Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 256

256 Fair Game 3

James’ POVO

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Leah glared at me one last time, then spun and stormed out, slamming the door behind her so hard the frame rattled. Silence dropped over the room. Then Nixon laughed. I let him. God, I nearly joined him

again.

He walked to the desk and leaned one hip against it, shaking his head. “Her face,” he said.

I dragged a hand over my mouth. “Don’t,” I muttered, though the corners of my mouth were still pulling.

Nixon held the phone up. “This is real.”

“I know.”

“You saw the whole list?”

“I saw it.”

Silverfang. Suspended indefinitely. Fair game. The words would not stop moving through my head. They sat there bright and vicious and full of possibility.

Nixon’s expression shifted then. Less amused. More watchful. He knew me too well. Knew when my mind had turned from satisfaction to decision.

“You’re thinking,” he said.

I looked at him. “Of course I’m thinking.”

“Dangerous thinking?”

That almost made me laugh again. “Probably.”

He nodded like he expected no less.

I moved back behind the desk slowly, but I did not sit right away. My body felt too charged for that. Too aware. Too alive. It had been a long time since I felt this particular kind of certainty. Not calm exactly. Not peace. Something uglier. More useful. Marcel was open now. Not theoretically. Not in some political way that still required ten other permissions and a room full of old men nodding before anything could be touched. Open. Exposed. Fair game. That changed things. Not just for the wider

packs. For me. For Arya. For what I still owed her.

I stood there with one hand on the desk and stared at nothing for a moment, but all I could see in my

mind was Marcel’s face. That smug mouth. That false wisdom. That posture of a man who thought

everybody around him was either useful or disposable. Then Arya’s face came over it. Her pain. Her

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silence. The way she had stood there and taken more than she should have ever had to take because I

was too focused on not losing land to realise I was losing her. No. That was not even fully true. I knew

I was losing her. I just thought I could fix it later. That was my real sin. Later. Later after the pact. Later

after Leah settled. Later after Marcel delivered. Later after Nightwind was safe. Later after things calmed down. Later after later after later. And while I kept promising myself later, Arya was dying a

little more in front of me.

A muscle jumped in my jaw. I owed her. Even if she never forgave me. Even if she never came back.

Even if Lev already had too much of her heart for me to ever claw it back. I owed her. At the very least, I

owed her seeing Marcel bleed for this.

Nixon was still watching me carefully. “James.”

I looked at him.

“You’re smiling,” he said.

I had not realised. I touched my mouth once. He was right. Not a happy smile. Nothing like that. Something harder. Meaner.

“I’ve been waiting for something to shift,” I said quietly.

“This is more than a shift.”

“Yes.”

“It makes them vulnerable.”

I looked at him and said, “It makes Marcel reachable.”

That shut him up for a second. Then he nodded slowly. Nixon knew enough not to ask immediately whether I was thinking of action. He already knew I was. The only real question was what kind. Would I move openly? Through Dragonclaw? Through unofficial hands? Through old grudges and newer arrangements? Would I strike Silverfang directly? Would I gut Marcel where it hurt most? Would I let others circle first and then pick my moment? Too many options. Too much satisfaction in all of them.

But under all that, only one thing sat steady. Arya. My unborn child. The life Marcel helped wreck. The

debt.

I let out a slow breath. “He took too much from me,” I said.

Nixon did not pretend he needed clarification. “From Nightwind,” he said.

“From Arya,” I corrected.

That was the truth. Not just Nightwind. Not just territory. Not just politics. Marcel took the centre of my life and poisoned it. He helped turn the woman I loved into a sacrifice for his ambition. He shoved

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Maru

Leah into my space and expected me to wear it. He lied. Manipulated. Pressed. Threatened. Smiled all

the while.

And the child. God. My hand clenched slowly into a fist. My unborn child was tied to all of this too. To the pain. To the stress. To the conditions Arya had to survive while carrying life inside her. Marcel did not just wrong me. He wronged what should have been safe. What should have been protected. What should have grown in peace instead of in the middle of betrayal and public humiliation.

Nixon went quiet, probably because he could see where my mind had gone. Finally he said, “What are

you going to do?”

The question sat there. Big. Simple. What was I going to do? The old James might have said wait. Watch. Measure. Let the bigger predators move first. Keep Nightwind clean. Keep the hands technically unstained. But I was so tired of technically unstained hands. I was tired of cleverness that came too late. Tired of caution that only seemed to protect the wrong people. Tired of men like Marcel making a game of other people’s homes and women and futures.

I looked Nixon straight in the eye. “It’s time to pay him back,” I said.

Nixon’s mouth shifted. Not shock. Approval. He had probably been waiting to hear me say it outright.

“For Nightwind?” he asked.

“For everything,” I said.

But even as I said it, I knew the truth of the matter had one face in the centre. Arya.

I moved around the desk and finally sat down, but there was no rest in it. My blood was too awake

now. Too fixed.

“I owe her that much,” I said.

Nixon understood immediately. He nodded once.

“At least,” I added.

Because what was paying Marcel back in the face of what Arya endured? What was blood in the face

of that? Not enough. Never enough. But it was something. A start. A correction. A debt acknowledged. And if there was any scrap of honour left in me after all the ways I failed, this was part of how I began

paying it. Even if she never saw it that way. Even if she never wanted anything from me again. Even if the only thing she ever felt when she heard my name was hurt. Still. Marcel would pay.

I sat there in the heavy silence after that, Nixon nearby, the circular still burning in my mind. Fair game. The words made me want to laugh all over again. Not because I was happy. Because it was perfect. Because for once the world had opened a door in the direction I needed. Because for once Marcel had

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