The Banished Shy Luna Chapter 161

I woke up starving.

Not hungry.

STARVING.

The kind of starving that felt like my stomach was actively chewing on my spine.

I blinked groggily at the dim Alpha quarters. No windows. No clocks. No sense of time.

Night?

Day?

Next Tuesday?

Who knew.

All I knew was that if I didn’t eat immediately, I was going to devour one of the stone walls like a deranged beaver.

I rolled out of bed, yanked on a robe, shoved my feet into socks because the tunnels were roughly the temperature of an abandoned morgue, and stumbled toward the kitchen like a zombie on a mission.

The moment I opened the fridge, enlightenment struck me.

Food.

Within seconds I had:

a sandwich

another sandwich

three glasses of water

a jar of peanut butter

pickles

something that might have been leftover stew

and possibly a block of cheese?

At this point, I didn’t care.

It all tasted like heaven.

I was halfway through dipping a pickle into peanut butter when footsteps echoed behind me.

Shyanne froze in the doorway.

Marianne froze next to her.

Then they both screamed.

“OH MY GOD—SHE’S DOING IT—SHE’S DOING THE WEIRD PREGNANCY FOOD THING!”

I blinked at them mid-crunch. “What?”

“You’re dipping a PICKLE,” Marianne screeched, “in PEANUT BUTTER.”

“And eating it like it’s NORMAL!” Shyanne shouted.

“It is normal,” I muttered, licking peanut butter off the pickle. “Kind of.”

They exchanged a look.

Then — together, without a word — the chaos twins transformed into kitchen gremlins.

Pots out.

Pans slamming.

Oven on.

Something sizzling.

Something boiling.

Something smoking.

And both of them yelling over each other about calories and nutrients and how they needed to “feed the baby before it ate Kira from the inside.”

“Girls—” I started.

“Sit,” Shyanne ordered, pointing a spatula at me.

“Eat,” Marianne added, sliding a plate under my face.

I obeyed.

Because honestly?

I was still hungry.

As I inhaled a third sandwich and the twins started cooking what looked like a full breakfast platter AND stew AND something involving noodles, Shyanne finally asked:

“So… what exactly happened in the clearing? Before the moon goddess and all that?”

I nearly choked on my water. “That’s… a long story.”

“We’re cooking twelve meals at once,” Marianne said. “We’ve got time.”

So I told them.

Between bites.

Between mouthfuls.

Between trying to hold back the lingering panic of almost losing Toren. And Tyson. And Talon.

I told them about Lucas’s delusion.

Lyra’s breakdown.

The shapeshifter.

The chaos.

The fight.

Talon dying.

The moon goddess saving him.

By the time I finished, my sandwich was gone.

My pickles were gone.

My peanut butter was half-empty.

And I was still starving.

I groaned, leaning my forehead against the cupboard door. “What is wrong with me?”

Shyanne giggled. “Uh… maybe because the baby is hungry?”

I froze.

Both twins stared at me like I’d lost my mind.

Shyanne put her hands on her hips. “Kira. Sweetie. You’re eating for two now.”

Marianne added, “Three Alphas knocked you up. You think this kid is gonna have a NORMAL appetite?”

I groaned again — louder this time. “This is not for me. Pregnancy is not for me. I changed my mind. I want a refund.”

“You can’t return a baby,” Shyanne snorted.

“Pretty sure there’s no store credit,” Marianne agreed.

I dragged my hands down my face. “This is torture. Actual torture. My stomach is a bottomless pit.”

Shyanne set another plate in front of me. “Eat, Luna.”

Marianne set down a bowl. “Eat more.”

“And a glass of juice,” Shyanne added.

“And a muffin,” Marianne said.

“And—”

I held up a hand. “Okay, okay! I get it! You’re nesting and I’m your test subject.”

They giggled in unison.

I stared at the food mountain forming in front of me.

“I’m going to die.”

“No,” Shyanne said confidently. “You’re going to get full.”

“Which is worse?” I muttered.

They both laughed.

I ate.

Because of course I did.

And as I stuffed my face like a feral raccoon, something warm curled in my chest.

Not power.

Not fear.

Not even hunger.

Just…

Family.

Even if they were insane.

I was halfway through my fourth muffin when footsteps thundered down the tunnel.

Heavy. Fast.

Panicked.

Then—

“Kira?”

Tyson’s voice.

Followed by Toren’s deeper rumble and Talon’s sharp breath.

Before I could even answer, all three of them appeared in the kitchen doorway, hair messy, eyes wild, fully in mate-hunt mode.

They looked like they’d woken up and realized I wasn’t beside them… and immediately prepared to burn the entire dead zone to the ground.

Talon’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Thank the goddess—cupcake, you scared the hell out of us.”

Toren ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. “We thought something happened. We woke up and you were gone.”

Tyson didn’t bother with words.

He stalked straight toward me, scooped me onto his lap like I weighed nothing, and kissed my cheek in a way that sent heat rushing up my face.

“Hi,” I croaked, still holding a pickle dipped in peanut butter.

Tyson glanced at the pickle. Then at the peanut butter. Then at the empty plates.

Then at me.

Then back at the plates.

The twins swooped in like mother hens on steroids.

“She’s fine!” Shyanne announced proudly.

“She had cravings!” Marianne added, lifting the jar of peanut butter like an Olympic trophy.

Tyson blinked. “Cravings?”

Shyanne nodded so fast her ponytail nearly smacked me. “She ate… a lot.”

“A scary amount,” Marianne whispered, like she was reliving trauma.

Tyson looked down at me again, lips twitching with a smirk. “Moonshine…”

Toren stepped in behind him, eyeing the food. “Did you raid the entire fridge?”

“No,” I defended. “Just… most of it.”

Talon sat at my right, eyes warm and amused. “This better not all be gone before I get a bite.”

Tyson motioned toward the stove. “Twins, can we have some?”

Shyanne saluted with a spatula. “Already on it!”

Marianne echoed her. “Three plates coming right up!”

In less than ten seconds they had more food cooking, flipping, seasoning, stirring like two little culinary tornadoes.

Tyson shifted me on his lap so I was facing the table, his arms wrapped around my waist. He stole my fork, stabbed a fluffy piece of pancake, and held it to my lips.

“Open.”

I blinked. “Tyson—”

He raised a brow. “Do you want to eat or not?”

I opened my mouth.

He fed me a bite.

Then took the fork back and took a bite for himself.

My heart melted.

Toren took the seat to my left, immediately reaching for my glass to hand it to me. “You need more water.”

“I’ve had three—”

“And you’ll have three more,” he said firmly.

Talon claimed the seat on my right, nudging my shoulder. “Move closer, cupcake.”

I leaned into him automatically.

The kitchen table was suddenly crowded, warm, overflowing with food and… love.