Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 18

18 The Lie That Saved My Child

Arya’s POV

James stayed with me all day.

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Not in the loud, dramatic way people stayed when they wanted applause for it. Not in the way a man stayed when he was trying to convince the world he was still good.

In the quiet way.

The way that would have comforted me once.

He brought water and held the cup to my lips when my hands shook too much. He adjusted my pillows without being asked. He sat by the bed for long stretches, staring at me as if his eyes could undo what had been done to me. He barely spoke, and when he did, it was in short, careful sentences, like every word was something fragile he didn’t want to drop.

But none of it reached me.

Because I couldn’t unsee the silver chain.

I couldn’t unfeel the cold floor under my cheek.

I couldn’t forget the moment I realised I could die in my own packhouse and it would be

considered… convenient.

So I let him tend to me while I said nothing.

Not because I forgave him.

Because I was tired.

Because I didn’t trust my voice not to break into screaming.

James tried to read me anyway.

He kept looking at my stomach, his gaze lingering there as though the baby was a fact he

still didn’t know how to carry.

He looked at my face like he wanted to ask questions he didn’t deserve answers to.

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But he didn’t ask.

And I didn’t offer.

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As the sun lowered, light turning golden and thin through the curtains, he finally shifted in

his chair, as if he’d been wrestling with something for hours and had reached the end of his

restraint.

“I have things to attend to,” he said.

I didn’t respond.

He waited.

Then added, “Lesley will be here to check on you.”

I gave a small nod.

That was all.

James stared at me for a heartbeat longer. His hand lifted slightly, like he considered touching me, then he stopped himself.

He stood, moved toward the door, and paused with his fingers on the latch.

“Arya,” he said quietly.

I looked at him.

His eyes held something raw, regret, guilt, fear. Maybe even love.

But love didn’t matter if it couldn’t protect.

He swallowed, jaw tightening, then said nothing else.

He left.

The door clicked shut behind him.

And the silence that followed felt like relief and grief at the same time.

Only a few minutes passed before I heard footsteps in the corridor.

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My body tensed instantly, instinct flaring hot.

I thought it might be Leah.

Or Rebecca.

Or one of their shadows.

But when the door opened, it was Lesley.

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She stepped into the room quickly, her gaze sweeping over me with sharp concern. Her hair was pulled back, her sleeves rolled up, her hands already smelling of herbs. She looked like a woman who’d been rushing, like she’d only just returned from wherever she’d gone

and hadn’t even let herself fully rest.

My throat tightened.

Because her presence meant two things.

Safety… and fear.

I stared at her, and the question escaped before I could stop it, hoarse and trembling.

“Did he… ask you to abort it?”

Lesley stopped.

Her face hardened.

Then she shut the door firmly behind her and crossed to the bed, eyes fixed on mine.

“He did,” she said bluntly.

My stomach dropped.

A cold wave moved through me, and my hand flew to my belly again, protective, desperate.

Lesley’s tone softened slightly. “But I didn’t do it. And I won’t.”

I blinked fast, tears already gathering.

Lesley sat on the edge of the bed, leaning closer. “That’s why I made myself scarce,” she

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said, voice low. “When Alpha James asked me about abortion, how safe it was, I suspected

he was asking about you.”

My throat tightened so hard it hurt.

Lesley continued, steady and fierce. “So I lied to him.”

I stared at her.

She didn’t flinch. “I told him it could claim your life.”

My breath broke into a shaky sob.

”

Lesley’s eyes held mine without apology. “Because it could have. Because you’re already

strained. Because your body is not something he gets to gamble with when he’s panicking.”

Tears spilled down my cheeks, hot and uncontrollable.

My voice cracked. “Thank you.”

It felt too small.

Too weak.

But it was all I had.

Lesley’s jaw clenched. “Don’t thank me,” she muttered, as if the words burned. “Just… don’t

let them corner you again.”

I wiped at my face with trembling fingers, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

It wasn’t just gratitude.

It was the delayed terror of what could have happened if Lesley had been a different kind

of healer. A different kind of woman. One who obeyed orders instead of conscience.

I could have woken up empty.

I could have woken up hollow.

