Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 71

71 Empty Room, Burning Pack

James’s POV

I left Blackbirth with something heavy lodged in my chest.

Not guilt. Not shame. Not even anger.

A foreboding.

The kind that sat behind my ribs like an animal crouched and waiting to spring.

I told myself it was paranoia.

That I was overthinking.

That Maxwell had shaken me and I was letting his words poison my head.

But the feeling didn’t go away when I stepped outside.

It didn’t go away when I got into the car.

It didn’t go away when the gates of Blackbirth faded behind us and the road stretched

out into night.

It pressed harder.

Like the further I went, the more wrong it became.

The sky was dark. The world was quiet in that way it got at night, where sounds carried

further and everything felt slightly sharper.

I leaned forward in the back seat and barked, “Drive faster.”

The driver, one of my men, glanced at me through the mirror.

“Yes, Alpha.”

He stepped on it.

The car surged.

I didn’t relax.

I pulled my phone out and called Nixon.

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Busy.

I called again.

Busy.

I called Devin.

Busy.

Archie.

Busy.

Again.

Busy.

Again.

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Busy.

I clenched my jaw.

My thumb hovered, then I tried linking them instead.

The link didn’t catch cleanly.

It was like there was too much noise on the other end, too much chaos, too many minds,

too much movement.

That alone made my throat tighten.

If they were out on patrol, I’d get one of them.

If they were in a meeting, one of them would step aside and answer.

If they were asleep, at least one would pick up.

Busy lines and broken links at night?

My foreboding sharpened,

I sat up straighter.

“Step on it,” I told the driver again, colder. “I don’t care if you burn the tyres.

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<71 Empty Room, Burning Pack

He nodded sharply, hands tightening on the wheel.

Blackbirth was a good two-hour drive from my pack.

Two hours was too long.

Two hours was enough time for a pack to burn.

Two hours was enough time for betrayal to happen.

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Two hours was enough time for Leah’s father to move pieces while I was distracted.

Two hours was enough time for Arya, alone, watched, restrained, to be hurt again.

My fingers tightened around the phone until the edges bit into my palm.

I tried calling Nixon again.

Busy.

“Why the hell are you busy?” I muttered under my breath.

Then I tried Devin again.

Busy.

Archie again.

Busy.

My heart started to hammer.

Not fast like excitement.

Fast like warning.

I looked out the window, but the road gave me nothing, darkness, trees, stretches of

empty,

My thoughts refused to stay quiet,

They snapped back to the party.

To Marcel.

To his hand on my elbow.

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To the way he’d pulled me away from those Union officers like I was a child reaching

toward a knife.

To the confusion on the officers’ faces when I mentioned “their colleagues’ last visit” to

my pack.

To the way Marcel had cornered me without saying a word outright.

And Maxwell’s words.

The Union doesn’t send people to packs for joining.

You come to headquarters. You get your licence. You get your certificate. That’s it.

I swallowed hard.

It didn’t make sense.

But it did.

It did when I played the memory back with new eyes.

The “officers” who came to my pack, how they had deferred to Marcel, just slightly, like

he was the one who mattered.

How Marcel had controlled the conversation.

How Marcel had already known where everything would go.

How the commotion had erupted at the perfect time.

How it had ended in Arya being dragged, humiliated, marked rogue.

How Leah’s pregnancy had ended.

How everything that stood in Marcel’s way had been removed in one clean, brutal

sweep.

My hands began to shake.

I put the phone down on my thigh and forced my fingers to unclench.

“Breathe,” I told myself quietly.

But my lungs didn’t listen.

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My heart raced harder.

I was afraid.

Afraid in a way that tasted bitter.

Afraid I’d been deceived.

Afraid I’d been someone’s fool.

Marcel’s fool.

And the worst part wasn’t that I might have been fooled.

The worst part was what it had cost.

Arya.

My mate.

My heir.

My pack’s stability.

My reputation.

Everything.

I tried the calls again.

Nixon. Busy.

Devin. Busy.

Archie. Busy,

I slammed the phone lightly against my thigh in frustration.

“Come on,” I hissed.

The driver glanced again.

“Alpha…?”

“Drive,” I snapped. “Drive like your life depends on it.”

Because mine did.

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