Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 54

54 How Long?

James’s POV

“How long can you deceive Marcel before he decides what to do next?” he asked.

I glared at him.

Nixon didn’t care.

“Just send Arya away,” he said flatly.

My stomach clenched.

The words felt like a blade sliding between ribs.

Nixon’s voice didn’t soften.

“She will never fit in again,” he continued, “and whatever is between you two is over.”

I clenched my jaw.

“No,” I said.

Nixon lifted his chin slightly.

“Your marks say it all,” he said.

The sentence landed heavy.

Because it was true.

The ghost of my mark on my neck.

The severed bond.

The rogue mark on hers.

Visible.

Permanent.

Public.

A story written on skin that no apology could erase.

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Nixon took another breath, measured.

“Give her some dignity,” he said, “and let her leave.”

My throat tightened again.

He wasn’t asking.

He was telling me what any man with eyes could already see.

“She deserves that much,” Nixon added.

I swallowed hard, refusing to let my face betray what my chest was doing.

Nixon kept going, relentless, because he knew I needed it.

“Let her start a new life away from all this,” he said. “Away from Marcel. Away from Leah. Away from your pack’s politics.”

I shook my head once, sharp.

“She won’t survive,” I insisted. “Not with the severed mark. Not with the way other packs

see it. Not with,’

99

Nixon’s eyes flashed.

“You think she survived everything she survived because she was fragile?” he snapped.

The words hit me like an insult.

As if I’d ever believed Arya was fragile.

But I did believe the world was.

I did believe the world would eat her if I let it.

Nixon’s voice dropped into something colder.

“If you trust Marcel so much,” he said, “embrace all that comes with him.”

My jaw clenched.

“Don’t,” I warned.

Nixon ignored it again.

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“Including Leah,” he said.

My chest tightened sharply.

There it was.

The thing I had been trying not to name.

The part I kept postponing.

The part I kept convincing myself could be delayed until the deal was safe.

Nixon’s tone stayed flat.

“There is no salvaging this,” he said.

The finality in his voice was worse than anger.

Worse than hate.

Because hate still cared enough to fight.

This was resignation.

This was a man putting down a flag.

I stared at him.

My heart beat too fast, too hard.

My hands were shaking slightly.

Not from fear.

From the unbearable thought of what he was saying.

Let her go.

Send Arya away,

Let her start a new life.

Without me.

Without my protection.

Without any claim.

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Without any anchor.

The words made me nauseous.

I tried to stand taller, tried to pull the Alpha mask back on and pretend the choice was

simple.

It wasn’t.

My heart couldn’t take it.

My knees bent before I decided to move.

I sat down.

Hard.

In the chair behind the desk.

It wasn’t a dramatic collapse.

It was worse.

It was a man realising his body was not going to hold him up through this argument.

I braced my elbows on the desk and stared at the wood like it could keep me from

drowning.

My breathing sounded loud in my own ears.

Nixon stood there watching me, silent now.

He didn’t gloat.

He didn’t look satisfied.

He looked tired,

Like he hated that it had come to this.

Like he hated that he had to say it out loud,

I swallowed and looked up at him.

He didn’t speak.

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He let the silence do what it needed to do.

My wolf remained silent.

Jasper didn’t stir.

Didn’t reassure.

Didn’t rage.

That silence felt like judgement.

A phone buzzed on the desk.

The sound cut through the air like a blade.

I stared at it for half a second, irritated.

Then it buzzed again.

A call.

I reached for it without thinking, my fingers stiff.

I glanced at the display.

Marcel.

My stomach tightened instantly.

Nixon’s gaze flicked to the phone.

He didn’t say anything.

I answered.

“Alpha Rainhorn,” I said, forcing my voice into calm.

Marcel’s voice came through smooth as polished steel.

“James,” he said, like we were friends. Like we were partners. Like he hadn’t just used

my pack and my pain like currency.

“I trust you are well,” Marcel continued. “Alpha Mark hosting a small tea party at

Blackbirth pack.”

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Blackbirth.

Even the name made my chest tighten.

A gathering. VVIPs. Alphas. People who measured worth in territory and bloodlines.

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