The Banished Shy Luna Chapter 152

I barely had time to swallow the last bite of food before the entire kitchen went deadly silent.

And not because of anything I did.

No — it was because every single wolf in the room suddenly went rigid, nostrils flaring, ears pivoting toward the hallway like they’d just heard a grenade pin drop.

Shyanne whispered, “Uh-oh.”

Marianne stared at the doorway. “I recognize that sound.”

Because yes — through the tunnels, echoing like thunder, came:

“KIRA!”

Toren’s voice.

Followed by Tyson snarling, “MOVE! I smell panic—MOVE—”

And then Talon, sounding like a frantic feral cat:

“LET ME IN FIRST—SHE NEEDS ME—”

The kitchen door SLAMMED open so hard it bounced off the wall.

Three massive alphas stormed in like they were ready for war — half-shifted, eyes glowing, claws out, teeth bared.

Every she-wolf froze.

Toren’s gaze snapped to me instantly, and he lunged forward, grabbing me by the shoulders like he needed physical proof I existed.

“WHAT HAPPENED? Who hurt you? Why did you scream?! Why—”

Shyanne whispered, “Oh, Moon save us.”

Tyson barreled past him and grabbed my face with both hands, searching for injuries like a panicked doctor.

“Where does it hurt? Tell me right now, Moon.”

And Talon — gods help him — practically shoved both of them aside, putting his hands all over me like he expected to find a missing limb.

“Are you bleeding? Is it the baby? Did someone stress you out? Did someone LOOK at you wrong? Who do I kill?”

The she-wolves stared like they were watching a live soap opera.

I just blinked at the three oversized idiots, all talking over each other, while Shyanne buried her face into Marianne’s shoulder to hide her laughter.

Finally, Marianne stepped forward, raised a hand, and said:

“She’s fine. She wasn’t screaming.”

The alphas froze at the same time.

Toren narrowed his eyes at me. “Then why did it sound like screaming?”

I coughed.

Shyanne snorted.

Marianne elbowed her.

One of the she-wolves muttered, “Glitterstorm.”

And the entire room burst into laughter again.

Talon blinked. “Who the fuck is Glitterstorm?”

Tyson stiffened. “Is he someone I should kill?”

And Toren?

Toren dropped to his knees like an overdramatic Shakespeare hero.

“You already named the child—without—without consulting us—”

I choked. “Toren, it was a joke.”

He threw his head back. “A joke?! Glitterstorm is not a joke, that’s a war crime.”

The twins were actively dying of laughter.

Me? I was halfway between laughter and tears.

Talon grabbed my hand. “Please tell me the baby’s name isn’t Glitter-anything.”

I wiped my eyes. “No. No one is naming my child Glitterstorm Alpha-Supreme.”

The she-wolves wheezed like hyenas.

Tyson looked genuinely relieved. “Thank the Moon.”

But the laughter faded slowly — and the shift in the air was instant.

Toren’s hands slid from my shoulders to my arms, steady and firm. “But something is wrong.”

Tyson stepped behind me, bracing me gently. “Moon, your heart rate is still too fast.”

Talon cupped my cheek with shaking fingers. “And your scent… you’re scared.”

All three of them surrounded me suddenly — a protective circle, walls of heat, eyes sharp and full of worry.

The kitchen went silent.

“Tell us,” Toren said softly. “We’re your mates. Let us carry it with you.”

Tyson nodded. “Every piece of it.”

Talon stepped closer. “You don’t have to be strong right now.”

The twins backed up, giving us space.

The she-wolves lowered their eyes respectfully.

I swallowed hard.

“I’m okay,” I whispered. “I just… needed a moment.”

“No,” Toren said gently, but firmly. “You needed air because something scared you.”

I hesitated.

And for a moment — just one — I let myself lean into them.

Into their warmth.

Into their grounding touch.

Into the safety of being loved.

Talon brushed his thumb over my knuckles. “You don’t have to speak yet. Just let us hold you.”

Tyson’s chest pressed against my back. “You’re shaking.”

Toren tilted my chin up. “Look at me.”

I did.

And something in his eyes softened — terrified and furious and devoted all at once.

“You fainted,” he whispered. “You screamed at the Elders. You fought the Council’s forces. You evolved. You found out you’re pregnant. And you’re still trying to pretend you’re fine.”

My throat closed.

He was right.

Talon leaned in, touching his forehead to mine. “You don’t have to protect us, Kira. We’re built to protect you.”

“We’re not leaving your side,” Tyson added.

“And we’re not letting you burn yourself out,” Toren finished. “Not again.”

The three of them pressed close, their warmth wrapping around me like armor.

For a moment, I couldn’t speak.

Couldn’t breathe.

Could only feel them.

Their fear.

Their love.

Their determination that nothing would touch me again.

Toren whispered, “Your condition—your power—the pregnancy… it’s all escalating fast. Too fast.”

Tyson’s voice dropped to a low growl. “We’re done reacting. From now on, we plan.”

Talon nodded sharply. “We adapt. We strategize. We protect.”

Toren’s gaze cut to the she-wolves, then the door.

“We keep you safe. No matter what unfolds next.”

And there it was:

The shift.

The moment everything became more real.

More dangerous.

More sacred.

The moment my three alphas decided the whole damn world would go to war before they let anything take me from them.

And then-

“CENTRAL ROOM. NOW.”

Every wolf in the kitchen jumped.

My heart dropped into my stomach.

Mason didn’t yell unless something was wrong. Horribly wrong.

The twins grabbed my arms, steadying me as Tyson instantly stepped in front of me, blocking half the hallway with his broad frame. Toren spun, scanning for threats, and Talon was already half-shifted, claws sliding out with the sound of cracking bone.

We hurried.

Fast.

The tunnels were buzzing with movement — warriors emerging from rooms, trackers sprinting toward the heart of the compound, mothers hugging their children closer. The energy was frantic… electric… dangerous.

And then I smelled it.

Blood.

Fresh.

Fear.

Burning adrenaline.

My steps faltered, and Toren caught my arm immediately.

“Easy,” he murmured, though his voice was tight as steel. “We’re with you.”

We entered the central room and—

I froze.

A wolf — one of our runners — knelt in the middle of the stone floor, hands braced on the ground, breathing hard enough the sound echoed. His clothes were torn, soaked in mud and streaked with deep gashes. Blood dripped steadily from his forearm, leaving small red puddles beneath him.

Douglas stood beside him, face pale with anger he was barely leashing. Mason hovered on the other side, pacing like a caged beast.

The runner looked up the moment he sensed me.

“Luna,” he rasped, throat raw. “We have… trouble.”