Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 67

67 The Trick 3

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James’s POV

In shock, my mind flashed back to those men in my hall, how they’d moved, how they’d spoken, how one of them had looked at Marcel with subtle deference I hadn’t noticed at the time.

I remembered Marcel’s confidence.

His certainty.

His control of the room.

How he’d led the conversation.

How he’d positioned the commotion like a crisis only he could solve.

I remembered the way he’d used the chaos to tighten the leash around my neck.

And now,

Now I understood why Marcel didn’t want me speaking to Union officers alone.

Because if Maxwell was right, the officers would have exposed the lie instantly.

My breathing turned rough.

I forced another question out.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

Maxwell’s stare didn’t waver.

“Ask anyone,” he said. “Ask any Alpha here who has ever joined. Ask any pack that has been certified.”

My stomach twisted,

Maxwell continued, voice relentless.

“That’s why I told you to be patient,” he said. “So I could expedite your joining the right

way.”

My jaw clenched.

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“By what?” I demanded. “By waiting while Marcel takes everything?”

Maxwell’s eyes flashed.

“By having Lev sign a recommendation,” he said.

Lev.

The name tightened my chest.

Maxwell continued, as if he was explaining something to a child who’d been lied to.

“A pack has to exist for five years before it is allowed to join the Union and be certified,” Maxwell said.

I went still.

Five years.

My throat tightened.

My pack,

We had built fast. We had secured territory. We had fought like hell. But five years?

We weren’t there.

Not yet.

Maxwell watched the shock hit my face and gave me no mercy.

“I thought you knew this already,” he said.

My mind raced,

Five years.

That meant Marcel’s promise to “get me in now” had always been suspicious.

That meant the “signing” at my pack hadn’t been a real joining process.

That meant,

That meant Marcel had been lying.

And if Marcel had been lying about the process, then what else had he been lying about?

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The commotion.

The officers.

The urgency.

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The need to humiliate Arya.

The need to mark her rogue.

The need to install Leah quickly.

My stomach dropped.

I looked around the gathering, eyes scanning, heart pounding, seeing everything differently now.

Marcel.

I found him easily.

He was in conversation with a few Alphas, smiling, gesturing calmly, controlling the space like he owned it.

Like he hadn’t just shattered my life and called it alliance.

I stared at him, and my blood went cold.

I forced myself to speak again, voice tight.

“What’s the purpose of this gathering?” I asked Maxwell.

Maxwell looked at me like the answer was obvious.

“It’s just an ordinary lunch,” he said.

Lunch.

My chest tightened.

Maxwell continued, almost annoyed now.

“It’s not mandatory,” he said, “No one is required to attend. People come if they want to

be seen. If they want to socialise. If they want to gossip.”

My stomach clenched so hard it felt like it folded in on itself.

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Not mandatory.

Not a Union ceremony.

Not an official event.

Just… lunch.

Just a room full of wolves eating and talking.

And I had been dragged here like it was necessary.

Like it was urgent.

Like it was part of “joining.”

The unease that had haunted me since we arrived surged into full-blown alarm.

Because if this was just lunch, then why bring me here?

Why insist?

Why pull me away from my pack?

My pack.

My land.

My people.

And,

Arya,

Helpless.

Bound with silver.

Locked in a room.

Even if her chains were removed, she was still trapped, still watched, still restrained.

Alone with guards and servants and Leah’s cruelty.

And me,

I was here.

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Miles away.

Distracted.

Humiliated.

Separated.

The realisation hit like a punch.

I had been tricked away.

Away from my pack.

Away from my people.

Away from

my land.

Away from the only thing that mattered, control of my own territory.

Because if I wasn’t there, Marcel’s influence would have room to move.

Because if I wasn’t there, Leah would have room to push.

Because if I wasn’t there,

Anything could happen.

My pulse hammered.

My body moved before my mind finished forming the thought.

“I have to go,” I said.

Maxwell’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Now you’re thinking,” he said.

