The Banished Shy Luna Chapter 17

The silence in the conference room pressed against my ears after the others had gone, so thick it swallowed every breath. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat frantic and loud, a drum that surely Elder Thora could hear. She set her notepad down with deliberate care, the small sound echoing like a gavel. Then she lifted her head, and her silver eyes found me.

She moved toward me with slow, graceful steps, her gown whispering over the polished floor. Every motion radiated command. She didn’t need to raise her voice, didn’t need to bare her teeth. Her presence alone pressed against my skin until my shoulders curled inward and my gaze dropped to the floor.

When she stopped in front of me, the air thickened, heavy enough to crush. I couldn’t look up. I couldn’t breathe.

“Kira,” she said softly, though steel rang beneath her tone. “Why aren’t you dressed like the others?”

The question struck like a slap. Heat flared in my cheeks. My lips parted, but nothing came out. Panic clogged my throat. Finally, I forced the words through. “I—I’m not allowed. I don’t have gowns like theirs. I only wear… hand-me-downs. From the other females in the pack.”

Her brows furrowed. “Not allowed?” The words were sharp, edged with disbelief. “And why do you allow this to happen?”

My head jerked up, shock stealing my breath. *Allow?* Like I had a choice? The concept felt alien, as if she had just spoken in a tongue I’d never heard.

“I… I don’t understand,” I whispered, trembling.

Her gaze sharpened. “Why don’t you stand up for yourself?”

The question cut deeper than claws. My throat closed, tears stinging my eyes despite my efforts to blink them away. Memories pressed in, relentless. Cold nights with no food. Days bent over endless chores until my back screamed. The sting of blows when I dared resist. The laughter of the others as I was shoved aside, excluded, diminished until I was nothing.

“Because every time I tried,” I choked out, “I was punished. Starved. Beaten. Given more work until I couldn’t stand. If I spoke, if I resisted, it only made things worse.”

Elder Thora’s silver eyes softened, though her aura still pressed around me like a storm held just at bay. For the first time, she sighed—not with irritation, but with sorrow.

“Oh, child,” she whispered.

Then she did something no one else had done in years. She reached out and pulled me into her arms.

I froze. My body went rigid, uncomprehending. Touch meant pain. A hand on me had always been punishment, not comfort. But she held me differently—firm, steady, protective. The warmth of her embrace seeped through me, and something inside cracked.

The walls I had built stone by stone to keep myself from breaking shattered all at once.

A sob tore from me, raw and jagged. I buried my face against her shoulder, my body trembling as years of silence erupted into sound.

“Let it out,” she murmured, stroking the back of my head. Her voice was low, soothing, patient. “You’ve carried this weight too long.”

Her words undid me. Tears poured hot and fast, soaking her gown. My chest heaved with every sob, my lungs aching as if I’d never breathed properly before this moment. I clung to her desperately, afraid she’d vanish if I let go, afraid the world would crush me again if her arms weren’t there to hold me together.

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t scold. She simply held me, her hand moving in slow, steady circles against my back. Her long silver hair brushed my cheek like strands of silk, grounding me in a way I’d never known.

When at last the storm eased, when my sobs thinned into hiccupping breaths, she tilted my chin upward with gentle fingers.

My face was hot and blotchy, my eyes swollen from crying. I wanted to turn away, to hide, but she didn’t let me. She looked at me as though none of it lessened me.

“Enough,” she said firmly, her tone a quiet command. “You have endured enough.”

Fresh tears pricked my eyes, but I forced myself to meet her gaze.

“You are stronger than they want you to believe,” she continued, voice steady, unwavering. “But strength does not mean silence. One day, you will have to decide who you are—who you want to be.”

Her words made my chest ache in a new way. No one had ever spoken to me like this. No one had ever implied I could choose who I was.

Her lips curved into the faintest, saddest smile. “Come with me, Kira.”

Not a command like an Alpha’s order, but an invitation. A lifeline.

I nodded before I could stop myself. For once, I wanted to follow.

She turned toward the door, her gown shimmering in the golden light. I wiped my eyes with my sleeve, smearing away the dampness, and hurried after her. The door closed behind us with a heavy click that echoed down the hallway.

The lobby buzzed with wolves—voices low, boots scraping against marble, the mingled scents of countless packs. But as Elder Thora passed, silence followed in her wake. Wolves bowed their heads or lowered their eyes. None dared meet her gaze.

I felt their stares on me too, sharp and questioning. My stomach tightened, but I stayed close to Thora’s side, letting her aura push their whispers back.

She led me toward a sweeping staircase carved from silver-veined marble. My breath caught at the sight. Murals stretched across the ceiling, wolves painted beneath a vast moon, stars glittering in silver leaf. Golden sconces burned along the curve of the staircase, their flames flickering like captured fire.

Each step upward felt heavier than the last. My legs shook, my chest raw from crying, but something inside me shifted. Each step felt like shedding something old—shame, silence, the chains of my pack.

Still, fear gnawed at me. My life had always been a cage. I didn’t know how to climb without bracing for the lash.

Halfway up, I dared to whisper, “Where are you taking me?”

Her answer came calm but certain, her voice cutting through the hum of the hotel. “To a place where you may finally be seen.”