Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 41

41 The Whip and the Severing: Dragged Into the Yard

Arya’s POV

I heard a few more boots in the corridor, stopping outside the open door, watching.

One of the guards reached for my

wrist.

I jerked away.

The guard grabbed harder.

Pain shot up my arm.

I twisted, trying to yank free.

Another guard caught my other wrist.

They pulled me forward.

The silver chain touched my skin.

It burned instantly.

I sucked in a sharp breath.

“Stop,!” I hissed.

They didn’t stop.

They looped the chain around my wrists, tight enough to bite, the silver pressed against my

skin like a hot brand.

My breath came in short bursts.

They snapped another chain around my ankles.

Then another around my waist.

Silver everywhere.

My limbs went weak instantly,

Not fully, just enough to make my balance slip,

That was the point.

One guard yanked me forward.

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I stumbled.

My knee hit the stone.

Pain shot through my leg.

I bit down on a cry.

“Up,” a guard snapped.

I forced myself upright, shaking, the chains clinking as I moved.

My hands burned.

My ankles burned.

My skin felt like it was being eaten.

They dragged me out of the cell.

The corridor was full.

Not just guards.

Pack members.

Officers.

People I recognised.

People who had eaten at my table once.

People who had called me Luna once.

Now they watched with hard eyes.

Some looked satisfied.

Some looked curious.

Some looked disgusted.

A few looked away quickly, like they didn’t want to see.

But no one spoke in my defence,

No one stepped forward.

No one said, This is wrong.

A guard shoved me forward again.

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I stumbled, chained feet making it harder to walk.

My breathing was already ragged.

The silver drained me with every step.

We moved through the packhouse halls.

Down corridors.

Up stairs.

Toward the yard.

Toward the open air.

The closer we got to outside, the louder the noise grew.

Voices.

Crowds.

Movement.

They weren’t gathering for a private punishment.

They were gathering for a spectacle.

The doors opened.

Cold air hit my face.

The yard outside was full.

Packed.

Everyone.

Warriors lined the sides.

Commoners stood behind them.

Women and men and even older wolves who usually stayed inside were there, faces turned toward the centre like they were waiting for entertainment.

A platform had been set up,

Not high.

Just high enough for everyone to see.

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A wooden post stood at the centre.

Thick rope hung nearby.

My throat tightened.

A guard yanked me forward.

The crowd reacted immediately.

Boos.

Shouts.

People pointing.

“There she is!”

“Murderer!”

“Witch!”

“Whore!”

The words struck like stones even before anything else did.

My feet dragged.

The the w

My body shook, silver weakening me more with every second.

They brought me to the post.

A guard grabbed my shoulders and shoved me against it.

The wood was rough against my cheek.

Another guard yanked my arms back.

The chains clinked.

The rope wrapped around my wrists.

Tight.

Then around my waist.

Then around my ankles,

Binding me.

Fixing me there.

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I lifted my head and looked out at the crowd.

Faces everywhere.

Open hatred.

Open hunger.

People who once cheered when I returned from battle now cheered for my pain.

A woman near the front spat on the ground.

A man shouted, “You deserve worse!”

Someone laughed.

Someone else yelled, “Do it!”

My breath came in shallow bursts.

I pressed my jaw tight.

Then a voice cut through the noise, loud, sharp, official.

“Silence.”

stood near the front, dressed like he was attending a ceremony. Rebecca stood beside him, face still swollen, eyes bright with grief and fury. Leah wasn’t there.

Of course she wasn’t.

Leah was in the healer’s hut, bleeding and broken.

And I was here, about to bleed for it.

The crowd quieted, not fully, but enough.

Marcel lifted his chin, addressing everyone.

“This is justice,” he said. “For my grandchild.”

A roar rose,

Rebecca’s voice broke through, raw.

“Make her scream,” she whispered.

Marcel’s eyes narrowed at her, but he didn’t correct her.

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He wanted this.

I scanned the front line.

I saw Nixon, face stiff, jaw clenched like he was grinding his teeth down.

I saw Raymond, eyes dark, expression hard.

I saw officers shifting, uncomfortable.

And then,

James.

He stood a few steps behind Marcel, his face pale and tight. His eyes were wet, but his posture was rigid, like he was holding himself together with sheer force.

He looked at me.

And for a moment, the world narrowed to his gaze.

Not love.

Not comfort.

A complicated mess of pain and anger and something like regret.

But he didn’t move.

He didn’t stop them.

He didn’t

say,

This is wrong.

He stood there like an Alpha who had decided his mate was the cost.

A guard stepped forward holding a whip.

It wasn’t ordinary leather.

Silver threaded.

I saw the glint.

My stomach dropped.

The crowd murmured in anticipation, like they could taste what was coming.

A guard shouted, “Strip her.”

My breath hitched.

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My head snapped up.

“No,” I said immediately.

Hands grabbed my clothing.

I fought instinctively, but the silver chains made my limbs heavy, slow.

I tried to twist away.

A guard struck my cheek with the back of his hand.

“Hold still,” he barked.

My head snapped to the side.

The crowd laughed.

Hands tore at my dress.

Ripped fabric.

Cold air hit skin.

Humiliation hit harder than the cold.

I clenched my teeth so hard my jaw ached.

I tried to cover myself with my arms, but my wrists were bound.

I was pinned, helpless, exposed in front of everyone.

People jeered.

“She’s nothing now!”

“Look at her!”

“That’s what she gets!”

My throat tightened.

I swallowed hard and forced my head up.

If they wanted to see me break, they’d have to work for it.

The guard with the whip stepped behind me,

I heard the whip lift.

The air shifted.

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Then,

Crack.

The first lash hit my back like fire.

My body jerked violently.

A sound tore out of my throat, a sharp cry I couldn’t stop.

The crowd roared in delight.

Pain flared, immediate, deep.

The silver burned as it cut.

I gasped, chest heaving.

A guard shouted, “One!”

One.

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