Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 167

167 Safe in the Wolf’s Den 2

Arya’s POV

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The Alpha we had been speaking with cleared his throat awkwardly and pretended he had not heard any of it. His mate gave me a look that held something close to sympathy before she smoothed it away.

Maxwell wrapped the exchange with a few dry words and moved us on without comment.

We made another two introductions before Lev found us.

I didn’t see him approach at first. I felt him.

Heat at my back.

A shift in scent.

That dangerous, controlled presence sliding into my orbit like he had chosen the exact

second I needed him and refused to announce it.

Then his hand settled at my lower back.

Not high.

Not possessive enough to scandalise the room.

Not low enough to be improper.

Just there.

Firm.

Warm.

Guiding.

But the contact did something violent to my breathing.

Ria rose instantly, pleased and shameless. There.

I refused to react outwardly.

Lev greeted Maxwell first, respectful and composed. Then his eyes came to me, and in

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front of everyone he said, “You came.”

It should not have sounded intimate.

It did.

I lifted my chin. “I said I might.”

That faint almost-smile touched his mouth. “And you look…” His gaze moved over me once, restrained but thorough, making heat crawl up my throat. “Exactly as I expected.”

My breath caught.

Maxwell made a dry sound beside us. “If you’re done staring at each other in public, there are still people here who need introducing.”

Lev’s hand stayed at my back.

“Then I’ll help,” he said calmly.

And he did.

He moved with us through the room as though the shift was seamless, as though he had

not just slid into the space beside me and changed the air around my body. He spoke

where necessary, greeted guests with polished authority, deflected questions, managed

egos, and all the while kept that quiet point of contact at my lower back as if anchoring

me in the current.

I hated how much it worked.

Whispers followed us anyway.

I heard my name once.

Dragonclaw’s adopted daughter from one corner.

Nightwind’s former Luna from another.

And softer, with interest sharpened by speculation:

Lev…

I refused to turn toward any of it.

Lev’s thumb shifted once against the fabric at my back, a tiny grounding pressure no one

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else would notice.

I noticed.

Too much.

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When Maxwell finally steered us toward Radimir, the noise in my chest became a roar.

The old Alpha sat like a king who had outlived enemies and apprentices alike. People

approached him in careful order, never too many at once. His daughter remained nearby,

elegant and observant. Lev stepped away from me then to move ahead half a pace,

taking his place near his uncle with the ease of someone already operating in two roles

at once, heir and enforcer.

Maxwell stopped before Radimir and dipped his head in formal respect. “Radimir.”

Radimir’s gaze lifted, old and sharp and far too seeing. “Maxwell.”

They exchanged the kind of look older alphas did, history in silence, respect threaded

with long memory.

Then Maxwell touched my arm and drew me half a step forward.

“This is Arya,” he said, voice clear, carrying enough for those nearest to hear. “My

adopted daughter.”

The words settled into the space with deliberate weight.

Not like a daughter.

Not under my protection.

Not a wolf I am sheltering.

My adopted daughter.

Radimir’s gaze came to me fully.

It felt like being measured by winter.

He looked at my face, my posture, the way I stood beside Maxwell without shrinking, the

tension I was trying to hide, the scars I did not show but could not entirely conceal. His

eyes dropped once to where Lev had returned to stand near my side, then back to me.

For a moment he said nothing.

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I held the stare, though every instinct in me was aware I stood before a man who had

shaped pack politics long before I was born.

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