Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 238

238 No Protection

Arya’s POVO

I was still listening.

I was still seated in the hall.

I was still following every voice, every objection, every shift in power.

But if I was being honest, part of me had already gone somewhere else.

Because all I could see now was karma.

Cold, patient, beautiful karma.

ONT 5 >

– Мет

For so long Marcel had moved like a man who believed nothing could touch him. Like power would always bend kindly around him. Like rules were things he could interpret however he wished as long as he used the right words and wore the right smile. He had stood over other people’s pain and called it strategy. He had traded lives and futures as if they were market goods. He had stolen, lied, manipulated, cornered, and threatened, and still expected the world to continue making room for him.

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And now here he was.

Sweating under the same laws he had hidden behind.

I sat there, watching it unfold, and my heart felt strangely light.

Not soft.

Not healed.

Just light with a dark kind of satisfaction.

Marcel kept looking at Radimir.

I noticed that more than once.

Actually, no. I noticed it constantly.

Every time he got cornered. Every time the room shifted in a direction he did not like. Every time. another truth dropped and the ground under him shook a little harder, his eyes found Radimir. Fast.

Almost instinctive. Like a drowning man checking if the shore was still there.

I had known Radimir favoured him.

I was not stupid.

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Men like Marcel did not move with that much arrogance unless they had spent years protected by

bigger men with bigger names. Maybe Radimir had never openly held his hand, but he had certainly allowed him too much room. Allowed him too much confidence. Allowed him to believe he could keep trading on influence and Union weight and no one would ever slap that hand away.

But things were different now.

That was the part Marcel seemed slow to accept.

Lev was the one in charge.

Not almost.

Not in theory.

Not one day.

Now.

That was the truth sitting in the centre of the room no matter how politely anyone tried to dance around it. Lev had not once looked like a man asking permission to steer the meeting. He had led it. Controlled it. Shut down objections. Checked men old enough to expect deference and powerful enough to be dangerous when insulted. Even Radimir, for all his seniority and old influence, was having to measure himself now in ways I could plainly see.

And Marcel saw it too.

That was why he kept looking at Radimir with growing desperation.

Because for the first time, maybe ever, he was realising there was not much Radimir could actually do

for him if Lev decided to cut him loose.

The room had gone through another stretch of heavy silence after the last round of protests and denials. That silence was ugly. Full of swallowed outrage and fear and calculation. Men were breathing through their noses, staring too hard at the table, glancing sideways at one another like

wolves who had just realised one of them had bled in the water.

Then Lev cleared his throat.

That was all it took.

The sound was not loud. He did not slam a hand down or demand attention.

He simply cleared his throat.

And the room gathered itself.

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I turned my eyes to him.

God.

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That man looked made for moments like this.

He sat straight but not stiff, one arm resting against the chair, the other near the table, his face calm in that dangerous way of his, like his temper was not absent, only bridled. His expression gave almost

nothing away. Not triumph. Not irritation. Not even satisfaction. Just decision.

When he spoke, his voice was level.

“Irongate, Northwood, Cliffsand, and Redclaw will have their Union licences suspended pending

investigation.”

The words dropped into the hall like stones.

No softness. No hesitation. No room for interpretation.

For one second, the room did not even react.

It was as if the men there had to let the sentence travel through them before the meaning landed.

Then the protests exploded.

Alpha Keith of Redclaw was on his feet at once.

“What?”

The Alpha from Cliffsand started speaking over him. Northwood’s Boris leaned forward so sharply his

chair creaked. Even the representative from Irongate lost enough control to speak before thinking.

The objections came hot and overlapping.

“This is extreme…”

“You have no proof…”

“You cannot suspend…”

“This is madness…”

Lev did not so much as blink.

He let them spill for a few seconds, let the panic show itself properly, let the room hear how little

dignity guilt had once consequences arrived.

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Then he said, very quietly, “Sit down.”

He did not raise his voice.

That made it worse.

They heard it too. Heard the warning under it. The command.

One by one, like men realising too late that barking would not save them, they quieted.

Keith sat first.

Then Cliffsand.

Then the rest.

Boris was last, but even he sat.

Good.

Lev looked from one of them to the other.

“This,” he said, “is the lightest punishment available to you at this stage.”

That shut them all up in a different way.

Not silence from obedience.

Silence from shock.

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Because they had expected negotiation. Delay. Procedure. The usual games powerful men liked to

play with one another before consequences could be made to soften. They had expected the old

dance. Lev was not dancing.

He went on, and there was no warmth in his tone now at all,

“If any of you would like to challenge that,” he said, “I can do more.”

The room went still.

He leaned back slightly in his chair. Calm. Dark. Unmoved.

“I can revoke your right to remain on Blackbirth land entirely. Then you may all feel free to find another place to settle.”

That landed exactly where it needed to.

I watched it happen on their faces.

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Outrage turning into cold fear.

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Because that was the truth beneath all their titles, wasn’t it? For all their posturing and Union ranks

and local power, they were still on Blackbirth land. Blackbirth had permitted them to flourish. Blackbirth had allowed them space. Blackbirth had given the framework beneath their comfort, and now Blackbirth, through Lev, was reminding them that permission could be turned around.

No one spoke.

Not one of the men who had looked ready to argue in their defence a moment ago said another word.

Even the ones who had seemed halfway inclined to push back on their behalf went quiet instantly. I

saw it happen. A shift in posture. A retreat. The sort of sudden stillness men got when self-

preservation climbed higher than principle.

Cowards.

The silence that followed felt deeply satisfying.

I did not smile.

But something inside me did.

Then Lev turned his attention to Marcel.

I felt the air change again.

No one missed it. Everyone in that hall knew Marcel’s turn had not yet come in full. They had all heard enough already, but hearing and punishment were not the same thing. Men like Marcel always survived as long as consequences remained abstract.

Lev made nothing abstract.

“Using one’s position in the Union,” he said, “and using the Union itself for personal gain is

unacceptable.”

Marcel straightened at once as if the sentence offended him on principle.

“It is all lies,” he snapped. “I did none of those things.”

Liar.

The word moved through me so sharply I had to resist the urge to say it aloud.

Lev did not react.

“There are witnesses,” he said. “There are men and women who can testify that you promised James

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Union membership in exchange for personal concessions.”

Marcel’s face tightened.

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Lev went on, voice still maddeningly steady. “I am confident that if I go to Nightwind, the pack itself

will testify.”

Something hard and pleased unfurled in my chest.

Because yes.

Yes, they would.

The ones who had seen. The ones who had heard. The ones who had understood exactly how Marcel

had pressed James, baited him, used his fear, used the pack’s uncertified status, used my vulnerability, used everything. They would speak if called. Maybe not all of them. Maybe some would still be cowards. But enough would. Enough to make the truth ugly and undeniable.

Lev folded his hands once on the table.

“A tribunal will be set,” he said. “Witnesses will be called.”

A tribunal.

The word moved through the room like a chill.

This was no longer gossip. No longer offended murmurs. No longer Marcel being privately

embarrassed in a room he might still manipulate later.

This was formal.

Public.

Documented.

Marcel heard it too.

I saw the first real crack in his composure.

Not loud fear. Not yet. But fear all the same.

“For now,” Lev said, “Silverfang’s Union membership is suspended until the investigation and tribunal

are complete.”

Marcel shot to his feet so fast his chair nearly tipped.

“No.”

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The word ripped out of him with naked fury.

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