Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 14

< Luna Forsaken 14 Silver on the Door

James’s POV

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I woke before dawn with my heart already racing, as if it had been running all night without

For a moment, I lay still on the couch, staring at the ceiling, the blanket twisted around my

legs and the pillow shoved beneath my head like an afterthought. The packhouse was quiet

in that heavy, early-hour way, too quiet, like even the walls were holding their breath.

Leah’s scent lingered in the room, cloying and false. Her side of the bed was untouched.

She had fallen asleep fully dressed, face turned away like a sulking child who couldn’t

understand why the world wouldn’t bend to her wishes.

I didn’t care.

I couldn’t.

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Because the only scent I wanted

in this packhouse wach there.

Arya.

My mate.

My Luna.

My mistake.

Jasper paced the inside of my skull, claws scratching at my restraint. He hadn’t truly slept either. He’d been restless, furious, muttering curses every time I closed my eyes.

Go to her, he’d repeated so many times it was carved into my bones. Go to her, James.

You’re losing her.

Now, in the dark before morning, those words landed differently.

Not like a warning.

Like a sentence already being carried out.

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I sat up sharply, the couch springs groaning beneath me. The air felt colder than it should have, the kind of cold that didn’t come from weather but from instinct, something wrong,

something out of place.

I looked at the door of my room.

Then, as if my body already knew the answer, I stood.

My feet hit the floor quietly. I pulled on my boots without thinking, moving on pure urgency, and I didn’t bother to smooth my shirt or fix my hair. The Alpha mask could rot in hell right

now.

All I had was the bond.

And the bond… the bond felt stretched.

Not broken.

But strained. Thin.

Like a thread pulled too far.

Jasper snarled.

Now, he urged. Now.

I left my room and walked the corridor fast, shoulders tight, breath controlled only by force. The packhouse smelled of old wood and dying embers, of night patrol sweat and last night’s spilt drink.

And beneath it all, there should have been Arya’s scent, wild rain and smoke and that sharp, familiar sweetness that always grounded me.

But I couldn’t find it.

My pulse doubled.

I stopped outside her door.

The hallway was empty. The silence pressed against my ears.

I lifted my hand and didn’t knock. I pushed the door open.

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<14 Silver on the Door

“Arya,”

The room was empty.

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For a heartbeat, my mind refused to accept it.

The bed was made, but not with care. Made the way someone did it when they were

leaving quickly. The blanket was pulled up, the pillow smoothed, but something about it felt

wrong. Too neat. Too final.

My eyes swept the room.

Her cloak wasn’t on the hook.

Her shoes weren’t by the bedside.

The small table where she sometimes sat to write wasn’t scattered with papers or ink. It

was bare.

A cold, vicious rush spread through my chest.

No.

No.

Jasper slammed into the bond, his voice feral.

Where is she?

I turned in a slow circle, scanning every corner like I expected her to step out from behind the wardrobe and glare at me for barging in.

But there was only emptiness.

And that emptiness swallowed air.

Panic hit me hard enough my vision blurred.

Had she run?

Had she finally had enough and left while everyone slept?

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The thought should have been possible, Arya was proud, stubborn, capable. She could disappear if she wanted to.

But something inside me rejected it violently, because Arya would not run without a plan.

And last night she hadn’t looked like a woman planning to flee.

She’d looked like a woman holding herself together by willpower alone.

Another thought stabbed into my mind like ice.

Marcel.

Lev.

Had Marcel taken her?

Had he decided she was a loose end and removed her while I played groom to his

daughter?

Had Lev…?

My jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

Lev wouldn’t steal her like a coward. If he wanted her, he’d take her with his head high and

his hands clean and his power undeniable.

But Marcel?

Marcel would do it silently.

Efficiently.

Like killing a threat.

The bond between Arya and me pulsed faintly, distant, muted. Not gone. Not dead.

But dim.

Jasper growled low, the sound vibrating through my ribs.

Something’s wrong.

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“I know,” I breathed, voice raw.

I left Arya’s room like a man running from fire.

The corridor blurred as I moved. I didn’t slow. I didn’t think.

I linked the pack.

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The link slammed outward, spreading like lightning through every mind connected to mine. Warriors on patrol, guards at their posts, kitchen staff asleep in their quarters, everyone felt

it, the sudden iron command, the sharp edge of my panic.

Where is Arya? I demanded through the link.

Silence.

Then startled voices, one after another, bleeding into my mind.

I haven’t seen her, Alpha.

Not since last night.

She left the hall, but,

No, Alpha.

I thought she went to her room.

I assumed she was resting,

My stomach churned.

The link filled with confusion and unease. People waking abruptly, hearts spiking at the

urgency in my voice.

I didn’t care if they were afraid.

I was afraid.

Search, I ordered, voice slicing through them. Now. Every corner. Every corridor. Every room. Check the gates. Check the perimeter. If anyone has seen her, speak.

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I severed the link abruptly before their fear could drown me.

Then I ran.

I ran through the packhouse like a madman.

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I shoved open doors, scanned empty rooms, checked the council hall where the celebration

had ended hours ago. I moved through the kitchen wing, the storerooms, the side corridors.

My thoughts were chaos.

Arya wouldn’t leave.

Arya wouldn’t abandon the pack.

Arya wouldn’t run while pregnant.

Pregnant.

The word made my heart buck in my chest.

If something happened to her…

If something happened to the baby…

My vision narrowed.

The world sharpened into one brutal point.

I would kill.

I would tear apart every Rainhorn in this territory with my bare hands.

But first, I had to find her.

Footsteps echoed behind me, warriors waking and moving, voices rising, doors opening, the packhouse turning frantic under my command.

Someone tried to speak to me, but I barked, “Search,” without looking at them.

And then Rebecca appeared like she’d been summoned by disorder itself.

She stormed into the corridor with two guards at her heels, dressed too neatly for an hour

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this early, eyes blazing with offended authority.

“What is this ruckus?” she snapped. “Do you have any idea,”

I whirled on her so fast she took an involuntary step back.

“Mind your business,” I snarled.

Her lips parted in shock.

I didn’t care.

Rebecca’s brows drew together, rage rising. “How dare you speak to me,”

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“I said mind your business,” I repeated, colder this time, and my voice carried enough threat that even her guards stiffened.

Jasper surged beneath my skin, pushing violence into my bloodstream.

She knows, he growled. They did something.

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