Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 102

102 The Wound He Refused to Ignore

Arya’s POV

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The room, the food on the table, the lingering scent of breakfast and tea and woodsmoke, the steady noise of morning somewhere beyond the walls, none of it mattered. There was only his hand at my throat, his thumb tracing just beneath the scarred place, and the violent heat that exploded through me

from the contact.

My breath snagged.

Ria surged so hard I had to bite back a sound.

Lev’s touch slowed.

He traced the damaged line with maddening care, not pressing hard, not pitying, just… learning it.

My skin burned under his fingers.

Rage rose sharp and immediate, because of course this was where he touched. Of course this was where the bond and the humiliation and the memory of James’s cruelty lived. Of course this man, this quiet, impossible, dangerous man, would go straight to the wound and act like he had any right to

handle it.

I grabbed his wrist.

“Don’t.”

He looked at my hand on him, then at my face.

“I was hoping he’d do this,” he said.

My vision flashed white.

The first time he had said it, I had thought it was arrogance. Provocation. Some cold male nonsense about opportunity and territory and a stronger Alpha sensing weakness in another man’s house.

Hearing it again, with his hand on my cancelled mark, his mouth near my skin, his body wrapped around mine, it hit differently.

It hit like intention.

Like he had seen the wound and marked it as a door

Fury and heat crashed together inside me so violently I trembled.

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# 5e1 28

“You were hoping, “I choked on the words, turning fully toward him now despite the way his arm was still around my waist. “You were hoping I’d be betrayed? Marked? Humiliated? You were hoping he’d

break me?”

His eyes darkened, but his expression did not change. “No.”

“Then choose your words better.”

“I hoped he would prove himself unworthy.”

I stared at him, breathing hard.

He didn’t look away.

“I hoped,” he continued, voice still calm, “that if he was the coward I thought he was, he would eventually act like one in a way no one could deny. I hoped you would stop spending your strength defending a man who would sell pieces of you and call it leadership.”

My nails dug into his wrist.

He did not flinch.

“And if I hadn’t?” I demanded. “If I had stayed? If I had endured? If I had chosen him anyway?”

“Then I would have left you alone.”

The answer came too fast to be a lie.

That made my chest twist in a way I did not appreciate.

I searched his face for mockery, for hunger, for manipulation, for any sign that he was simply better at hiding ugliness than James had been.

What I found instead was patience.

Not softness.

Not mercy.

Patience.

As if he could wait me out. As if he had already decided I was worth the trouble.

I hated how that made my body warm.

I released his wrist and pushed at his shoulder instead, needing movement, needing to break the spell of his hand and my mark and his steady damned voice.

102 The Wound He Refused to Ignore

“I don’t need you,” I said.

He gave me one slow nod. “Fine.”

“I don’t need your training.”

Another nod. “Maybe.”

“I don’t need anyone,” I snapped, anger rising again because he was not arguing the way I wanted him

1. to. “What I need is justice.”

That got a change.

Small.

But real.

His eyes sharpened. His grip on my waist tightened just enough to make me aware of every finger.

Then he leaned in.

Close.

Too close.

The tip of his nose nearly brushed my temple. His mouth hovered beside my ear, his voice dropping into something dark and intimate and entirely too controlled.

“Then earn your justice,” he said. “Train.”

The word landed in me like a command and a dare.

My throat worked.

I should have shoved him again. Harder. I should have stood, put distance between us, reminded

myself who I was and what this was and how easily men turned power into cages.

Instead, I sat there on his lap, breathing him in like I had lost all sense.

His scent was wrong for me and right for me at the same time, cold air, leather, steel, and something deep and male that made my wolf restless. It wrapped around the lingering scent of my own skin and

turned the air between us thick.

i hated how aware I was of my body.

Of his hand at my waist.

< 102 The Wound He Refused to ignore

Of the hand still near my throat.

Of the mark.

Of the pull.

Ria paced beneath my skin, then pressed forward with a purr that was almost a growl.

He feels us.

I clenched my jaw.

Be quiet.

You be quiet, she snapped back, wild and furious and aching. He sees us.

That was the problem, wasn’t it?

Lev saw too much.

Not in the sentimental way. Not in the false gentle way men used when they wanted a woman easier

to touch. He saw where I was bleeding and where I was dangerous and where those two things had

started looking like each other.

He looked at my mouth again.

It lasted less than a second.

My body still answered.

I hated that.

I lifted my chin, forcing steel into my posture even while I remained trapped in the circle of his arms. “And what if I don’t want your help earning anything?”

His gaze moved back to my eyes. “Then stop reacting to me.”

I blinked, “What?”

“Get off my lap,” he said, voice even. “Walk away. Keep your breathing steady. Keep your wolf quiet. Keep your eyes cold when I touch your mark. Then I’ll believe you don’t want help.”

My anger flared bright and immediate. “You arrogant,”

He touched my throat again.

Not the mark this time.

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102 The Wound He Refused to ignore

Just below my jaw.

A single sweep of his fingers.

The insult died in my mouth.

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