Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 178

178 Only One Woman 3

Arya’s POVE

The moment might have gone somewhere softer then, dangerously soft, the kind of

softness that made room for confessions I was not ready to survive, if not for the knock.

Three sharp raps at the door.

We froze.

For one breath I didn’t move at all, trapped between embarrassment and irritation and

the very real possibility that someone outside had heard enough to ruin my life for a

week.

Lev cursed under his breath.

Not loudly.

Just one low, vicious word that made something in me almost laugh despite everything.

He pressed one quick kiss to my mouth, then another to my forehead, so quick I barely

had time to process the second before he stepped back.

The loss of his heat hit immediately.

I nearly swayed and hated that.

He looked toward the door but didn’t open it yet. His gaze swept over me first, taking in

the flushed skin, the mussed hair, the marks his mouth had likely left too close to my

throat to hide completely.

His eyes darkened again with possessive satisfaction.

I glared. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” he asked, maddeningly calm.

“Look pleased.”

He leaned in just enough to murmur near my ear, “No.”

Heat shot through me again, humiliatingly fast.

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Another knock came, harder this time.

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Lev exhaled through his nose and straightened, all command snapping back over his

body like armour.

When he opened the door, a broad-shouldered man with sharp eyes and a familiar

Blackbirth insignia stood there, Milo.

I had seen him only at a distance before, one of the men who moved around Lev like

trusted steel.

Milo’s gaze flicked once to Lev, then to me, then politely away so fast it would have been

almost respectful if I hadn’t caught the knowing glint before he buried it.

“Sorry,” he said, though he didn’t sound sorry. “Urgent. We need you now.”

Lev’s face hardened instantly into the man the ballroom knew.

“What is it?”

Milo stepped closer and lowered his voice. I caught only pieces, “Radimir’s people,”

“private room,” “Marcel still here,” and “before it spreads.”

The mention of Marcel sent a fresh edge through my chest, anger sliding back in beneath

the heat.

Lev glanced at me once, assessing, deciding.

Then he nodded to Milo. “Give me a minute.”

Milo hesitated, then gave a brief bow of his head and moved back down the corridor,

stationing himself a few paces away with his back turned.

Lev shut the door halfway and looked at me.

The charged heat between us hadn’t vanished. It had only shifted shape, banked under

urgency now.

“I have to go,” he said.

I folded my arms, trying to reclaim some dignity and failing because my lips still tingled

and my breathing was still uneven. “I assumed that from the ‘urgent’ part.”

The corner of his mouth twitched.

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I hated how much I liked that I could still pull that reaction from him.

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He stepped close again, but this time he didn’t trap me. He only reached up and fixed a

loose strand of hair near my face with absurd care for a man who had just kissed me

against a wall until my knees weakened.

“I’ll find you,” he said.

My heart gave a stupid little lurch.

I covered it with irritation. “That sounds less reassuring than you think.’

His thumb brushed once over my cheekbone, the gesture so unexpectedly tender it stole

the rest of my sarcasm.

“Stay with Maxwell,” he said, and there was command in it now. “Don’t leave alone.”

The warning in his tone sobered me fully.

“What’s happening?”

His gaze sharpened. For a second I thought he might tell me. Then he chose control

instead.

“I’ll handle it.”

I almost snapped at him for that answer.

Then I remembered where we were. Whose house. Which names had power here. How

quickly a room like this could turn a careless word into a weapon.

So I only nodded, once.

He held my eyes another second, too long, too intimate for a corridor outside and a

banquet waiting.

Then he bent, kissed me once, quick and hot and claiming enough to make my stomach

drop all over again, and stepped away.

By the time he opened the door fully, the heir of Blackbirth was back in his posture, his

face, his silence.

Milo looked between us exactly once and wisely said nothing.

Lev’s eyes found mine over his shoulder as he left.

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“I’ll find you,” he repeated.

Then he was gone.

The room felt abruptly colder.

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I stood there for a full breath, then another, palms flat against my dress, trying to calm

my pulse. My lips were swollen. My throat was probably marked with fresh evidence. My

hair definitely looked touched.

“Wonderful,” I muttered.

Ria preened shamelessly. He said we are the only one.

“Do not start.”

He kissed us like he meant it.

I closed my eyes and dragged in a breath. “That is exactly the problem.”

No, she purred. That is exactly why you’re shaking.

I ignored her and pushed off the wall.

The restroom.

I still needed to fix my face before I returned to the ballroom and whatever fresh storm

was brewing there.

I slipped out, checked the corridor, and moved quickly in the direction the maid had given.

earlier. This time no one grabbed me. The hall was quieter now, most of the guests

drawn back toward the banquet hall and ballroom, leaving only staff and guards moving

with practiced efficiency.

I found the restroom at the next turn and shut myself inside.

The mirror above the basin did not spare me.

I stared at my reflection and almost groaned.

Flushed cheeks.

Bright eyes.

Mouth kissed soft and red.

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Hair not ruined, but no longer perfect.

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A woman who looked nothing like someone who had simply stepped out for air.

I braced both hands on the marble sink and glared at myself.

“What are you doing?” I whispered.

The woman in the mirror looked just as shaken as I felt.

I splashed cool water on my wrists, then lightly at my neck and cheeks, careful of my

makeup. I fixed my hair as best I could, smoothed the front of my dress, adjusted the

halter line, checked my earrings.

Still flushed.

Still affected.