And I wasn’t sure I would have survived that.

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Lesley watched me for a moment, then exhaled slowly.

“What do you plan on doing?” she asked.

The question landed heavier than it should have.

Because I’d been planning quietly.

And hearing it out loud made it real.

“I’m leaving,” I said.

Lesley’s eyes widened. “Arya,”

“I can’t stay here,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “I can’t raise my child in a place where I

can be locked away and poisoned.”

Lesley’s face tightened, worry carving lines around her mouth. “That’s not the right thing to

do.”

I stared at her, numb anger rising. “Not the right thing?”

Lesley leaned forward, voice urgent now. “Listen to me. The hunt for rogues and packless

wolves is intense right now. Security measures are tightening everywhere because of the

Union shifts. Outsiders are being questioned, detained, dragged back to packs, or worse.”

My stomach clenched.

Lesley’s voice softened, trying to reach me. “James will not harm your baby. Whatever he’s

doing, he’s not going to kill his own child.”

I let out a bitter laugh that sounded nothing like humour.

“That’s what you think,” I said quietly.

Lesley’s gaze pleaded. “Arya, you’re going to be a mother. You should endure for the sake of your pup. You’ll be safer inside the pack than outside.”

Safer.

The word made something in me go cold.

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I stared at her, tears drying on my cheeks, my voice turning flat.

“Look at me,” I said.

Lesley paused.

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I lifted my hand slightly, palm facing myself, as if I could still see the ghost of the silver

burn there, as if my skin remembered it even when it wasn’t visible.

“I could have died in that toilet,” I said, voice low. “I could have died right there, in this

packhouse, with everyone celebrating and drinking while I lay on the floor.”

Lesley’s mouth parted.

I didn’t stop.

“How safe would that have been for my baby?” I demanded softly, and my voice cracked on

the last word.

Lesley stared at me, speechless.

Because there was no answer.

Because safety was not a promise you could make to a woman who’d already been proved

disposable.

Lesley swallowed. Her shoulders slumped slightly, defeat creeping in.

Then she forced herself upright again, thinking, searching for a compromise.

“Then… be careful,” she said finally, voice quieter. “Maybe you should move out of the

packhouse. Get a normal house. Away from James and the politics he’s playing. Still inside

the pack territory, but not under the same roof.”

I stared at her.

It was a reasonable suggestion.

And it still felt impossible.

Because James wouldn’t let me be.

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Because Leah wouldn’t let me breathe.

Because Marcel Rainhorn’s shadow didn’t stop at the packhouse door.

But I didn’t argue with Lesley anymore.

Arguing wouldn’t change the truth.

So I nodded.

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Once.

Lesley looked at me like she wanted to say more, like she wanted to push, to insist, to beg

me to hold on.

But she didn’t.

Maybe she saw the emptiness in my eyes.

Maybe she understood that there were some wounds that didn’t heal by “enduring.”

She stood, adjusted the blanket lightly over my legs, then moved toward the door.

“I’ll come back later,” she said. “Try to rest.”

I watched her leave.

The door clicked shut.

And the room felt colder without her.

I stared at the ceiling for a long time, listening to the sounds of the packhouse, footsteps,

distant voices, the faint clink of dishes.

Then my mind drifted, unwillingly, to Maxwell.

To Lev.

The memory of them at the table, their faces, their presence, the brief moment of

something like protection, hit me like a bruise being pressed.

Tears returned to my eyes.

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Not loud this time.

Silent.

Because I had left them there.

I had disappeared without explanation.

Maxwell would have noticed. Of course he would. He watched everything.

Lev… Lev would have noticed too, even if he pretended he didn’t.

I wondered what they thought of me now.

Coward? Weak? Unworthy of the brief respect they’d offered?

My chest tightened.

I wished I had Maxwell’s number.

So I could call him. Apologise. Explain what happened.

So I could hear a voice that wasn’t Rainhorn.

So I could anchor myself to something outside this suffocating cage.

But I didn’t have it.

And James would never give it to me.

Not now.

Not when Lev’s presence had already rattled him.

So I stared at the wall and made another plan.

Quietly.

Carefully.

Like I’d been doing all along.

I would try to get it.

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