Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 281

281 The Wound That Stayed 2

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James’ POV

Word always moved fast, especially when punishment was involved. The courtyard filled before the

sun fully dipped, the light going gold and then thinner, the air colder than I expected. Men stood in

clusters. Women too. Officers near the front. Warriors lining the edges. Faces grim. Expectant. Quiet in that charged way people get when they know something ugly is about to happen and still come to

watch. Maybe because they wanted justice. Maybe because they wanted spectacle. Maybe because in a pack, punishment was never private for long. It became lesson. Warning. release.

They brought Leah out in chains.

Three days without food had already changed her. Her face had hollowed. Her lips looked dry. Her movements had gone weak in places and jerky in others. But her eyes still burned with hatred, which meant she still had enough pride left to suffer loudly. Good. I wanted her awake for this. I wanted her

to hear every word.

Raymond dragged her into the centre while Nixon read out her crimes. He did not rush through it either. He made every word clear. She framed the Luna. She lied against the Luna of Nightwind. She contributed to unrest within the pack. Her actions led to the death of the Alpha’s heir. The murmurs around the courtyard changed when that part was said. Not because they did not already know. Because hearing it aloud made it real again in a fresh way. The heir. My child. Arya’s child. Dead because of lies and panic and filth. The sound in the pack turned harder after that.

Leah shouted over him at first. Then cried. Then cursed. But nobody stopped.

When the caning started, I did not look away.

I should maybe have looked away. I don’t know anymore. Maybe a better man would have. Maybe a worse one would have smiled. I did neither. I just stood there and watched because the image of

Arya’s flogging had never stopped playing in my head anyway. This one did not replace it. Nothing

could. But I watched Leah bent into the punishment she helped bring into my house and I forced

myself not to turn from it. The cane struck. She screamed. Again. Again. Again. Some pack members

flinched. Some didn’t. I stayed still, jaw tight, hands looked behind my back, and thought of Arya the

entire time. Not Leah. Arya. Arya standing proud even in pain. Arya bleeding. Arya pregnant and me

not knowing yet what I was helping destroy.

By the end of it, Leah was sobbing.

The branding came after.

I did it myself.

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That mattered to me. Maybe because I wanted her to know exactly whose hand was on this part. Maybe because I wanted to feel the ugliness of it directly instead of hiding behind officers and orders and distance the way I once did when Arya suffered. The iron was brought glowing, and the smell of it touched the air before the skin ever did. Leah saw it and started shaking her head wildly.

“James, no,” Leah cried. “Please.”

I did not answer.

I took the iron and stepped to her. For one brief second I thought of Arya again so hard nearly

stopped. Her face. Her mark. My hand. The memory struck so deep it made my chest tighten. But I

kept going. Because this was not Arya. This was Leah. Leah who lied. Leah who framed her. Leah who

sat in my house while my mate bled. Leah who helped kill my child by helping build the lie that buried

us all.

So I branded her on her neck.

She screamed so loudly the sound seemed to tear through the whole yard. Then it was done.

When I stepped back, my hand felt strange around the iron. Heavy. Like it remembered too much. I gave it back without speaking.

They left Leah chained on the floor outside.

Overnight. Like refuse. Like warning. Like consequence.

I did not stay there to watch the whole night through. I was not that far gone. But I made sure the guards understood their orders and I left knowing she would lie there in pain and cold and shame while the pack slept around her. Maybe some part of me wanted that. Wanted her to feel abandoned. Wanted her to understand what it was to be left in pain while the world kept moving around it. Again,

that did not make me noble. It only made me honest.

By morning she was moved again.

This time not to the first cell.

To the little room.

The worse one.

The one smaller and uglier and meaner than where Arya had been held. Darker. Tighter. Less air. Less dignity. The kind of room built not just to contain a body but to grind a spirit down slower.

I went to see her there.

Not because I cared if she was comfortable.

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Because I wanted her to hear some things from my mouth.

When I stepped in, she looked terrible. Pale. Eyes sunken. Clothes hanging badly on her. Pain all over her posture. She still tried to lift her head with pride when she saw me, but it was weaker now. Much

weaker.

“I want to speak to my father,” Leah said at once.

Not please. Not how are you. Not any sign of remorse. Her father.

Of course.

I looked at her and almost pitied how slow she still was to understand.

“Your father is too occupied trying to save his pack to care about you,” I said.

That made her freeze.

Then the fury came back.

“You’re lying.”

I shrugged.

“Believe what you want.”

Leah cursed me then. Properly. Not the little polished insults she once used. Real ugly fury. She told me I would regret everything. That the suspension would be lifted. That Silverfang would recover. That her father would rise again. That I had made a terrible mistake.

I let her speak.

Then I cut in.

“I doubt Arya will ever let Lev lift the suspension.”

That shut her up in the most satisfying way.

Her eyes widened.

There it was.

The real understanding.

Not just that Silverfang was in trouble, but that the people with Lev’s ear were exactly the people Marcel wronged worst. Maxwell. Arya. Maybe others too. But Arya was the one that mattered here, and Leah knew it. Knew what that meant. Knew that if Arya wanted Marcel to hurt, Lev would not be

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rushing to ease his pain. Knew that the suspension might not be some short stumble her father could talk his way through. Knew that maybe, for once, he had reached the point where no amount of pressure and acting and connections could clean the blood off it.

Leah’s mouth parted.

Fear came back full force.

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