Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 280

280 The Wound That Stayed

James’ POVO

I sat in the room I once shared with Arya and looked around like a fool who still expected her scent to

answer me. It was still there. Faint now. Fainter than before. But still there. In the pillows. In the sheets

I had changed too many times and still could not make myself throw out. In the little things she left

behind without meaning to. A comb. A ribbon. A book she never finished. It was madness, the way a room could stay full of someone who was no longer in it. Madness, the way the bed still looked like it

remembered her body better than I did. Madness, the way I sat there night after night knowing she

was gone and still turning my head sometimes as if I would find her standing by the window or

brushing her hair or looking at me with that face she used to wear when she loved me and had not yet

learned to fear what I could become.

Jasper was silent. That was how bad it had gotten. Even my wolf had nothing to say to me anymore. Maybe he had said everything already. Maybe he was tired. Maybe he knew there was no use now.

There were no words left that could mend what I had broken. No growl, no instinct, no wolf truth could

undo the image of Arya chained in my pack. No mate bond could bring our child back. No sorrow could make me less guilty. So Jasper stayed quiet inside me like he too had turned his back and chosen to let me sit in my own ruin alone.

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I leaned forward and dragged my hands over my face. Then I laughed once under my breath because

the sound of it all was bitter. Me. James Nightwind. Alpha of Nightwind. Sitting in his own room

talking to shadows because the woman he loved was gone and the silence from his wolf sounded

more like judgement than anything spoken aloud.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

The room gave me nothing.

I looked at the bed.

At her side.

Still hers in my head. Even now.

“I’m sorry, Arya,” I said again, quieter this time. “For everything.”

The words felt too small. That was the problem. Sorry was a little word. A light word. A soft word. What did sorry mean against chains? Against flogging? Against blood? Against a mark cut by the man who claimed he loved you? What did sorry mean against a dead child? Nothing. It sounded cheap in

the room. Cheap and pathetic and late.

Still, I said it.

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Because what else did I have left to offer the silence?

“I ruined everything,” I whispered.

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That was the truth. Not Marcel first. Not Leah first. Me. They were poison, yes. But poison only worked because I let it into my house and into my mind and into the space between me and Arya. I was the one who doubted her. I was the one who turned cold. I was the one who let the pack look at her wrongly. I was the one who kept choosing control over trust until I had nothing left worth controlling.

I looked at the ceiling and blinked hard because my eyes were burning again.

Moon, I was tired of crying.

But I still did it.

The tears came heavy and angry, the kind a man hates because they do not make him feel better after. They only remind him how helpless he really is. I wept for Arya. For our child. For the bond I destroyed. For the room that still smelled like her and made me feel like I was being haunted by the best thing that ever happened to me. I wept because I remembered how she used to lie here with me, small smile on her mouth, her hair spread over this same pillow, her hand warm over her stomach before we knew, before everything went bad, before I let fear turn me into something ugly.

Jasper stayed silent.

Good.

Because I did not deserve comfort from him either.

I wiped at my face roughly and sat there breathing like a man who had run too far with no destination in mind. Then I looked at the wall and thought of the Rainhorns. Marcel. Leah. Rebecca. Every one of them. The whole rotten line of them slithering into my life and dragging ruin behind them. I hated them. Moon, I hated them. Not cleanly. Not calmly. I hated them with the sort of hatred that sat in the stomach and made a man feel sick with it. But beneath it, under it, feeding it, was still the same uglier truth. They could not have done half of what they did if I had stood by Arya the way a mate should.

Even so, I swore it there in that room, looking at the side of the bed that should have still been hers.

“I will make the Rainhorns pay,” I said.

The room stayed quiet.

But the vow stayed.

THREE DAYS LATER, Marcel called me.

I was already dressed when Nixon came in and told me the call was coming through. He handed me

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the phone with a look on his face that told me he was curious. Maybe hopeful too. Because the las

three days had not been good for Silverfang. Rumours had started moving like smoke. Packs talk.

Officers talk. Men who smell weakness talk even louder. Marcel had been moving like someone trying

to plug too many leaks with too few hands, and the desperation was already starting to show.

I answered and put it on speaker because I had no reason to hide the sound of his voice from Nixon.

Marcel did not waste time.

“James,” Marcel said, and for the first time in a long time, he sounded less furious than desperate. I

want you to send some warriors over.”

I leaned back against the desk.

“Why?” I asked.

“There’s movement near our outer borders,” Marcel said. “I need numbers. Send me men.”

I almost smiled.

He needed men.

Good.

“Ask the Union for help,” I said.

There was a pause on the line. Brief. Ugly. Telling.

Good.

I still did not tell him I knew. I did not tell him I knew about the suspension. I did not tell him I knew Silverfang had been made fair game. I did not tell him I knew he was hanging by the edge of a cliff and trying not to sound like a man already slipping. No. I wanted him to keep lying. Wanted to hear the shape of his desperation while pretending the old order still stood.

“Most of them are tied up,” Marcel said.

A lie.

Smooth, but still a lie.

I looked at Nixon and saw the grin twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Besides, aren’t you part of the union now, through Dragonclaw? It’s your duty to help,” he said and I almost laughed but I composed myself. It wasn’t yet time for him to know that I knew of his

suspension.

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“I have to go through Maxwell first. I am just a figurehead now and you know it. Why not call

Maxwell?” I said and he was silent for a bit.

“I would have but you know we do not agree of many things. I need you to send warriors James,” he said still trying to sound like he owned me. Like I owed him something and he was trying to collect.

“I really wished I could help you secretly. But I don’t have warriors to spare,” I said. “The last attack put a real dent in my numbers. Sending warriors to Silverfang leaves Nightwind vulnerable.”

Marcel let out a slow breath like he was trying not to curse.

Then I added, “Besides, no one would dare attack a Union member.”

That one was for me.

For the satisfaction of it.

For the lie he had to sit in while knowing I was speaking like a fool still dependent on the old structure. Let him hear it. Let him taste it. Let him know I still believed his shield stood while he choked on the

fact that it didn’t.

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