Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 51

51 Ambition Made Me Blind

James’s POV

My office felt too small for the rage in my chest.

The walls held it in, bounced it back, made it sharper. Every breath I took came out tight.

Every muscle in my jaw felt like it was grinding stone.

I stared at the desk like it had answers.

It didn’t.

I stared at the papers like they meant anything.

They didn’t.

I stared at the inked drafts, the maps, the projections, the lists of signatures and witnesses and terms, Union protection, mining rights, border commitments, patrol

schedules, every line that had once looked like a future.

Now all I could see was Arya’s face.

Not the bruises.

Not the blood.

Her eyes.

That look.

A look she used to reserve for enemies.

Predators.

People she was about to destroy.

And she had turned it on me.

I hadn’t expected it to hit like that.

Not because I thought she would be grateful, no, I knew she would be furious. I knew she would spit fire, I knew she would spit my name like poison. But I had expected the anger to have cracks in it. A weakness. A place where she still saw me. A place where

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she still remembered what we were.

There was nothing.

No softness.

No hesitation.

No “why.”

Just the stare of someone who had decided you were dead to them.

I paced behind the desk, then stopped. My hands flexed, then clenched.

She rejected me.

Not with words alone.

With her entire being.

With that bite.

With that laugh.

With the way she looked at me like I was the same as Marcel Rainhorn.

Worse.

Because Marcel had never pretended to love her.

I dragged a hand down my face, fingers catching in my hair. My throat felt raw, like I’d

been screaming for hours even though I hadn’t raised my voice in here once.

How did it get this far?

No.

I knew how.

I just didn’t know how to fix it.

And the worst part was the doubt.

It kept crawling back in.

Lisa and Margaret.

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Their testimony.

Their trembling voices, their tears, their righteous certainty when they spoke of Arya like

she was a monster hiding in plain sight.

They’d sounded convincing. They’d sounded terrified. They’d sworn they saw her. Sworn

they heard her. Sworn she was the one who did it.

Marcel had jumped on it like it was a gift from the Moon itself.

Rebecca had smiled like she’d been waiting for it.

And Leah, Leah had played her part, shaking, fragile, wide-eyed, as if the world was

collapsing and only I could save her.

At the time, I hadn’t had room to question it.

Everything had been moving too fast.

Threats layered over threats.

The Union hovering like a blade over my pack’s neck.

The signing in the balance.

Marcel’s voice, calm, calculated, turning every second into a choice between survival and

ruin.

And Arya,

Arya refusing to play along.

Arya fighting back.

Arya raging instead of bowing.

Arya, stubborn as ever, fearless as ever, proud as ever.

And my people watching.

Waiting.

Ready to turn on whichever of us looked like the easier sacrifice.

I stopped pacing and braced my hands on the desk, leaning forward.

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I tried to steady my breathing.

Was Arya lying?

Or were Lisa and Margaret lying?

Or was she just… so hell-bent on not giving them the satisfaction that she would rather

burn than admit anything?

I didn’t know.

And that was the problem.

I didn’t know anymore.

The one person I used to read like my own heartbeat had become a stranger who

wanted to see me bleed.

I shut my eyes for one second.

And the memory hit anyway.

Arya unconscious in the yard.

Her body limp in the chains.

Blood everywhere.

Her skin grey with shock.

I had pushed through the crowd.

I had carried her.

I had felt her weight against me, too light, too still, and something inside me had

snapped.

I had taken her to the infirmary myself.

I had given blood.

My blood.

Watched it drain into tubes.

Watched Lesley hook it into Arya’s vein.

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Watched colour return to her lips in slow, stubborn increments.

I had sat by her bed for days.

Days.

Cursing Marcel under my breath. Cursing Rebecca. Cursing the entire pack for being

weak, for being fickle, for being so easily swayed by promises of protection.

And I had stayed away from Leah.

Even with Marcel watching.

Even with Rebecca hovering.

Even with the pressure mounting.

I hadn’t claimed Leah.

I hadn’t mated her.

I hadn’t touched her the way Marcel wanted.

I had kept the one line I could still call mine.

So why?

Why couldn’t Arya see it?

Why couldn’t she work with me?

Why couldn’t she just, just hold on a little longer?

I slammed a fist lightly on the desk, not hard enough to break anything, but hard enough

to feel the impact in my bones.

Because the child.

The baby.

Our baby.

The grief flared hot, and it fed the anger like oil.

I was hurt too.

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I was.

I wasn’t made of stone.

I’d wanted that child.

I’d wanted the future Arya had kept tucked behind her eyes, the one she hadn’t said out

loud yet, the one she had guarded like a secret treasure.

But there had been no choice.

There had been no choice.

It was either her or the baby.

And I chose her.

I chose her life.

I would choose it again.

And yet she looked at me like I was the executioner.

I swallowed hard, jaw locking.

Love. My love. Deep. True.

Not shallow.

Not selfish.

Not a lie.

So why did it feel like I was the only one still standing in it?

A knock hit the door.

Sharp. Controlled.

Not a guard.

Not Leah.

I straightened slowly, eyes narrowing.

“Enter,” I called.

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The door opened.

Nixon stepped in.

My Beta.

He didn’t saunter like he used to.

He didn’t smile.

He didn’t even pretend today.

His face was tight, his eyes serious, his body held like he was bracing for a blow.

I’d noticed it for days now.

Not just Nixon.

My top three officers too.

They moved around me like the air was unstable. Like they weren’t sure if I would

explode.

They spoke less.

They avoided my gaze.

They answered orders, but the ease was gone.

The loyalty was still there, on the surface.

But something underneath had cracked.

And now that Arya was out of immediate danger, I was done pretending I hadn’t noticed.

Nixon closed the door behind him.

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