Luna Forsaken (Arya and James) novel Chapter 96

Chapter 96 Sworn In, Scent-Struck 2

Arya’s POV

The crowd murmured again, but this time it wasn’t suspicion, it was sympathy

A woman near the front lifted a hand to her mouth, eyes softening.

A man clenched his jaw hard.

“Wicked,” someone growled.

I didn’t soften my voice for pity.

Pity didn’t rebuild babies.

Pity didn’t undo whip marks.

But I let them feel it, because it mattered that the truth was heard.

“I fought beside him,” I said. “I helped him secure a pack. I bled for his territory. I fed his people. I

sheltered those who had nowhere else to go.”

My chest tightened, and anger surged, but I controlled it.

“And when Marcel offered him a seat,” I said, “he chose it over me.”

The pack’s mood turned sharper.

Voices rose.

“Alpha Maxwell should send warriors!” someone shouted.

“Teach James a lesson!” another barked.

“How does he betray the woman who helped him build?” a third voice demanded.

A woman’s voice cut through, bitter and loud.

“If he didn’t own land rich with gold, would Marcel even look at him?”

The crowd murmured angrily, agreement spreading

Another man yelled, “And what about his officers? if he can do that to his mate, he won’t spare

anyone!”

I watched the reactions, feeling something unfamiliar build in my chest

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Not love.

Not loyalty.

But recognition.

This pack didn’t worship greed the way Nightwind did

They didn’t look at my pain like entertainment.

They didn’t hear my story and immediately search for where they could profit.

They heard betrayal and reacted like wolves should, protective of honour, furious at cowardice.

Someone stepped forward, voice strong, directed at me.

“We’re sorry,” he said.

The words caught me off guard.

The same wolves who were suspicious seconds ago now looked ashamed.

A woman beside him nodded, eyes wet.

“We were wrong to doubt,” she said quickly. “If Alpha Maxwell claims you, then you are ours. We will

accept you.”

Another voice joined.

“We apologise,” someone else said, louder. “We accept you wholeheartedly.”

The chant began like a ripple.

“Arya!”

“Arya!”

“Daughter of Dragonclaw!”

Praise rose into the night, and something inside me cracked, not into weakness, but into a strange fullness.

My heart swelled

Not because I needed strangers’ approval.

But because the contrast was brutal.

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Nightwind pack, people I fed, sheltered, protected, betrayed me at the first opportunity.

Dragonclaw pack, people who barely knew me, were willing to embrace me because their Alpha claimed me, and because my story made them furious on my behalf.

I swallowed hard.

For a second, my eyes stung.

I forced them steady.

Maxwell lifted his hand again.

The chant softened.

He looked out at his pack, expression firm, satisfied in a quiet way.

“Enough,” he said. “You have spoken. You have heard. Now we do what we came to do.”

He turned his gaze to me.

“Arya,” he said.

I stepped forward.

The ceremonial elder approached, an older woman with sharp eyes and silver-streaked hair. She

carried a shallow bowl and a small blade used for ritual cuts, symbolic, controlled, not cruel.

The pack formed a tighter circle, watching.

Maxwell’s voice carried again, steady.

“This is a binding,” he announced. “Not a cage. Not a leash. A bond of protection and belonging.”

My chest tightened at the word bond.

But this wasn’t James’s bond.

This wasn’t a man claiming me as property.

This was a pack accepting me as blood.

Maxwell extended his hand.

The elder made a small cut on his palm, quick, clean A bead of blood formed.

Then the elder turned to me.

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< Chapter 96 Sworn In, Scent Struck 2

My pulse jumped once.

I held my hand out without hesitation.

The blade kissed my skin, small sting, small cut.

Blood surfaced.

The elder guided our palms together.

Maxwell’s blood met mine.

Heat sparked.

Not the overwhelming lightning of mate-bond.

Something different.

Pack magic.

Pack law.

Pack identity settling into my bones like a name being written on my soul.

The elder murmured the old words of binding, ancient, traditional, meant to anchor wolves to territory

and leader.

Maxwell’s voice cut through after.

“I claim Arya as my daughter,” he declared. “Dragonclaw claims her as one of ours. Any who challenge

her place challenge me.”

A roar rose from the pack.

I felt the hollow space inside me, the emptiness that being cast out left, fill instantly.

Not healed.

Filled.

Like a wound covered by strong cloth.

I breathed out slowly, steadier than I’d been in months.

Maxwell released my hand and lifted his chin.

“Sworn,” he said.

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The pack erupted again.

Cheers.

Howls.

Stomping feet.

Voices chanting my name like they were trying to drown out the last time a crowd chanted against me

And for a moment, just a moment, my pain loosened its grip.

Not gone.

But quieter.

Then the banquet began.

It wasn’t a small meal.

It was a celebration meant to be seen, meant to be remembered, meant to carve my acceptance into the pack’s memory so deeply no one could pretend tomorrow that they hadn’t cheered tonight.

Tables were set.

Music started, drums, string, rhythmic claps.

Food came in waves.

Meat. Bread. Fruit. Stews thick with spices.

People laughed, real laughter, not mocking.

Warriors slapped each other’s shoulders.

Women danced in loose circles.

Children ran between legs, shrieking with delight until mothers grabbed them and scolded them softly.

Milley found me again, eyes shining, face glowing like she’d helped deliver a miracle.

“You’re sworn!” she squealed, then clapped a hand over her mouth and whispered, “Sorry. Sorry. But

you’re sworn!”

I shook my head slightly, and to my surprise, I smiled properly.

“Yes,” I said.

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Milley grabbed my hands again, bouncing.

“This is huge,” she whispered. “Do you feel it? Do you feel it?”

I did.

I felt it in the way pack members approached me with respect instead of suspicion

I felt it in the way they offered cups, offered plates, offered smiles.

I felt it in the way warriors bowed their heads slightly when they passed.

For a bit, I forgot my pain.

Not fully.

But enough to breathe.

Enough to sit at a table and listen to music without flinching at every cheer.

Enough to laugh once when Milley told a ridiculous story about almost fainting at the gate.

Enough to taste food without feeling like I was swallowing grief.

The night was joyous and melodious, and for a few hours, I was not a rogue.

Not a prisoner.

Not a beaten Luna.

Manu

Just Arya.

Maxwell’s daughter.

Dragonclaw’s new blood.

When it finally ended, when the music faded and the pack began to drift back to homes, I walked back to my room with a strange lightness under my ribs.

I went to bed happy

Not healed.

But happy.

And the difference mattered.

Sleep took me fast.

Deep.

apter 95 Sworn In, Scent-Struck 2

The kind of sleep that felt like my body finally believed it was safe enough to shut down.

When I woke, morning was already moving.