Hades' Cursed Luna novel Chapter 183

Hades

James’ voice was smooth, diplomatic—a polished blade sliding between Ellen’s ribs.

"I have to admit, Princess," he mused, tilting his head, "I never imagined you would be so… easily swayed. To think that the Ellen I knew—the daughter of Darius and Lyra, the rightful heir of Lunar Heights—would discard her own blood so effortlessly. All for a man who was once our enemy."

Ellen did not flinch.

But I felt her.

The way her fingers flexed against my arm, gripping me tighter, grounding me.

Because she knew.

She knew I wanted to speak.

No—she knew I wanted to end him.

James’ lips curled slightly, his words calculated, pressing against every crack she had tried to seal. "You speak of cages," he continued, voice light, conversational. "And yet, you have willingly stepped into a far more dangerous one. You cling to him. Defend him. And for what, exactly?"

His eyes flicked to me, sharp and knowing. "All for a man who would never choose you. Never mark you. Never make you his Luna before his court and his pack."

Silence.

A silence that sliced.

I felt the weight of it settle over Ellen like a vise, pressing into her ribs, clawing at old wounds.

James wasn’t done.

"To the Lycans, you remain a target. A weakness." His tone softened, almost pitying. "There is no certainty for you here, and yet, you latch on. To them you are desperate and pathetic."

The Flux raged.

It crawled under my skin, a violent tide, whispering in the darkest corners of my mind. It demanded blood. Demanded correction.

James’ words were not just taunts—they were calculated strikes, each one pressing against old wounds, against buried insecurities, against the flickering embers of a past Ellen had barely begun to bury.

And she—

She did not waver.

But I felt her.

The way her fingers tightened against my arm, her nails pressing just enough to send a message:

I exhaled slowly, restraining the instinct to tear the Beta apart. Barely.

James smiled, sensing my restraint, and that alone nearly snapped my patience.

But Ellen spoke before I could.

"I see," she mused, tilting her head slightly, the ghost of amusement dancing in her eyes. "You believe I’ve been manipulated, then?"

James arched a brow, feigning mild surprise. "Haven’t you?"

She let out a soft, almost pitying laugh. "How fascinating," she murmured. "That a Beta—an enforcer—of a family that fed me wolfsbane, stripped me of agency, and discarded me like a political pawn is suddenly so concerned about my free will."

James’ expression did not change, but I saw it—the slight flicker in his gaze, the momentary pause before he recalibrated.

Ellen pressed forward.

"You speak of my blood, of my duty to the Heights, yet you seem far more invested in discrediting the choices I make rather than understanding them." She tilted her head. "What is it that truly concerns you, James? That I might have actually chosen this? That I might have chosen him?"

James gritted his teeth but exhaled, as if disappointed. "It’s not about choosing, Ellen." His voice was steady, deliberate. "It’s about consequences."

A beat of silence.