The Wrath and the Dawn (The Wrath and the Dawn #1)(40)

The laughter behind him grew louder.

Again, Shahrzad felt the fury beneath her palm as she pressed against Khalid, keeping him in his seat with nothing more than the force of her will.

She nodded. “I can’t say I’m surprised. As for me? I believe I’ll leave this set of goods on the rack, as well. I have no interest in . . . tiny cucumbers.”

At this, Khalid’s head twisted to hers, his eyes registering shock. And the edge of his lips twitching.

The silence around them was deafening for a painful beat.

Then a wild chorus of amusement filled the air.

The young man’s friends slapped their knees and pounded one another’s backs as they guffawed at his expense. His face turned several shades of red once he comprehended the full breadth of Shahrzad’s insult.

“You—” He lunged for her.

Shahrzad bolted out of the way.

Khalid grabbed the man by the front of his qamis and hurled him into his passel of friends.

“Khalid!” Shahrzad shouted.

Once the young man managed to scramble to his feet, Khalid reared back and struck him in the jaw so hard he staggered into a table of dangerous-looking men, heavily engrossed in their dice match, with the betting at an all-time high. The coins and the astragali dice crashed to the ground as the table shuddered under the young man’s weight.

The gamblers roared with rage as they shot to their feet, everything around them falling to shambles.

And their precious game destroyed beyond repair.

All eyes turned on Khalid.

“Holy Hera,” Shahrzad moaned.

With grim resignation, he reached for his shamshir.

“No, you idiot!” Shahrzad gasped. “Run!” She grabbed his hand and spun in the opposite direction, the blood pummeling through her body.

“Get out of the way!” she cried as they dodged past a vendor’s cart, her sandaled feet flying above the dirt. The sound of their pursuers only spurred her faster, especially with Khalid’s broader strides propelling them along the narrow thoroughfare of the souk.

When he yanked her down a small side alleyway, she pulled him back.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” she demanded.

“For once in your life, stop talking and listen.”

“How dare—”

He wrapped his right arm around her and pressed their bodies together in between a shadowed alcove. Then he shoved his index finger onto her lips.

Shahrzad listened as their pursuers ran past the alleyway, still shouting and carrying on in a drunken haze. When the sounds faded away, he removed his finger from her lips.

But it was too late.

Because Shahrzad could feel his heart beating faster.

Just like hers.

“You were saying?” He was so close, his words were more breath than sound.

“How—how dare you say that to me?” she whispered.

His eyes glittered with something akin to amusement.

“How dare I imply you caused this mess?”

“Me? This is not my fault! This is your fault!”

“Mine?”

“You and your temper, Khalid!”

“No. You and your mouth, Shazi.”

“Wrong, you wretched lout!”

“See? That mouth.” He reached up and grazed his thumb across her lips. “That—magnificent mouth.”

Her traitor heart thudded against his, and when she peered up at him through her eyelashes, his hand at the small of her back pulled her impossibly closer.

Don’t kiss me, Khalid. Please . . . don’t.

“They’re here! I’ve found them!”

Khalid grasped her hand in his, and they took off down the alleyway once again.

“We can’t keep running,” he said over his shoulder. “We might have to stand and fight, eventually.”

“I know,” she huffed back.

I need a weapon. I need a bow.

She began scanning everyone in sight for a quiver or a possible bow left strewn against the side of a building, but all she saw was the occasional shimmer of a sword. In the distance, she noticed a burly man with a huge, straightbacked bow across his body, but she knew there was little chance of getting it from him quickly. And it was even less likely that she could draw an arrow on such a large bow.

It seemed a futile exercise.

Until she finally saw a young boy playing with his friends in a back alley.

With a makeshift bow and a quiver of exactly three arrows lashed to his shoulder.

Shahrzad tugged on Khalid’s arm, yanking him farther into the alleyway. She crouched before the boy, lifting the hood of her cloak.

“Can you give me your bow and arrows?” she asked breathlessly.

“What?” he replied in surprise.

“Here.” Shahrzad offered him the five gold dinars in her cloak. A veritable fortune in the eyes of the boy.

“Are you crazy, lady?” the boy said, his mouth agape.

“Will you give them to me?” Shahrzad pleaded.

He passed the weapons to her without a word. She placed the money in his dirty hands and threw the quiver over her shoulder.

Khalid observed this exchange, his eyes tight and his mouth drawn.

“Do you know them, miss?” The boy glanced behind Shahrzad.

Khalid whirled around, unsheathing his shamshir in a single metallic rasp and knocking the black rida’ from his brow.