I didn’t answer.

I turned sharply, scanning for Leah.

She was across the room, laughing too loudly at something Marcel’s circle had said,

leaning into attention like she needed it to breathe.

My jaw clenched.

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I looked back at Marcel.

Still smiling.

Still talking.

Still controlling.

Still using me like a pawn.

I felt something harden in my chest.

A decision.

Not a debate.

Not a negotiation.

A decision.

I wasn’t staying here another minute.

I didn’t owe Marcel an explanation.

I didn’t owe Leah a warning.

Because if I warned them, they would stop me.

They would delay me.

They would talk.

They would wrap me in “etiquette” and “respect” and “timing.”

And every second I stayed was a second my pack was vulnerable.

A second Arya was trapped.

A second Marcel’s men could act without me present.

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I excused myself abruptly from the nearest cluster of Alphas without waiting for their

response.

I didn’t bow.

I didn’t apologise,

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I didn’t smile.

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I moved through the room fast, cutting through conversations, ignoring stares, ignoring whispers that rose at my sudden shift.

I heard someone call my name.

I didn’t turn.

I heard Leah laugh again, still unaware.

I didn’t look back.

I kept moving.

Out.

Now.

I reached the edge of the gathering and headed toward the exit with purpose.

My guards, my men, hesitated when they saw my expression, then moved to follow automatically.

Good.

No questions.

No delays.

I did not tell Marcel.

I did not tell Leah.

I left.

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I stopped.

My body responded before thought.

My bundle dropped from my shoulder, landing with a dull thump.

My hands lifted.

No weapon.

No silver bracelet.

Just me.

I wasn’t fully healed.

I could still feel pain in my ribs if I breathed too deep.

1 could still feel weakness in my legs if I moved too long.

But I wasn’t helpless.

And I wasn’t going to die on the night I finally had a door open.

The warrior charged.

I planted my feet.

Then,

He never reached me.

Because Nixon hit him first.

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69 The Night I Walked Away 2

Arya’s POV

Nixon came out of nowhere, half-wolf, fast as fury. He slammed into the attacker, knocking him sideways with such force the warrior skidded across the ground.

Nixon didn’t pause.

He tore into him immediately, claws flashing, teeth snapping.

The attacker tried to recover.

Nixon didn’t let him.

They fought hard, fast, brutal, two trained men, one driven by duty, the other driven by

purpose.

I watched for half a second.

Then Nixon’s head snapped toward me.

Our eyes met.

His were wolf-bright.

Mine were cold.

He nodded once.

A small movement.

Respect.

Permission.

I understood exactly what he meant.

He wasn’t going to stop me.

He wasn’t going to drag me back.

He wasn’t going to be James.

I didn’t nod back.

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Because if they left my door, it meant it was serious enough to pull every able body into the fight.

And that meant the packhouse would be distracted.

Which meant the packhouse would be careless.

Which meant,

This was my time.

My time to leave the pack.

I moved in one clean motion, feet hitting the floor, hands already reaching for what I’d set aside like a woman preparing for a storm.

I didn’t have a bag.

Of course I didn’t.

They didn’t give prisoners bags.

So I grabbed a bedsheet instead and dragged it off the bed quickly, folding it fast, turning it into a crude sack the way I’d once turned torn cloth into bandages in the field.

Clothes.

I took only what I could carry.

No dramatics.

No sentimental items.

No lingering.

Just essentials, anything warm, anything practical, anything that could cover me.

I shoved the clothes into the sheet, tied the corners together, and pulled hard until it

became a knotted bundle I could sling over my shoulder.

The alarm wailed again.

The commotion outside grew louder,

Someone screamed.

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and cheered.

Because the audacity of them, begging for my claws now, when they’d wanted me dead days ago.

The woman grabbed my arm, clutching me hard.

“Please,” she sobbed, voice breaking. “He’s going to die, please,”

I shoved her off.

Hard.

