Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 2

Arya’s POV

I lifted my head and studied him.

James stared at the ceiling, jaw tight, eyes too dark.

“Tell me,” I said softly. “What happened today?”

He didn’t answer at once.

His fingers stroked my hair once. Twice. Slow, soothing. Like he was buying time. Like he was choosing words that wouldn’t explode.

Then he turned his head and looked at me.

His gaze was steady, but guarded, like a door locked from the inside.

“I found a way,” he said.

My brows lifted. “A way for what?”

“For us,” he replied. “For our pack to join the Union.”

Relief flickered through me so fast it almost felt like joy.

Almost.

Because nothing with the Union was simple. Nothing was free.

“James…”

He cut me off gently, like he didn’t want my doubts yet.

“Alpha Marcel Rainhorn has decided to help.”

My skin tightened at the name.

Rainhorns were old power. Union-tied. The kind of wolves who spoke in favours and expected blood repayment. Men who didn’t offer help unless it came with a hook already buried.

I searched his face. “Why would he help?”

James’s mouth tightened, then he forced the edge of a smile. “Because he sees potential in us.”

“That’s not an answer,” I said quietly.

His eyes flickered, just once.

There.

A crack in the mask.

He was hiding something.

Ria stirred, uneasy now, pressing against my ribs like she wanted to stand between me and whatever he’d brought home.

James kissed my forehead like he could seal my worry shut.

“It’s a good thing,” he murmured. “We’re close, Arya. Closer than we’ve ever been. This is what we’ve worked for.”

“And what does Marcel want in return?” I asked.

The air changed.

James exhaled slowly, then pulled me tighter against him, like he could hold me still while he rearranged the truth.

“Let me handle it,” he said.

My stomach dropped, not because he wanted to handle it, but because of the way he said it.

James only said, let me handle it, when the thing in his hands was dangerous, humiliating, or both. When the solution came with a cost he didn’t want me to touch because he knew I’d bleed trying to stop it.

My fingers curled in the fabric at his chest.

I wanted to push. Demand. Tear the truth out of him with my teeth if I had to.

But he’d come home like a man who’d been afraid he wouldn’t get to.

So I swallowed the questions.

For now.

“Okay,” I said quietly.

His shoulders loosened like he’d been bracing for a fight.

He kissed my temple, then my cheek. “Thank you.”

Again.

Gratitude, when it didn’t belong here.

Like he was relieved I wasn’t making it harder.

Or relieved I didn’t understand what was coming.

He fell asleep with his arm around me, breathing finally steady, body finally unclenched.

I stayed awake.

The room was quiet except for his heartbeat. My mind kept circling one ugly truth:

Powerful men didn’t help.

They collected.

The next morning, I told myself I was being dramatic.

Maybe it was stress. Maybe it was the weight of leadership pressing on my spine. Maybe it was the Union turning every conversation into a threat disguised as a handshake.

Still, my feet carried me to the healer’s hut before anyone else was fully awake.

I didn’t tell anyone where I was going.

Healer Lesley looked up the second I stepped in, eyes narrowing like she’d been expecting trouble.

“You’re early,” she said.

“I didn’t sleep,” I admitted.

Her gaze flicked over me once, too sharp, too knowing. “Sit.”

I obeyed.

Lesley didn’t waste time with soft words. She took my wrist, pressed two fingers to my pulse, and studied my face like it was a page she’d read before.

“How long?” she asked.

I blinked. “How long what?”

“I don’t want him distracted,” I said, voice low. “Not while this Union thing is still… unfolding.”

Lesley’s brows lifted. “Arya…”

“I’ll tell him,” I cut in, firmer than I felt. “I will. Just… not yet.”

She studied me for a long beat, then sighed like she hated it but understood the kind of world we lived in.

“When?” she asked.

My hand stayed on my stomach.

Our mating anniversary was close. Days away. A day that had always been ours: private, sacred, untouched by politics.

A day I wanted to keep clean.

“I’ll tell him on our anniversary,” I said softly.

Lesley’s mouth tightened, but she nodded once. “Fine. But until then, rest. Eat. And stop trying to carry the entire pack on your back.”

A laugh almost escaped me, but it came out like a breath.

“That’s not really an option,” I murmured.

Lesley leaned in, voice sharp enough to cut. “It is, if you want this child.”

The words rooted into my bones.

I nodded. “I’ll be careful.”

“Good.” She paused, then her gaze narrowed slightly. “And Arya?”

“Yes?”

Whatever she saw in my face, it made her tone careful.

“Whatever is happening with this Union business,” she said, “don’t let it steal your peace. Not completely.”

I forced a small smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “I’ll try.”

Lesley didn’t smile back. “Try harder.”

I left the hut with my cloak pulled tight and a secret burning under my ribs.

The packhouse stood ahead, our home, our land, our people moving through morning routines like the world wasn’t about to change.

And now…

My child.

I should’ve felt only joy.

But James’s voice echoed in my head, quiet and loaded:

Alpha Marcel Rainhorn has decided to help.

Fear slid under my skin, cold, precise, not for myself, but for the life quietly forming inside me.

Because if Marcel Rainhorn’s help came with a price…

I had a terrible feeling James was already paying it.

And I hadn’t even been asked.