Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 75

75 The Room Where I Lost Her 2

James’s POV

The name cracked through the air like thunder.

Some people flinched.

Some looked away.

Some nodded fiercely, like they’d been waiting for permission to say it out loud.

“It was her!” another person yelled. “She fought with Nixon and Devin and Archie!”

A woman sobbed, clinging to a body on the ground.

“She was angry,” she cried, voice shaking, “but she still helped!”

Another voice cut in immediately, harsh.

“She let them harm us first!”

Heads snapped toward that speaker.

A young man, face contorted with fear and bitterness.

“She stood there watching!” he shouted. “She didn’t help until they already killed some!”

Arguments erupted instantly.

“She had every right!”

“We rejected her!”

“We marked her rogue!”

“She was Luna and we threw stones at her!”

“Shut up! She could have saved more!”

“She wasn’t obligated!”

“You think we deserve her blood after what we did?”

The crowd became a storm of voices, grief turning into accusation, accusation turning

into chaos.

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And every word stabbed me.

Not because it was dramatic.

Because it was true.

The pack was tearing itself apart with arguments about a woman I had destroyed.

A woman who had still fought for them in the end.

And then they turned their fury fully on me again.

“What about your protection?” someone shouted. “You promised we’d be safe!”

“You said Union membership would protect us!” another yelled.

Someone else screamed, voice high with panic.

“We fulfilled all of the Rainhorn’s demands!”

That word, Rainhorn, hit my blood like poison.

I felt Jasper surge.

A low growl rolled out of my chest.

People stepped back instinctively, sensing the shift.

“Yet we are still not in the Union!” someone continued, voice shaking with anger and

fear. “What will happen to us now?!”

“We’re not safe!” another sobbed.

“Are you even Alpha anymore?” someone muttered.

That one sentence nearly made me lunge.

My hands clenched into fists.

My throat tightened.

My vision narrowed.

And all I could see was Marcel’s smile.

Marcel’s hand on my elbow.

Marcel pulling me away from Union officers.

Marcel playing me like a fool.

Marcel lying.

Marcel setting this up.

My lip curled.

A growl ripped out of me before I could stop it.

The pack quieted for a heartbeat, startled.

But the quiet wasn’t reverence.

It wasn’t respect.

It was fear.

Fear of an Alpha who had failed them and might now lash out.

I didn’t answer them.

I couldn’t.

Not with words.

Because no explanation would undo the bodies on the ground.

No excuse would rebuild burnt homes.

No speech would bring Arya back.

So I did the only thing my body knew how to do when it couldn’t breathe under

pressure.

I turned.

And I stormed into the packhouse.

Behind me, voices kept shouting..

But I didn’t stop.

I didn’t look back.

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I didn’t go to my office.

I didn’t go to my room.

I didn’t go to Leah.

I didn’t go to the guest suite.

I went straight to the small room.

The one I had locked Arya in.

The hallway felt too long.

My steps echoed.

The packhouse was wounded too, blood stains half-cleaned, walls scuffed, furniture

broken.

People moved around in the distance, speaking in hushed voices.

No one stopped me.

No one dared.

I reached the door.

It was still open.

Of course it was.

Because she was gone.

I stepped inside, and the emptiness hit me again like a punch.

The room was too quiet.

Too small.

Too plain.

Too cruel.

This space had been her cage.

My cage.

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A space I had chosen for her.

A space I had used to keep her contained while I chased dreams and deals.

I looked around.

The bed.

The bare surfaces.

The faint marks where she’d stood.

Where she’d paced.

Where she’d fought to stay alive while the world outside decided whether she deserved

to exist.

My chest tightened so hard it hurt.

“How could I be so stupid?” I whispered.

The words came out broken, like they’d been waiting in my throat all night.

“How could I be so disloyal?”

No one answered.

The room didn’t care.

The room simply existed as proof.

Proof that I had been played.

Proof that I had destroyed the only real relationship I had.

Because everything else in my life, everything, was politics.

Officers.

Deals.

Packs.

Land.

Power.

Even love had been twisted into strategy.

But Arya,

Arya had been real.

She had been the one person who fought beside me without calculating what she’d gain.

She bled with me.

She built with me.

She stood at my side when I had nothing but ambition and rage.

And I repaid her by handing her over to Marcel’s cruelty.

I repaid her by allowing her to be dragged.

Humiliated.

Marked.

Beaten.

I repaid her by standing there while her screams echoed in the yard.

I repaid her by cutting the bond like it was an inconvenience.

My throat burned.

My eyes stung.

I tried to swallow it down.

Tried to force it back.

Tried to stay the Alpha who didn’t break.

But the room broke me.

Because this was where my lies became undeniable.

This was where all my “I had no choice” excuses died.

Because the truth was simple:

I had choices.

And I chose wrong every time.

My shoulders shook once.

Then again.

Then the sound that came out of me wasn’t a growl.

It wasn’t a command.

It was a sob.

A harsh, ugly sob that tore through my chest and made me bend forward like I’d been

hit.

I covered my mouth with my hand, but it didn’t stop.

It poured out.

The first time I had ever cried like this.

Not in front of my pack.

Not in battle.

Not when my men died.

Not when the world turned hard.

But here.

In the room where I lost her.

“I’m sorry,” I choked, voice cracking.

The apology hit the air like a prayer no one would answer.

“I’m sorry,” I repeated, louder, like the walls might carry it to wherever she’d gone.

“I’m sorry for not believing you,”

My breath hitched.

“I’m sorry for locking you up.”

Another sob tore out of me.

“I’m sorry for letting Marcel harm you,” I said, voice shaking, “and our unborn child.”

The words tasted like blood.

“Our child,” I whispered again, like saying it might undo it.

“I’m sorry,” I said, desperation rising. “I’m sorry for removing my claim. I’m sorry for… for

cutting it.”

My hand slammed against my chest as if I could grab the mistake and pull it out.

“I’m sorry for allowing the pack to replace you,” I gasped. “I’m sorry for letting them call

you rogue. I’m sorry for standing there while they, while they, ”

My voice broke completely.

I sank down onto the edge of the bed, shoulders shaking, tears spilling hot and

uncontrolled.

I didn’t care if someone heard.

I didn’t care if this made me weak.

Weakness didn’t matter anymore.

Because strength hadn’t saved anyone tonight.

Strength hadn’t saved my heir.

Strength hadn’t saved my mate.

Strength hadn’t saved my pack from being burned and butchered.

All my strength had done was build a throne Marcel could reach.

I pressed my forehead into my palm and wept harder.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered again and again, like repeating it might summon her.

Like repeating it might pull her back through the door.

Like repeating it might fix the ruined space between us.

But she wasn’t here..

She wasn’t here for me to tell her.

She wasn’t here to look at me with those eyes and decide whether my apology meant anything.

She wasn’t here to punch me, to spit on me, to curse me, to do anything.

She was gone.

And that was my punishment.

Because being sorry didn’t matter when the person you wronged wasn’t around to hear

I wiped my face roughly, but tears kept coming.

My breath was ragged.

My chest hurt.

And Jasper, Jasper wasn’t roaring now.

He was howling.

A wounded sound inside me, raw and endless.

WE LOST HER.

And the truth sat in my throat like ash:

I had been sorry too late.

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And now the only thing left in this room with me was the echo of her absence.

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