Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 223

223 His Lap, My Quiet

Arya’s POVO

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After I freshened up, I stood in the middle of Lev’s room and stared at his closet like it had offended me personally. It was not even a huge closet. Just neat. Dark wood. Expensive hangers. Everything arranged too perfectly, the way only men with control issues ever manage to keep things. I had no business being nervous over clothes. I had faced rogues with blood on my hands. Faced halls full of Alphas that wanted me smaller. Walked into Silverfang and looked Rebecca in the face while hatred twisted her mouth, and I still stood straight. But clothes? Clothes made me feel ridiculous.

Because clothes were never just clothes in places like this. They were messages before they were fabric. Armour. Bait. Judgment. The first thing people used to decide what you

were worth before you even opened your mouth. I rubbed my forehead, already irritated

with myself.

“What do I wear?”

Ria stirred right away, like she had been waiting for this.

Something that makes him lose his mind.

I snorted.

“You’re so predictable.”

And you’re lying.

“I’m not lying.”

You miss him. You want him. And you like it when he looks at you like he’s about to

devour you.

I rolled my eyes even though nobody could see me.

“That doesn’t mean I should dress like I’m desperate.”

Ria-made that smug little sound that always felt like laughter in my head.

We are way past desperate.

“Shut up.”

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Wear the short one.

“No.”

The lace one.

“No.”

ne nat

The one that,

“Ria.”

She kept going anyway because of course she did.

You keep pretending you do not want him to see your skin. You keep pretending you are

above it. But you are scared.

That made me go still. I looked at myself in the mirror for a second. Hair still damp. Face

clean. Eyes a little too bright.

“Scared of what?”

That if you want him, and he wants you, and you let it happen, it will hurt when it ends.

My throat tightened after that.

Because that was it.

Not Mary.

Not Diana.

Not even Radimir and his mouth.

It was this. Every time Lev touched me, some part of me started believing in soft things

again. In belonging. In being wanted without being used. In warmth that did not come

with a knife behind it. And soft things had ruined me once already.

I let out a slow breath and looked back at the closet because that felt easier than looking

at the truth too long.

“Okay. Safe.”

Safe was good.

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Safe meant nobody could say I was doing too much. Safe meant I could still look like myself without looking like I was begging to be looked at. I pulled out a silk lace

nightgown. Short, yes, but not vulgar. Not the kind of thing that looked chosen for a

performance. The silk was smooth. The lace was soft and delicate. It clung in the right

places, but it was not obscene. Feminine. Quietly sexy. Not loud about it.

I stared at it for a second and almost put it back.

Then I remembered Lev’s mouth on my neck. The way my body had answered him like it did not care what my pride wanted. And I thought, fine. If my body is going to betray me

anyway, I might as well look good while it does.

So I put it on.

The silk slid over my skin like water. The lace stopped above my knees. Thin straps. A soft neckline. Enough to show cleavage, not enough to look like I had cut the fabric down

myself. I looked at my reflection for a long second.

I did not look desperate.

I looked like a woman standing in a man’s room.

That was still dangerous.

Heat touched my cheeks a little.

Ria purred, pleased.

Good. Now go sit where he’ll find you.

“I’m not staging myself.”

Yes, you are.

I did not answer because she was right and I hated that she was right. I grabbed a light robe anyway and draped it over my shoulders without tying it. Then I walked toward the balcony doors.

The room was quiet. Too quiet almost. Blackbirth had that kind of silence. The sort you felt in your bones because the house was too big, too old, too full of people pretending they were not listening to everything. I opened the balcony door and stepped outside.

The cool night air touched my skin and I breathed easier at once.

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<223 His Lap, My Quiet

The balcony overlooked the gardens, and Blackbirth at night looked ridiculous. Not fake. Not showy. Just real wealth spread too far and too well. Long stretches of trimmed green. Stone paths. Hedges cut so neatly they looked shaped by obsession. Fountains catching moonlight. And beyond all of that, the darker edge of trees holding the territory

like a warning. From up here, it looked peaceful.

Too peaceful.

The sort of peace that made you forget what kind of house you were standing in.

I walked over to the outdoor couch and sat slowly. The robe slipped off my shoulders a

little. The cushions were soft, still holding some of the day’s warmth. The night air was

cool enough to make the skin on my arms prickle. Above me, the moon sat full and

bright enough to silver everything.

I leaned back and looked at it.

Then something strange happened.

My mind went quiet.

Not empty in a bad way.

Quiet in a good way.

No planning. No preparing. No replaying old words and old wounds. No imagining the

next disaster before it happened. Just quiet.

Peace.

I had not felt that in a long time.

Not real peace.

Even when I was safe, my mind never really rested. It stayed sharp. Ready. Waiting. You do not survive what I survived by relaxing. But sitting there, under the moon, with Blackbirth stretched below me and Lev’s room behind me, I felt it.

Peace.

And I knew why.

His scent was everywhere.

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On the sheets. In the air. In the wood. On the fabric. In the space itself. It was like Ria

recognised it before I did. Recognised his room as safe because it belonged to him

That should have annoyed me.

It didn’t.

It made me breathe easier.

I closed my eyes and let out a slow breath. My body felt heavy in a good way. Like I

could rest. Like I did not have to keep holding myself together with anger alone. Ria

sighed too, settling inside me.

We’re okay.

I did not answer because if I did, I might cry.

And I did not want to cry tonight.

Not here. Not in his house. Not when I had finally managed to feel something other than

survival.

So I sat there and listened. The soft rush of the fountain. The leaves shifting somewhere

beyond the garden. The faint hum of Blackbirth’s security far below, always there,

always watching. I never checked the time. I did not want to. Time meant endings. Time

meant counting down to the next thing being taken away. And for once, I wanted to stay

in a moment without already grieving its end.

Then I felt him.

Not his voice.