Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 121

121 The Smell That Wouldn’t Leave

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James’s POV

Marcel answered on the fourth ring.

I watched the screen while it rang, jaw tight, pulse hard, every second stretching longer than it should

have. He knew my number. He knew I would call after what Nixon reported. He knew I was not calling

to exchange pleasantries.

By the time his voice came through, smooth and controlled, I was already angry enough to taste metal.

“James,” Marcel said, as if we were men speaking over a drink and not standing knee-deep in the

wreckage of his lies. “To what do I owe this urgency?”

I didn’t bother with courtesy.

“Return my pack members.”

Silence.

Not long.

Just long enough to tell me I’d landed where I meant to.

Then he exhaled, slow, almost disappointed. “I assume you mean Lisa and Margaret.”

“I mean my people,” I said. “Yes.”

Marcel made a low sound in his throat, that polished old-man restraint he wore when he wanted to

sound patient and superior at the same time. “Those women cost me my grandchild.”

My hand tightened around the phone.

There it was again.

His favourite blade

Leah’s loss

He used it for everything now, pressure, leverage, outrage, control.

I stared through the office window at the training yard and kept my voice flat “Whatever the case may

be, they are my pack members”

“Were,” Marcel corrected softly “They were under your roof when they committed,”

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“I said,” I cut in, colder, “they are my pack members.

A beat passed.

Jasper paced inside me, low and restless, hackles up.

Push him.

I kept going before Marcel could redirect.

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“It is wrong that you are holding them this long,” I said. “Punishment is one thing. Disappearance is

another. If punishment was the point, they should have served it and returned.”

Marcel’s voice lost some of its false warmth. “You speak as if I owe you explanations.”

“You owe me my people.”

That time, the silence stretched longer.

I could picture him already: fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose, expression carefully annoyed,

calculating which version of the truth to feed me next.

When he spoke again, he sounded measured. Too measured.

“These matters are delicate. Emotions are still high in Silverfang. Rebecca is still grieving. My

household is not a place for demands at the moment.”

I laughed once. It came out sharp and joyless.

“Your household has been a place for demands since the day you set foot in my pack.”

His tone cooled another degree. “Mind your words.”

“Then stop giving me reasons to choose them carefully.”

Jasper snarled approval.

Marcel let the insult sit. I could hear him breathing through his nose, irritation pushing against the mask “I will respond soon,” he said at last. “I need to assess the situation and speak to those

involved.”

Stalling

Nothing in his voice sounded like a man discussing the fate of two women in custody. It sounded like

a man buying time.

My chest went cold.

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If Lisa and Margaret were dead, one part of me thought, he would have shouted it already. He would have explained their deaths as restitution, public apology, blood payment, something. He would have

made a spectacle of it.

But how could he?

I wasn’t even a recognised Union member.

My pack still stood in that humiliating half-state Marcel had trapped me in, useful enough to exploit, unprotected enough to control. Unrecognised when it hurt me, “almost there” when he needed

leverage.

The disadvantage of it hit me again with fresh force.

If he had killed them, he could hide behind process.

If he had moved them, he could hide behind protocol.

If he was lying, he could keep lying because I had no formal standing to force his hand.

And he knew it.

He knew exactly where my weakness was and kept pressing on it.

I leaned forward over the desk, voice low enough to cut. “Respond soon, Marcel. Not eventually. Soon.”

He gave a short, humourless chuckle. “You are in no position to pressure me, James.”

My jaw locked.

He was right about the leverage.

That was what made it unbearable.

I said nothing.

Marcel took my silence as room to reclaim control. “Focus on stabilising your pack. Focus on your image Focus on the partnership in front of you instead of pulling at every thread until you tear your

own roof down.”

Partnership

I almost ended the call there

Instead, I said, “Return my people”

Marcel’s answer came clipped this time. “I told you I will respond.”

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121 The Smell That Wouldn’t Leave

Then he disconnected.

I lowered the phone slowly and sat very still.

The office felt too quiet.

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Outside, I could hear distant movement, boots, hammers, men calling to each other, but in here it was just the sound of my breathing and the thick, ugly weight of realization settling deeper into my bones

Marcel was hiding a lot.

Too much.

Not one answer. Not one clean statement. Only grief as a shield, delay as a tactic, and that same old confidence that I couldn’t push him hard enough to matter.

Because he believed I was trapped.

And maybe I was.

I sat back and stared at the ceiling for a second, jaw clenched so hard it ached.

Arya’s voice came back to me without permission.

Not gentle. Not pleading. Furious.

Marcel has taken over the pack.

At the time, I had heard accusation. Emotion. Disruption.

Now I heard warning..

Truth.

I rubbed a hand over my mouth, a bitter laugh threatening and dying before it formed.

Everything she had told me from the moment she barged in on us the first time Marcel came to the

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