Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 132

132 Under Silverfang’s Roof

Arya’s POVO

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We rolled through the final bend and the main gates came into view, high, iron-reinforced, flanked by wolves in Silverfang colours. The guard captain approached with the expression of someone preparing to challenge and then thought better of it when he recognised Maxwell.

“Alpha Maxwell,” he said, bowing his head. “Welcome.”

His eyes flicked to me.

Recognition hit. Then contempt. Then uncertainty when he remembered whose car I was stepping out

“Her too?” he asked before he could stop himself.

Maxwell got out slowly and shut the door with controlled force.

“Yes,” he said.

Just that.

The captain swallowed and signalled the gate opened wider.

I stepped out and met his stare directly. He looked away first.

Good.

Let them all get used to that.

We were ushered in with formal politeness and informal scrutiny.

Silverfang’s compound was busy, all polished stone and curated order, servants moving fast, guards posted where guests could see them. They wanted everyone reminded that this was a powerful house.

The meeting hall sat deeper inside, already lit and prepared by the time we entered the main reception wing. Long tables had been laid with food and drinks, too much for a short summons, which meant Marcel intended this to be more theatre than emergency.

I smelled roasted meat, spiced broth, wine, citrus, polished wood, perfume, and beneath it all the

metallic bite of tension.

Wolves were arriving in twos and threes. Some I recognised from old Union gatherings. Some I had only heard of. Eyes moved over me in quick, assessing glances. Curiosity. Recognition. Calculation.

132 Under Silverfang’s Roof

Then Rebecca appeared.

Of course she did.

Mani

She moved out from the side corridor like she had been waiting for the moment, dressed to be noticed, smile fixed and brittle before her eyes properly landed on me.

The smile vanished.

For one second, she looked almost shocked.

Then the hostility came fast, hot, and public.

“You,” she said, voice rising just enough to carry. “What is she doing here?”

Several heads turned.

I stayed where I was.

Rebecca’s gaze dragged over me with open disgust. “Rogues aren’t welcomed in Silverfang. Nightwind isn’t even a Union-recognised pack yet.”

There it was.

Not hello.

Not welcome.

Status first. Humiliation second.

I laughed.

I didn’t mean to at first, but the sound came out anyway, light, sharp, cutting.

Rebecca’s expression tightened. “What’s funny?”

I tilted my head. “You entertaining guests while forgetting who you’re speaking to.”

Her mouth opened.

Maxwell stepped forward before she could spit out something worse.

“She is with me,” he said, voice calm enough to freeze a room. “Mind your tone.”

Rebecca’s face flushed. “Alpha Maxwell, I meant no,

”

“No,” he cut in, “you meant exactly what you said.”

<132 Under Silverfang’s Roof

Silence spread in a ring around us.

I could feel eyes on my skin from every direction. Some eager. Some uncomfortable. Some already enjoying the possibility of a scene.

Rebecca’s jaw clenched, and I saw it then, the thing under the insult.

Not just contempt.

Fear.

Because if I was here with Maxwell, protected, standing straight and unashamed, then the version of me they had sold around tables and hallways, a discarded rogue, a disgraced ex-Luna, a cautionary tale, wasn’t holding shape.

Before she could recover, another voice cut across the hall.

“What is this noise?”

Marcel.

He entered like he owned not just the hall but the air in it.

Same controlled arrogance. Same smooth authority sharpened by contempt. He took in the cluster of guests, Rebecca’s flushed face, Maxwell standing like a wall, and then his eyes landed on me.

The change in

was immediate.

Infuriation flashed so clean across his face he couldn’t hide it in time.

“You.”

The word came out like something he wanted spat from the room.

He strode closer, gaze blazing. “What is she doing here? This rogue was the Luna of that unrecognised pack, and she is the same woman who poisoned my daughter and caused disgrace in front of Union

witnesses.”

A murmur moved through the room.

I felt it like wind over old scars.

Marcel turned toward the guards. “Take her out.”

They moved.

Maxwell moved first.

<132 Under Silverfang’s Roof

The force of his presence hit the room before his voice did.

“Try it,” he said.

The guards stopped so fast their boots scraped stone.

Marcel turned, stunned for a fraction too long. “Maxwell.”

Maxwell stepped fully beside me, shoulder aligned with mine. Not in front of me. Beside me.

Meni

“She is my daughter,” he said, each word clean and loud enough for every Alpha in the hall to hear. “You will accord her the same respect you accord me.”

The silence that followed was heavy and absolute.

Marcel stared at him as if he’d misheard.

“You can’t be serious.”

Maxwell’s expression did not change. “Mind your business.”

A sharper murmur rippled through the guests now. Surprise. Interest. Some looked at me differently at once. It was ugly how quickly status changed the way people listened.

Marcel’s eyes cut to me, then back to Maxwell. “This is absurd. She was in Nightwind. She was tied to

James. She,

“She is my daughter,” Maxwell repeated, louder now, steel under every syllable. “And if anyone in this hall forgets that, they will answer to me.”

My throat tightened.

I kept my face still.

I would not cry here. Not in this hall. Not with Marcel watching.

Marcel’s nostrils flared. “You would risk standing behind her after what she did to my daughter?”

Maxwell laughed once, humourless and cold. “After what you did?”

The room shifted.

Marcel went very still.

Maxwell took one step closer, his voice dropping, not quieter, but deadlier.

“Lied to James about bringing Union officials to his pack so you could use that opportunity to get rid

132 Under Silverfang’s Roof

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of my daughter,” he said. “Tried to steal what she fought for because you thought she was easy prey. An orphan. No backing. No one to stand behind her.”

Every word landed like a hammer.

Marcel’s face hardened. “Careful, Maxwell.”

“No,” Maxwell said. “You be careful.”

A few Alphas exchanged looks. One older man near the drinks table slowly set his glass down without taking his eyes off Marcel.

Maxwell wasn’t finished.

“It is thanks to Arya and James that I was able to secure my border when rogue activity grew serious,” he said, sweeping his gaze across the room now, addressing everyone. “She is an asset. A fighter. A strategist. If any of you have been listening to poisoned gossip instead of facts, correct yourselves.”

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