in the ro

h the door, and two beds are made. His on one side. Mine on the other. The

in his bed, turned toward the wall. I get into mine. The sheets are cool and unfa

e and featureless, and I study it with the kind of att

leep for a

's awake the way you know someone is watching you through a window. A presence. A pressur

rneath the lavender sheets and the silence and the man breathing eight feet away, something is pushi

ed porch that le

t again

g, and inside, a mound of shaved co

t. In front of me.

nd proud at t

eet

t inside my chest, and it floods the space behind my ribs with something warm and unbearable, and my fist presses hard against

es, until the porch fades, until the grin dissolves and the coconut returns to its place behind the locked

uiet. It settles into the lowest part of my chest like a c

can feel it the way you feel heat from a fire you're not facing - not warm exactly. Not cold either. Certain. The

believes he has earned. Not deserved - earned. A

not feel his gaze between my shoulder blades, and I pretend the thought of a man's ha

mells like lavender and starch. My f

leep for a