Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 253

253 Too Late to Fix It 3

James’ POVO

Gamma Raymond stepped closer and said low enough for only me to hear,

“This was the right call, Alpha.”

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Manu

I gave him a small nod. Maybe it was. Maybe it was just the least bad option left after I had already

made too many wrong ones.

The cheers kept going. My people were smiling now. Some crying. Some laughing in relief. They were already picturing safer nights. Fewer graves. Children sleeping without fear of another attack. Wolves returning to patrol with something like confidence instead of dread. I should have been able to stand

in that and feel victorious.

Instead all I could think was this: if I had taken this course of action earlier, Arya would still have been

with me.

The thought hit so hard I almost staggered under it, but I kept my face still. Because it was true. If I had gone to Dragonclaw earlier instead of trying to force Silverfang into our future through Marcel’s terms, Arya would still be standing at my side. She would still be Luna. She would still be the woman the pack looked at with pride instead of regret. She would be carrying our child openly by now, and I would not be standing in front of my people with half my soul gone and the other half pretending leadership could fill the hollow.

God.

I closed my hand into a fist behind my back. My life would not be this mess. Arya would not be with

Lev.

That name slithered into my mind and my wolf rose ugly under my skin at once. Lev. Blackbirth. Union blood. Strength. Power. The kind of man who could offer Arya things I should have offered her myself. Protection without humiliation. Desire without bargaining. Loyalty without turning her into a sacrifice

on the altar of politics.

I hated him for existing in her orbit now. More than that, I hated myself for creating the road that led her to him. Because that was the truth too, wasn’t it? Men like to blame fate when a woman they love turns away and finds peace somewhere else. But sometimes it is not fate. Sometimes it is consequence. Sometimes you break a woman open so badly that when another man offers her a gentler hand, she takes it because you taught her exactly what staying with you would cost.

I had done that. I knew I had.

The cheers around me sounded farther away for a second. My officers were still watching me, still

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pleased, still reading this as a win, and maybe politically it was. For Nightwind, it was. The pack would be safer. The attacks would stop. The people would breathe easier. The structure would hold.

But for me?

For me this victory tasted like ash. Because every part of me knew how much of it came too late.

One of the women near the front called out with a smile,

“Thank you, Alpha! This saves us.”

I forced a nod and gave them the expression they needed. Steady. Commanding. Reliable.

They cheered louder. My officers nodded again. And there, right in the middle of their gratitude, the

thought hit me with such brutal clarity that I nearly hated the entire world for it. If I had done this

earlier, Arya would still be in my bed. She would still be sleeping with her hair spread over my chest,

half annoyed and half soft in the morning light. She would still be looking at me with those eyes that

once held more faith in me than I deserved. She would still be expecting by now. Our child. Our blood.

Our future.

Instead she was gone.

Gone.

And I did not know if she would ever come back. Not really. Not to me.

The pack started to disperse gradually after that, still talking, still buzzing with the news. Some

stopped to bow their heads to me or thank me again on the way out. My officers stayed close. A few asked for next steps, patrol updates, Dragonclaw coordination, formal notices, logistics. I answered all

of it. Calmly. Clearly. Like the alpha they needed.

That part at least I could still do. Command. Organise. Protect the structure.

But through all of it, one thought stayed buried under everything else like a nail under the skin.

Would Arya ever forgive me?

I already knew the answer I wanted.

Yes.

I wanted some miracle. Some impossible road where all this could still be repaired. Where she could

look at me and see not just the man who failed her, but the man she once loved. The man who once

bled beside her and dreamed with her and wanted her in every part of his life. The man who maybe

lost his way under pressure but had not stopped wanting her for one second.

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But wanting was not enough. It had not been enough when she needed me to protect her. It had not been enough when Marcel was poisoning everything. It had not been enough when Leah stood there like a stain spreading through my life.

Would Arya ever forgive me?

Deep down, I knew it would take a miracle. A real one. Not strategy. Not persuasion. Not time. A miracle. And I was not that lucky.

That was the ugliest truth of all.

I knew what I did to her. Not just the visible things. Not just the politics. Not just the arrangement. Not just allowing Leah’s presence to wound her again and again like some slow public punishment. I knew the deeper thing too. I broke the part of Arya that trusted me more than she trusted anyone else.

That kind of damage does not heal because a man finally sees clearly. That kind of damage does not vanish because he starts making smarter political decisions after the worst is already done. That kind of damage does not go away because he stands before his pack and tells the truth too late. It sits. It hardens. And if another man gets there while it is still raw, a better man, a more careful man, a man who knows how to hold what you dropped, then maybe that woman never looks back.

Lev.

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