Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 208

208 String Her Along 2

A

James’s POV

The hallway to the private wing felt longer than it should have. Nightwind’s packhouse wasn’t huge, but it had enough space that an Alpha could have privacy when he needed it. Clean wood. Stone. Modern lights fixed into the corners. Security cameras hidden where most people wouldn’t notice them unless they were looking for them. Everything

in it had been chosen for function.

Arya used to tease me about it.

“You built a fortress,” she would say, leaning against the doorframe while I argued with Nixon about patrol rotation. “Not a home.”

And I used to answer, too sharp and too sure of myself.

“A home can be burned. A fortress holds.”

Now I walked into it and realised a fortress could still feel empty enough to echo.

My door opened under my hand with the familiar click. The room was dark except for the low lamp near the bed. I stood there for a second without moving, letting memory hit me

where it always did. Hard. Unfair. That bed. That side of it. Her scent used to live in the sheets. Warm soap. Faint herbs. Something clean and sharp that always made my wolf

settle. Some nights she would fall asleep with her hair over my chest and her hand on

my stomach like she was anchoring herself to me.

Now the bed was made too neatly. Too cold.

Her presence was gone in the cruelest way because it wasn’t just absence. It was

absence I had caused.

Jasper shifted under my skin, restless.

Why are we here?

“Because it’s mine,” I muttered under my breath.

It doesn’t feel like ours.

That word ours stabbed. I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor. I thought of Maxwell calling her his daughter. I thought of him telling me to stay away. I thought of

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Arya’s face the last time she looked at me with anything close to softness and how long

ago that felt now. Years, even though it wasn’t. I thought of all the times she tried to

warn me about Marcel. Tried to warn me about Leah. Tried to warn me the Union

banquet was wrong, the timing was wrong, the whole smell of it was wrong.

And I crushed her for it.

I took her voice and called it insubordination. I took her instincts and called them

emotion. I took her strength and treated it like a threat to my authority instead of the

pillar it was. My throat burned. There were too many things I wanted to undo now. That

was the curse. You don’t know what you have until it is ripped out of your hands and

given to someone else who knows how to hold it properly.

A knock came at the door before I could sink deeper into that spiral. My body tightened

instantly. I didn’t need to guess who it was. Leah never knocked like a servant. She

knocked like someone who thought she owned space she had never earned. I didn’t

answer quickly enough, and she came in anyway.

Of course.

Leah stepped into the room wearing a silk robe too thin for the season and too

deliberate for sleep. Her hair was brushed glossy. Her lips were tinted. Her eyes were

bright in a way that might have looked innocent if I had not already learned how much

poison could sit behind pretty things. She shut the door behind her and looked around

the room like she was inspecting what belonged to her. Then she looked at me, and her

expression sharpened.

“You rejected my refreshment.”

Not a greeting. Not concern. An accusation. Like refusing her tea was an insult to her

rank instead of common sense. I stayed where I was on the edge of the bed and forced

my face into calm. If I reacted the way I wanted to, I would ruin the whole plan before it

even started. I needed her close. I needed her predictable. I needed Marcel thinking he

still had leverage. So I breathed once and kept my voice controlled.

“I didn’t request it.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“I was being polite.”

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“No.” I said flatly. “You were making a point.”

Her jaw tightened.

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