Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 72

72 Empty Room,

James’s POV

An hour into the drive, my phone started buzzing.

Marcel.

I stared at the name as it lit up the screen.

My stomach twisted.

I didn’t answer.

It rang out.

Then it buzzed again.

Marcel again.

I didn’t answer.

Then Leah.

Her name flashed.

I felt a flare of irritation so sharp it made my jaw ache.

I didn’t answer.

Again.

Marcel.

Again.

Leah.

Again.

Again.

It kept coming, a barrage, like they’d suddenly realised I wasn’t where they wanted me.

Like they were trying to pull me back with noise.

1237

33.8%

I turned my phone face-down,

“I’ll answer when I get home,” I muttered.

Because for some reason, I didn’t want to answer until I got home.

I didn’t want Marcel’s voice in my ear while my mind was already tearing itself apart.

I didn’t want Leah’s whining and threats.

I didn’t want excuses.

I wanted facts.

I wanted to see my pack with my own eyes.

I wanted to see Arya alive.

I wanted to see whether the place still stood.

My hands kept shaking.

I pressed my palms together and forced them still.

But fear does not obey.

Fear doesn’t care that you’re Alpha.

Fear doesn’t care that you’ve won battles.

Fear doesn’t care how many men you command.

Fear sits in your blood and whispers one question until it drives you mad:

What if you were wrong?

I thought of Nixon’s face in my office.

His voice,

His disgust.

Ambition and fear has made you stupid.

I thought of the banquet at my pack.

The day the Union “officers” came.

12:37

33.8%

The commotion.

The poison.

The way everything exploded and left me scrambling.

I thought of Arya’s eyes when she looked at me in that small room.

Cold.

Resolved.

Hate born from something I had done.

I remembered her saying: The Arya you used to know died with our baby.

My throat tightened.

I wanted to believe Marcel was still helping me.

I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Because the alternative was unbearable.

The alternative was that I wronged my mate for nothing.

That I killed my heir for nothing.

That I humiliated Arya for nothing.

That I handed my pack to wolves for nothing.

My phone buzzed again.

Marcel.

Then stopped.

For a second, the silence after all those calls was worse than the calls themselves.

My heart began to pound even faster.

“He’s stopped,” I muttered.

The driver didn’t respond.

He just drove.

12:38

33.52%

And every second that passed felt like a countdown.

We neared the boundary.

I could feel it even before the car crossed into familiar land.

The air shifted.

The scent did.

Not the comforting scent of home.

Something wrong.

Something bitter.

Smoke.

Faint, but there.

My spine went rigid.

“Do you smell that?” I demanded.

The driver’s eyes widened slightly.

“Yes, Alpha,” he said, voice tight. “Smoke.”

My heart slammed hard against my ribs.

“Faster.”

The car pushed harder.

The road blurred.

Then the first signs came.

Not subtle.

Not quiet.

A broken fence.

A patch of earth churned with footprints and blood.

A torch lying abandoned.

12:38

33.59%

My throat went dry.

“No,” I whispered.

Then we crested a slight rise and my pack came into view.

Or what was left of parts of it.

Firelight flickered in the distance.

Not controlled torches.

Not ritual flames.

Something had burned.

Something was still smouldering.

The car slowed instinctively as the driver saw the devastation, but I slammed my hand

against the seat.

“Don’t you slow down,” I snarled. “Go!”

He obeyed.

We drove into the aftermath.

And the massacre hit me like a fist.

Bodies.

Not lined neatly.

Not covered.

Some still being held.

People in the yard clutched their dead mates, wailing, rocking back and forth like their

minds had snapped,

Some were shouting names.

Some were sobbing into bloody clothing.

Some sat in silence, eyes empty, staring at nothing.

12.38

33.64%

Houses, some, were burned down to skeletons.

Blackened frames.

Collapsed roofs.

Ash.

The smell was thick now.

Smoke.

Blood.

Wet earth.

Fear.

Loss.

My heart began to race so hard it hurt.

I couldn’t breathe properly.

I shoved the car door open before it fully stopped.

TH

I alighted, boots hitting the ground hard, and the cold night air hit my face, carrying the

stench of death.

My ears filled with crying.

With groaning.

With the low sounds of people breaking.

My mind went blank for half a second,

Then rage surged.

White-hot.

Violent.

Immediate.

“How?” I rasped,

12:38

33.71%

Then louder, to no one and everyone,

“HOW?”

No one answered.

People were too busy grieving.

Too busy surviving..

I didn’t stop to ask questions.

Iran.

Straight toward the packhouse.

Because the packhouse was the heart.

And because one thought had clawed its way to the front of my brain and refused to

move,

Arya.

I ran as if the ground was burning beneath my feet.

My guards followed, shouting my name, trying to keep up.

Someone tried to grab my arm.

I shoved them off without even looking.

I hit the packhouse doors.

They were open.

Wide.

Unsecured,

The sight alone made my stomach drop.

Packhouse doors were never left like that.

Never.

I sprinted inside.

12:38

33.71%

The hallway stank of blood.

There were marks on the floor, dragged bodies, rushed movement.

Someone had tried to clean but stopped halfway.

There were sounds deeper inside, people moving, arguing, crying.

I didn’t go to the office.

I didn’t go to the hall.

I didn’t go to Leah’s room.

I didn’t go to Nixon first.

I went to the small room.

The room farthest from the Alpha quarters.

The room where I had kept Arya.

Because my fear wasn’t rational.

It was instinct.

It was my mate-bond screaming even through the severing, even through the damage I

had done.

I ran down the corridor, boots pounding.

Leave a comment

12:38

33.8%