Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 70

70 The Night I Walked Away 3

Arya’s POV

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We took out intruders fast, wolves and men falling under our coordinated violence.

I hated it.

Not because fighting was hard.

Because I didn’t want to defend this pack.

Because I didn’t want to save the very people who had wanted me dead.

But Nixon, Devin, and Archie weren’t the ones who hurt me.

They weren’t the ones who cheered while I bled.

They weren’t the ones who cut my bond and called it mercy.

So I fought with them.

Not for the pack.

For my own survival.

For my own exit.

And I made a decision in the middle of blood and screams,

I let the warriors finish off some pack members.

Not the ones under Nixon’s protection. Not children. Not people cowering behind him.

But the ones who had been loudest.

The ones who had thrown insults.

The ones who had enjoyed my humiliation.

When intruders ripped through them, I didn’t intervene.

I watched.

Cold.

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Satisfied.

Get ax

Meriu

Then, when the intruders were done doing a number on them, when they turned their

attention back to the defenders,

That’s when I attacked.

That’s when I tore them down.

Because I wasn’t going to let outsiders kill everyone.

Not because I cared about the pack.

Because I needed time.

I needed order.

I needed the fight to end with enough structure for me to disappear cleanly.

Eventually, the momentum shifted.

The attackers began to retreat.

Not a clean retreat, more like wolves pulling back when they realised the prey had teeth.

They broke away in pockets, dragging wounded with them, covering each other as they

fell back toward the boundary.

I shifted my focus through the link.

Prisoners. I commanded Nixon sharply. Take prisoners. You need to know who sent

them.

Nixon answered with a howl that shook the air.

Reverence.

Obedience.

Then he surged forward, intercepting a retreating warrior, snapping him down without

killing him.

Archie and Devin followed the command too, disabling rather than slaughtering,

dragging bodies back.

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The fight thinned.

The yard quieted in ugly fragments, groans, sobs, distant shouts, the sound of wounded being moved.

The attackers vanished into the dark.

We stood there breathing hard, fur slick with blood, bodies tense, ready for a second

wave.

But it didn’t come.

Not yet.

I shifted back first.

The change ripped through me, bones cracking, fur melting away, skin exposed to cold

night air.

I didn’t care.

I grabbed my bundle and yanked out a dress from the clothes tied in the bedsheet.

Quick.

Practical.

I pulled it on fast, fingers clumsy for a second from adrenaline, then steady.

Then I did the one thing that mattered.

I made sure the mark, James’s mark that he had cancelled on my neck, was covered.

Covered completely.

No skin showing that could invite questions,

No visible proof that I had once belonged to him.

I tied my hair to help, adjusted the neckline, and checked quickly with my fingers.

Covered.

Good.

I was ready.

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Ready to leave.

Ready to disappear into the woods.

Ready to take my revenge from the shadows.

I started moving toward the tree line.

Then Nixon stepped into my path.

He was naked from shifting, blood streaked across his chest and arms. His eyes were sharp, still half-wolf in the way they glowed.

He didn’t have time to dress.

He didn’t care.

He looked at me and then looked at the small bundle of belongings at my side.

His voice was rough.

“Arya,” he said.

I paused.

Nixon’s gaze held mine.

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly. “Is this what you want?”

I didn’t hesitate.

“There is nothing for me here,” I said.

Not a dramatic speech.

Not a plea.

A fact.

Nixon swallowed hard,

His expression tightened.

Then he lifted a hand, palm out.

“Give me ten minutes,” he pleaded. “Just ten.”

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I stared at him for a beat.

Then I nodded once.

“Ten minutes,” I said. “Then I leave.”

Nixon didn’t waste time arguing.

He turned and ran, bare feet hitting dirt, moving fast through the aftermath, shouting

orders at someone as he went.

I waited near the edge of the yard, bundle at my feet, ears catching the sounds around

Pack members crying.

Wounded groaning.

Some warriors barking new orders.

The smell of blood thick.

I didn’t care.

I watched the tree line like it was freedom shaped into darkness.

I counted seconds.

Not because I doubted Nixon.

Because I refused to let anyone delay me.

Ten minutes passed like a blink.

Nixon returned in less than ten.

He came fast, breathing hard, holding a phone and a folded piece of paper.

He shoved the phone into my hand.

“Call Maxwell,” he said,

My chest tightened.

Joy, real, sharp, flared in me.

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Not because I was sentimental.

Because Maxwell meant a door.

Maxwell meant an ally.

Maxwell meant a step away from James’s reach.

I grabbed Nixon suddenly and hugged him.

Hard.

Full-bodied.

Complete joy in the middle of ruins.

Nixon stiffened for a heartbeat, then hugged me back.

His voice broke slightly.

“I will miss you, Arya,” he said.

I pulled back just enough to look at him.

Nixon’s eyes were wet, but his jaw was clenched like he refused to cry.

“I wish James wasn’t a fool,” Nixon said, voice tight. “I wish it didn’t end like this.”

I didn’t defend James.

I didn’t soften.

I just held Nixon’s gaze.

Nixon pressed the paper into my hand too.

“Please try and stay in touch when you can,” he said. “My number is on the paper.”

I nodded once,

Nixon’s grip tightened briefly on my arm.

“Throw the phone away once you’ve made use of it and you’re safe,” he ordered. “Don’t

keep it. Don’t let anyone trace you.”

“I will,” I promised.

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Nixon’s shoulders sagged slightly, relief and pain mixing.

Then Archie came up behind him.

So did Devin.

Both naked from shifting, both bloodied, both tired, both alive.

Archie didn’t wait.

He hugged me too, tight, quick, like he was afraid if he let go I’d vanish.

“I’ll miss you,” Archie said gruffly.

Devin followed, hugging me hard enough to bruise.

“You were the best thing this pack had,” Devin muttered.

I snorted, humourless.

“Don’t get soft,” I said, because if I let softness sit here too long, I might hesitate.

Archie barked out a short laugh.

Devin shook his head.

I looked at all three of them, Nixon, Archie, Devin, and something close to respect

tightened my throat.

Not love.

Not loyalty.

Respect.

They hadn’t thrown stones at me.

They hadn’t cheered while I bled.

They hadn’t pretended my child was collateral.

They had just… been men who still understood honour.

I stepped back, lifting my bundle,

“Well,” I said, forcing my voice lighter, because goodbyes didn’t get to own me, “try not

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to die without me.”

Archie stared.

Devin scoffed.

Nixon’s mouth twitched.

I added, sharper, “And if James comes back and starts crying and saying he loves me,

please slap him for me.

Archie barked out a laugh this time, loud and rough.

Devin actually smiled.

Nixon shook his head, voice low.

“Go,” he said “Ref.

I change my mind and drag you away myself.”

I smirked.

“You couldn’t,” I said simply.

Nixon’s eyes flashed with pride and pain.

I turned toward the woods.

No dramatic farewell.

No long speech.

No tears.

Just movement,

I ran.

Fast,

Silent.

A dress clinging to my legs, my bundle bouncing against my side, my heart pounding

with the kind of freedom that tasted like blood and night air.

I ran until the packhouse lights faded behind trees.

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I ran until the sounds of cries and orders became muffled echoes.

I ran until I was out of their sight.

Out of their reach.

Away from the Nightwind pack.

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