Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 185

185 Blood on the Road 4

Arya’s POV

I partially shifted deeper, muscles tearing then rebuilding under skin in hot jolts, claws

slick, breath ragged, dress ruined to ribbons at the sides and hem. I fought low, close,

vicious. Used knees, elbows, teeth, blades, gravel, doors, whatever existed. I broke

fingers when jaws came too near. I clawed eyes. I bit through an ear when one pinned

my shoulder against the van and thought it had me. I felt ribs crack under my heel and

did not stop to count whose.

At some point I realised I was snarling words.

“Cowards.”

“Masked dogs.”

“Come closer.”

“Who sent you?”

No one answered.

One tried to run.

That was new.

It broke from the line after seeing three of theirs drop in less than a minute, veering for

the trees with a limp. Instinct said kill it. Information said otherwise.

I slashed the back of its hind leg instead.

It crashed, howling, and tried to drag itself forward.

“Take one alive!” I shouted, voice shredded and wild. “Take one alive!”

Maxwell turned at once, caught my meaning, and roared the order louder. “ALIVE! I want

one breathing!”

The fight shifted again.

Killing was easier.

Taking was harder.

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The remaining attackers sensed it and went feral, pressing harder, trying to create exits

or clean kills. One nearly got to the front driver with a blade I hadn’t even seen until

moonlight flashed on it, another proof these weren’t rogues. I intercepted too late to

stop the strike completely, but enough to turn it from throat to shoulder. The driver

screamed and went down.

David was there a second later, ripping the attacker off him and smashing its face into

the road until it stopped moving.

Rusty and another guard finally pinned the limping wolf I’d crippled, but it twisted like mad, snapping and clawing, almost taking Rusty’s hand. I crossed the distance and

drove my knee into its spine while Maxwell stepped in and pressed Alpha force down

like a crushing weight.

The wolf shuddered.

Still fought.

Maxwell’s eyes went cold. “Shift,” he ordered.

The attacker snarled through blood.

Maxwell grabbed it by the scruff and slammed its muzzle into the dirt. “Shift, or I peel your skin off in pieces and find your pack by the stink under that masking oil.”

The wolf trembled.

For a moment I thought it would choose death.

Then bones cracked.

The form collapsed inward with wet, ugly sounds, fur retreating, limbs shortening. A

man lay in the gravel half-naked and blood-slick, gasping through broken teeth, one leg

mangled where I’d cut him.

Pack scent rose stronger in human form despite the masking chemicals.

I crouched, breathing hard, blood dripping from my fingers to the road. “I told you,” I said,

voice low and shaking with rage. “Pack wolf.”

His eyes flicked to me, widened, and darted away.

Fear.

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Good.

Around us, the road finally quieted.

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Not silent, never silent after a fight. There were groans, boots on gravel, engines idling,

the wet cough of the wounded, the hiss of a damaged radiator from our car, Rusty

cursing at someone to get bandages, David breathing like he’d swallowed fire.

But the wave had broken.

Bodies lay in the ditch, on the shoulder, against the cars.

Most dead.

A few dying.

One alive.

I stood too fast and the world tilted. Blood loss. Adrenaline. Shift strain. I caught the side

of the security van before I fell.

A hand closed around my elbow.

David.

He looked half-feral still, blood on his jaw, shirt torn, one eye swelling, and somehow he

still managed a crooked grin. “You look terrible.”

I let out a breath that almost became a laugh. “You too.”

Maxwell approached, blade red to the hilt, expression carved from rage.

He looked over me first, arm, shoulder, face, stance, counting injuries without asking.

Satisfied I was upright, he turned to the prisoner and all softness vanished.

“Bind him,” he said.

Rusty nodded, already on it. Heavy restraints came from the security kit, metal,

reinforced, made for wolves, not ropes. They chained wrists, ankles, and throat. The man

spat blood and tried to twist away until Maxwell placed a boot on his chest.

He stopped moving.

I looked at the ruined windscreen of the car we had been in. Glass glittered everywhere.

The front was spidered and caved enough that no one was driving it safely tonight.

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