The Banished Shy Luna Chapter 151

The shower had rinsed so much away — the fear, the panic, the pressure wrapping like claws around my ribcage. I wasn’t fixed, not completely, but I could breathe again.

Wrapped in a robe Mason somehow found buried in a storage chest, I slipped into the tunnels. The dead zone was quiet, almost eerily so. The air smelled of dust, stone, and faint traces of pine that clung to everyone who’d run through the forest earlier.

Light flickered from room to room, soft lanterns casting warm golden pools over sleeping bodies.

I peeked into one chamber — warriors collapsed two to a bed, limbs draped over each other like dead logs. Someone was snoring so loud the dust vibrated.

Another room: trackers sprawled on the floor, curled up in a pile like exhausted wolves in human skin.

Then the families… the she-wolves. Most had found empty mattresses, some sharing with pups curled into their arms or tucked between them. Seeing them safe made my chest loosen.

But five of them were missing.

Dread stabbed me instantly.

No. No. Not again. Not another attack. Not another loss.

I hurried toward the central room, half-running, heart hammering—

But stopped short.

A soft glow spilled from one of the tunnels to the right. The kitchen.

I took one step closer and froze.

Laughter.

The missing five she-wolves… and the twins… all gathered around a battered metal prep table, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, cooking like they were preparing a feast for a hundred.

The scent of something buttery and sweet drifted toward me.

“—I’m telling you,” one of the she-wolves, Adrianna, whispered loudly, “if it’s a boy, Talon Jr. is perfect.”

Shyanne snorted. “Absolutely not. We cannot handle two Talons.”

Marianne countered, “What about Tavin? Or Toren wants anything with a T so all his sons sound like they came out of the same alphabet soup.”

Adrianna swatted her with a dish towel. “Shut up, Toren would cry if the baby wasn’t named after him.”

“Honestly,” another she-wolf chimed in, “Tyson’s going to be so dramatic no matter what you name the baby. He’ll plan a ceremony for the naming day.”

“Tyson plans ceremonies for breakfast,” someone else muttered.

They all laughed.

My throat tightened.

They weren’t scared. They weren’t whispering about danger. They were… choosing hope.

Choosing future.

Choosing life.

All because of me. Because of this baby. Because they believed in a world where we survived this.

The moment I stepped inside, the talking died instantly — like I’d walked into a den of pups caught stealing snacks.

I lifted my hands. “Relax. I’m not here to assign chores or arrest anyone.”

Adrianna’s shoulders slumped with relief. “Thank the Moon. We were just—uh—talking.”

“About how hot your mates are,” one she-wolf blurted.

The twins choked.

Adrianna threw a towel at her. “For the love of the Goddess—”

I nearly laughed.

“I was actually doing a head count,” I said. “Wanted to make sure everyone was safe.”

“You should be resting,” Shyanne scolded.

“Actually,” Marianne said, grabbing my wrist, “you’re going to at least sit.”

Before I could protest, they pulled me into the kitchen and placed me on a stool at the counter.

A plate was set in front of me—no, a mountain of food. Eggs, thick slices of bread, potatoes, something flaky and golden, fruit, and even a slice of cake.

“I—this is too much,” I said weakly.

“Eat,” Adrianna ordered. “You’re growing a baby and saving the world. Highest calorie needs in the building.”

I hesitated… then picked up the fork.

The first bite nearly made me moan.

They all stared with smug approval.

“So as we were saying,” Marianne said, resuming the conversation as if they hadn’t just shoved an entire feast in front of me, “names.”

“Oh dear gods,” I muttered through a mouthful of food.

“It could be a girl,” one she-wolf said brightly. “I like ‘Kaia’!”

“Or ‘Kyrie,’” another offered. “Very Luna. Very powerful.”

“Ooh, what about—”

“Torinette,” someone said.

The table burst into laughter.

“Absolutely not,” I groaned.

“You never know,” Shyanne teased. “Maybe the baby will come out with blue eyes and that broody Toren face.”

“Please don’t wish that on me,” I muttered. “One Toren brooding is enough.”

The room filled with laughter again — warm, easy, healing.

And as I ate, listening to them dream about names, picturing futures where their children played with mine, imagining life beyond war and fear…

I realized something.

This wasn’t chaos.

It wasn’t danger.

It wasn’t terror.

This was hope.

Alive.

Warm.

Bubbling up like something sacred.

They were still listing names like they were fighting for a prize.

“Kaia!”

“Kyrie!”

“Kassara!”

“Oh! Or Kallista!”

“That sounds like a cocktail,” someone muttered.

I groaned. “You guys… I literally just found out I’m pregnant.”

“Yes,” Adrianna said firmly, “and good mothers plan early.”

I stuffed more food into my mouth so I didn’t have to reply.

“And if it’s a boy,” Shyanne continued, “I still like Tavin.”

Marianne elbowed her. “Kira’s child needs something dignified.”

I swallowed, wiped my mouth, and deadpanned:

“Perfect then.

Sebastian Pickle McMoonchild.”

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Then—

The entire kitchen erupted.

Food nearly flew.

A she-wolf choked on her drink.

Shyanne hit the counter wheezing.

Marianne slid down the cabinet, gasping for air.

Someone screamed, “MCMOONCHILD?!”

I lifted my cup like a toast. “Or if it’s a girl… Princess Glitterstorm Alpha-Supreme.”

One of the she-wolves collapsed onto the floor.

Another slapped the counter repeatedly.

Shyanne had to wipe tears from her eyes.

Marianne was laughing so hard she snorted like an angry goose.

“STOP—” Adrianna begged through hysterics. “I SWEAR TO THE MOON—GLITTERSTORM?!”

I nodded sagely. “Very dignified. Very Luna.”

They all exploded again.

Laughter so loud it echoed through the tunnels.

So wild it probably woke half the warriors.

So warm it made my chest ache in a good way.

For the first time in days…

I felt light.

Really, truly light.

And for a moment—

the war didn’t exist.

The Council didn’t exist.

The terror and pain didn’t exist.

Just me.

My baby.

My pack.

My laughter.

And the ridiculous possibility of naming a future Alpha… Glitterstorm.