Not gentle.

Not kind.

Enough to make her stumble backward.

Her eyes went wide with shock.

I leaned toward her, voice low and deadly.

“This rogue bitch isn’t your Luna,” I said.

The words sliced through their faces like a whip.

They froze.

Some of them flinched like I’d struck them.

Some stared at me like they couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t save them.

Good.

Let them understand,

Let them finally taste what it felt like to be abandoned,

To be cast out.

To be told your life didn’t matter anymore.

I turned away from them and kept moving.

The man on the ground screamed again, then went silent.

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I twisted the handle.

It opened.

Unlocked.

They’d left it.

In their rush, they’d left it.

I stepped into the corridor.

It was emptier than I’d ever seen it. People were running in both directions. Some half- dressed. Some already armed. Some shouting names, calling orders, panicking.

No one looked at me twice.

Not because they didn’t recognise me.

Because the pack was being attacked and fear made people blind.

I moved with purpose, keeping my bundle close, shoulders hunched slightly like I belonged in the confusion, like I was just another woman rushing to hide..

I didn’t run yet.

Running drew attention.

I walked fast, head down, slipping through the chaos like a blade sliding between ribs.

I reached a stairwell and went down.

The sounds grew louder.

More screams.

More howls.

The smell hit me before I even reached the exit.

Blood.

Smoke.

Sweat.

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Fear.

When I stepped outside the packhouse, the night wasn’t quiet.

It was a slaughter.

The yard was lit by scattered torches and frantic movement. Shadows jerked across the ground. Wolves tore through bodies. Men screamed. Pack members fell. Outsiders, warriors I didn’t recognise, moved like they came here for one purpose and one purpose only.

To destroy.

For a strange reason,

A reason that should have shamed me but didn’t,

I felt absolute joy.

It rose in my chest hot and bright as I watched pack warriors tear through the same people who had laughed at me in the yard.

The same people who had booed while I bled.

The same people who had spat “rogue” like it tasted sweet.

The Nightwind pack was burning.

And part of me wanted to laugh.

I scanned quickly.

Nixon.

There, moving fast, partially shifted. His shoulders were broader, his hands clawed, his eyes wild with wolf-light. He was fighting hard, barking orders between blows, dragging frightened pack members behind him and shoving warriors into formation.

Devin.

I saw him too, already bloodied, already snarling, taking down an attacker with ruthless precision.

Archie was close, flanking, guarding a group of people while cutting down anyone who got too near.

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They were leading.

Taking command.

Because the one person who was supposed to be here,

Their Alpha.

James,

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Wasn’t.

Of course he wasn’t.

How convenient.

I almost smiled wider.

Maybe one of James’s so-called allies had double-crossed him.

Maybe someone got tired of waiting.

Maybe someone wanted the land.

Maybe someone wanted the minerals.

Maybe someone wanted to send a message.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t my problem.

Not tonight.

Tonight was my exit.

I shifted my bundle higher on my shoulder and started moving along the edge of the

yard, away from the heaviest fighting, away from the lights, away from eyes.

I didn’t want to be dragged into defending them.

I didn’t want to bleed for them again.

I wanted to slip away while everyone was busy screaming.

I wanted to disappear into the woods and let this pack deal with the consequences of

what they’d done.

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And as I moved, I kept thinking with cold satisfaction,

They did this to themselves.

They made enemies.

They made deals with devils.

They betrayed the wrong woman.

They crowned the wrong Luna.

They handed their Alpha to Marcel like an offering.

Now look.

I was almost free.

Then it happened.

A flash of movement to my left.

A warrior, outsider, turned his head sharply and saw me.

His eyes locked on my face.

Recognition sparked.

Not personal recognition.

Not “Arya.”

The recognition of opportunity.

A lone female moving away from the fighting with a bundle in her hands.

Easy prey.

Easy kill,

Or easy capture.

He shifted direction immediately and started toward me.

Fast.

Hungry.

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