The Banished Shy Luna Chapter 12

The drive felt endless, a ribbon of asphalt winding through forests and small towns, the trees blurring into nothing but shades of green and gray. I sat in the back of the SUV, silent, my body pressed against the cool glass window. My reflection stared back at me—hollow eyes, cracked lips, hair a tangled mess. I looked like a ghost haunting the backseat.

Beta Darin had been ordered to ride with Alpha Lucas to “ensure his safety.” That left me trapped here—with my father, three warriors, and a silence so thick it pressed against my ears. My father hadn’t spoken a word since we left, but I could feel his rage simmering, boiling just beneath the surface. He didn’t have to speak for me to know: I was the source of his shame, and he would make me pay later.

The steady hum of the engine lulled me despite myself. My eyelids grew heavy.

I slipped into a restless sleep.

The Gathering haunted my dreams—Alphas lined up in a circle, their eyes fixed on me, hungry and cruel. Whispers slithered like snakes around me, Lyra’s laughter cutting through them all. My mother’s voice hissed in my ear, my father’s hand cracked across my cheek. I was chained, trapped, forced to kneel in the center of it all. And still, their eyes never left me.

A sharp thud jolted me awake. My head snapped up, breath catching.

“Shhh,” one of the warriors whispered, muffling his laughter. “You’ll wake her, dude.”

Another voice followed, softer, almost reverent. “She looks like an angel when she sleeps… so peaceful.”

Heat rushed to my face. Angel? No one had ever called me that. No one had ever looked at me with anything but disdain.

Then my father’s growl shattered the moment. “Keep your guard up,” he barked. “She’s no angel. She’s a demon in disguise.”

The words cut deeper than his fists ever had. My chest tightened, the breath strangled in my throat. Even asleep, I couldn’t escape his hatred.

Their voices faded as car doors slammed. Through the glass, I saw them walking toward a building with bright neon lights flickering above the entrance. A Chinese buffet. Laughter spilled from the warriors as they stretched, eager for a hot meal. My father walked stiff and straight, like the stick of rage he always was. Not one of them bothered to wake me. Not one even glanced back.

Movement caught my eye.

Alpha Lucas stood beside the other SUV, his hand extended to help Lyra out. She stepped down like a princess, radiant in the morning sun. His voice carried clearly across the lot: “Happy birthday, Lyra.”

He handed her a small black box.

My breath froze in my lungs.

She squealed, bouncing on her toes as she opened it. Inside was a crescent moon necklace, glinting on a gold chain—the exact same necklace Darin had given me.

My hands trembled, fury flooding my veins. He hadn’t given me something unique. I wasn’t special. I was a shadow again, always second, always forgotten. Rage surged, hot and uncontrollable. My fingers clawed at my throat, ripping the necklace free. The chain snapped, the pendant clattering against the leather seat as I hurled it into the back of the SUV.

I turned away before the tears could fall, pressing my forehead to the window. Outside, Lyra twirled in the sunlight, Alpha Lucas fastening her necklace around her throat while she laughed like the world had been handed to her. My parents beamed, proud and smug, as if their lies had been rewarded.

I slipped out of the SUV silently, the door closing with only a soft click. My legs carried me around the side of the building, my chest burning. The stench of grease and old food hit me before I even rounded the corner—trash bins overflowing with discarded scraps.

A tall man appeared, hauling two heavy garbage bags. He stopped short when he saw me, his brows furrowing. We stared at each other, the silence taut, until he finally spoke in a low voice. “Wait here.”

I froze, every instinct screaming not to trust him, but I nodded anyway.

He tossed the bags into the dumpster and disappeared inside.

Minutes ticked by, every one heavier than the last. Then he returned, balancing a plate piled high with pan-fried noodles, burnt eggrolls, undercooked shrimp, barbecue pork, and steamed vegetables. In his other hand was a cold bottle of water.

He thrust them into my hands, his voice quiet but firm. “Eat.”

Tears stung my eyes as I whispered, “Thank you.”

I sat on the curb, back pressed against the SUV, and devoured everything. The food wasn’t perfect—some burnt, some undercooked—but to me, it was heaven. Every bite eased the ache in my stomach, every swallow chased away the gnawing hunger that had hollowed me out. I drank the water in greedy gulps, until the bottle was empty. My chest loosened for the first time in days.

When I finished, I carefully set the empty plate just inside the back door, tucking the bottle beside it. No one could know. No one could see.

I climbed back inside and curled against the seat. The SUV smelled faintly of leather and dust, but at least it wasn’t cold anymore. I rested my head against the window, exhaustion dragging me down again.

As my eyes fluttered shut, one thought whispered through the storm in my chest:

*Tomorrow, the Gathering begins. And nothing will ever be the same.*