Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 47

47 Release the Rogue Bitch

Arya’s POV

Two days.

That was how long they kept me in the infirmary.

Two days of feverish drifting in and out of sleep, two days of pain biting at every bruise, two days of my body trying to knit itself together while my mind stayed wide awake, sharp

and merciless.

Two days of guards rotating outside my door like I was a threat they’d barely contained.

Morning guard. Afternoon guard. Night guard. Different faces, same eyes. Same suspicion. Same disgust. Same unspoken message.

Rogue.

They didn’t call me by my name.

They didn’t have to.

The way they looked at me said it enough.

Other than Lesley, no one came.

No elders.

No pack officers.

No women who used to greet me.

No people who used to call me Luna with pride.

Not even Nixon again.

And I didn’t care.

15

I didn’t want their pity, their guilty faces, their awkward apologies, their trembling excuses. I didn’t want anyone to stand beside my bed and pretend they hadn’t watched me bleed.

They could stay away.

It suited me.

Lesley came twice a day.

Sometimes she said very little. Sometimes she said nothing at all. Sometimes she only

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she was fighting not to break.

She never spoke loudly.

Never said anything that could be used against either of us.

And I never asked questions.

Because I understood now.

The walls listened.

The corners had ears.

Even silence could be punished if it looked like defiance.

On the second day, Lesley came in with her jaw set.

She closed the door behind her and approached my

bed.

“You’re being discharged,” she said.

I didn’t react.

The word meant nothing to me.

Discharged where?

Back to a cell?

Back to the yard?

Back to chains and humiliation?

Lesley’s mouth tightened like she knew exactly what I was thinking.

I sat up slowly, ignoring the drag of pain, ignoring the tightness in my abdomen.

“Where?” My voice was rough. It scraped.

Lesley’s eyes flashed, sharp and bitter.

“Packhouse,” she said, then added quickly, “but not the Alpha quarters. They won’t allow it.”

I stared at her,

Of course they wouldn’t.

Why would they keep me near the centre of power?

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They’d shoved me into the outskirts the moment I became inconvenient.

The door opened before I could respond.

Two guards stepped in.

Big.

Armed.

Not healer’s assistants.

Not the type meant to “escort.”

The type meant to drag.

They didn’t look at me like I was a person leaving the infirmary.

They looked at me like I was a problem being moved.

One of them held chains.

Already ready.

Already decided.

Lesley’s spine straightened.

“No,” she said sharply. “Absolutely not.”

The guards paused, unimpressed.

Lesley stepped forward, eyes blazing.

“She’s been punished,” Lesley snapped. “There’s no need to treat her like a criminal.”

One guard shrugged like she was speaking nonsense.

“She’s a rogue,” he replied flatly. “Rogues are high risk. We take precautions.”

His tone was casual.

Like he was talking about restraining a rabid dog.

Lesley’s nostrils flared. Her hands clenched.

“She can barely stand,” Lesley hissed.

“Then she’ll walk slowly,” the guard replied.

Lesley turned toward me, her eyes pleading.

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I met her gaze.

Then I looked at the chains.

And I didn’t flinch.

I didn’t fight.

Not because I couldn’t.

Because I wouldn’t waste it.

This wasn’t the moment.

Not yet.

Chains didn’t scare me anymore.

They thought chains were control.

They were wrong.

Chains were just metal.

Metal could be broken.

Metal could be slipped.

Metal could be turned into a weapon.

I swung my legs off the bed carefully, feet hitting the ground.

A flare of pain shot up my spine, but I didn’t let it show.

Lesley reached for my elbow instinctively.

One guard stepped forward like he expected me to lunge.

I didn’t.

I stood.

The guard lifted the shackles and moved toward me.

Lesley’s voice cut through again.

“This is unnecessary.”

The guard didn’t even look at her.

He clipped the first shackle around my wrist.

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Cold metal kissed my skin.

Then the other.

Then my ankles.

Not silver. Not burning.

Just chains.

They didn’t want me dead.

They wanted me controlled.

Lesley’s face tightened, and for a brief second, I saw the healer vanish and the woman beneath show, angry, exhausted, sickened.

She took a breath and leaned in close to my ear, her voice low.

“Don’t,” she murmured. “Not yet.”

I didn’t nod.

I didn’t answer.

I didn

need to.

I let the guards take the lead.

I followed them out of the infirmary with my head up, my body aching, my wrists bound, my ankles restrained.

The corridor felt long.

Not because it was.

Because everyone made it that way.

As we passed, the few people we met flattened themselves to the walls, eyes averted, breathing shallow. Like my presence alone might infect them.

A healer’s assistant stared at my bruises, then looked away quickly.

A pack warrior’s gaze dropped to my neck and stuck there, his face twisting.

The rogue mark.

They’d branded me in more ways than one.

I didn’t care about their looks,

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I didn’t care about their whispers.

Inside my head, something else was happening.

A list.

Not messy.

Not emotional.

A list as clean as a blade.

Marcel Rainhorn.

Rebecca Rainhorn.

Leah.

Lisa.

Margaret.

Every guard who laughed.

Every elder who watched.

Every pack member who booed.

Every officer who turned away.

And one name, one name carved deeper than all the rest.

James.

For the sake of my unborn child, I would remember them all.

For the sake of my baby, I would collect my revenge one name at a time.

The guards escorted me across the grounds and into the packhouse.

They didn’t take me through the main entrance like before.

They took me through a side corridor.

Quicker, Quieter. Less eyes.

They weren’t trying to spare me humiliation.

They were trying to spare themselves attention.

They didn’t want anyone asking why I was still alive.

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They led me deeper into the building, farther away from the Alpha quarters.

Hallways narrowed. Light dimmed. Air turned stale.

We passed rooms I recognised, rooms I’d once walked by with my chin high, rooms where people used to greet me.

Now no one opened their doors.

No one stepped out.

No one looked.

We reached the far end, where servants slept, where storage rooms sat, where forgotten corners lived.

The guard stopped at a door.

He unlocked it.

I stepped inside.

The room was plain.

Small.

Not filthy, but stripped of warmth.

A bed.

A small table.

A chair.

And my things.

My clothes.

My boots.

A few personal items.

All already moved.

Packed into corners like I was being stored.

I stared at my things.

Then I looked back at the guards.

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They didn’t speak.

They stepped backward out of the room.

One pointed at the inside of the wall.

A bell pull. A rope.

“For water,” he said. “Food comes twice.”

Then they shut the door.

Locked it.

The click was loud.

Final.

Lesley’s voice echoed in my head for a second, how she’d looked like she wanted to apologise.

Lesley’s warning echoed too.

Don’t.

Not yet.

I turned away from the door.

Walked to the bed.

Sat down slowly.

My wrists were still chained.

My ankles too.

They hadn’t bothered to unshackle me.

Even inside the room.

Even behind a locked door.

They didn’t trust me.

Good.

They shouldn’t.

I lay back and stared at the ceiling again.

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This ceiling wasn’t white like the infirmary.

It didn’t smell like antiseptic.

It smelled like dust and old wood.

It didn’t matter.

A room was a room.

A cage was a cage.

And every cage had a weakness.

They could lock the door.

They could post guards outside it.

They could keep food away.

They could keep people away.

But they couldn’t lock my mind.

They couldn’t chain vengeance.

I closed my eyes.

Let the pain simmer.

Let my body rest.

And waited.

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<Luna Forsaken