Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 284

284 Fifty Men and a Dead Bond 3

James’ POVO

There was a tiny pause on the line, maybe Marcel registering the speaker, maybe deciding he was too desperate to care. Then he said it plainly. No greeting. No polished family tone. No smug easing into

the matter as though he still sat above me in all ways that counted. Straight to the need. I almost

smiled.

“I need your help,” he said.

“With what?” I asked.

“Rogue activity on our borders has increased. You may already have heard,” he said.

My eyes met Nixon’s. He looked almost bored. I knew better. He was listening to every breath.

“I hear many things,” I said. “Most of them exaggerated.”

“This is not exaggerated.”

The words came faster than I expected. Tighter too. There had been multiple attacks. Small ones for

now, but organised. Probing. His patrols were being stretched. He needed support. Need. There it was

again. Not alliance. Not cooperation. Not strategy. Need. I let the silence drag for a second longer than

politeness allowed.

“Support from me?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I leaned back further in the chair and let him hear nothing in my voice.

“That’s interesting,” I said.

“James,”

I cut across him before he could build momentum.

“Why are you calling me instead of the Union? Isn’t that what all this grand protection is for?”

The line went quiet. Beside me, Nixon’s jaw tightened once, barely visible. He knew what I was doing.

So did Marcel. When Marcel spoke again, his voice had roughened.

“I have reached out where necessary,” he said.

“But?”

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“But the response is not moving fast enough.”

I tapped one finger lazily against the wood.

“That sounds unlike the Union. I was under the impression its members looked after their own.”

“Do not play games with me,” Marcel snapped, then caught himself. When he spoke again, there was

strain under the control. “My forces are stretched thin. I do not have enough warriors to cover every weak point at once.”

I said nothing. I let the silence sit there between us, heavy and deliberate, because some truths deserved to be dragged out slowly. Then I gave him one.

“Arya used to handle mobilisation.”

Every muscle in my body went still the moment her name left my mouth. Even Nixon shifted, just

barely. I kept talking anyway because there was no use stopping once the blade was already in.

“She knew who to call. Who would come. How to pull warriors together before battle and make it

happen fast. She knew how to move support where it was needed before anyone else even realised

the weakness was there. Since she left, some of those channels have not been as reliable.”

Less reliable. For one second I could not hear the crackle of the fire or the distant noise outside or

even the faint hiss of the line. All I could hear was my own voice forcing open a door in my head I

would have preferred nailed shut. Arya used to handle mobilisation. Of course she did. Because she

had handled everything I should have protected. She had known the rhythms of Nightwind, the wolves,

the tempers, the loyalties, the routes, the land. She had held the pack together with both hands while I

stood in front of it calling myself Alpha. And now I was saying it aloud to the same bastard who had

helped tear her out of the place she had built.

Marcel said nothing. Maybe because he knew it was true. Maybe because he finally understood, too late and too plainly, just how much of the strength he had once expected to use had come from her. And I had known it too. Known her worth. Known what she carried. Known how much of Nightwind stood because Arya stood. And I had still let him strip her place apart piece by piece.

I dragged a hand over my mouth and made sure when I spoke there was nothing living in the sound.

“So Arya mattered after all,” I said.

There was a beat of silence. Marcel exhaled sharply.

“This is not the time for sentiment.”

No. It wasn’t. It was the time for him to learn what it felt like when the names of the people you had used came back with teeth. I tilted my head, though he could not see it.

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“Then let’s keep it practical. If Silverfang needs help, I can send a Union request to Maxwell. He has

the reach. If the attacks are serious enough, perhaps he,

“No,” Marcel said.

The refusal came so fast it was almost a bark. Nixon’s eyes flicked to mine. I kept my voice/mild.

“No?”

“Do not involve Maxwell.”

That was interesting.

“Why not?” I asked.

Another pause. Longer this time. I could almost hear Marcel deciding how much he could afford to reveal to the man he had once expected to control for life.

“Because I believe Maxwell is behind this,” he said.

I let the silence after that go very still.

“And Arya,” he added, the words low and ugly. “I believe she is involved as well.”

Nixon’s face changed then. Not much. But enough. A hardening at the mouth. A colder focus in the eyes. If Marcel could have seen him, maybe he would have understood just how close he had moved to openly bleeding in front of wolves who despised him. I folded one hand over the other.

“That is a serious accusation,” I said.

“It is a serious situation.”

My voice stayed calm.

“You’re saying a Union member is attacking another Union member through proxies?”

“Yes.”

“Then you should report it.”

He went quiet. I let a beat pass.

“To Lev,” I said. “Or Radimir. Surely they’d be interested to hear that Maxwell is waging shadow war against Silverfang.”

Nothing. The quiet on Marcel’s end turned thick enough to chew. I looked at Nixon and saw the same

thing I felt. There it was. The weakness. The place where the mask slipped. Marcel could not make

84 Men and a Dead Bond 3

that report. Not because he lacked words. Because he lacked ground. Because the Union protection

he had once held over every other wolf like a blade was no longer sitting comfortably in his hand. He

did not know that I knew about the suspension. He did not know I had been given enough scraps from

enough directions to see the shape of his fall. But I knew. And now I could feel the exact edge of the

wound simply by pressing on it.

1

I smiled, slow and humourless.

“Unless,” I said softly, “there is some reason you cannot make that complaint.”

On the speaker, his breathing roughened.

“This is not about procedure.”

“No?”

“No. This is about immediate need.”

“Then it sounds very much like procedure would help you.”

“Damn it, James.”

The control cracked on my name. I let him hear the faint scrape of my chair as I shifted.

“You’re asking for wolves,” I said. “I’m suggesting official channels. $trange that those seem to upset

you.”

Nixon lowered his gaze then, but I knew him well enough to know that if I had not put the call on speaker he would probably have laughed aloud. Marcel came back more carefully this time, every

word chosen.

“I am asking you because Nightwind owes its position in no small part to my support.”

There it was. The old tone. Not full strength, not yet, but reaching for familiar ground. Debt. Leverage.

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