The Banished Shy Luna Chapter 25

The word tasted strange, not an apology but a fact. A couple at the nearest table stopped pretending not to listen. Beyond the glass, Toren didn’t blink. One of his men murmured something; Toren didn’t answer.

A server arrived—poor timing or perfect—with two plates: steak, potatoes, a sprig of green like a flag of surrender. He set them down, eyes caught by the gravity between Thora and my family, then retreated without a sound.

Aleria’s attention snapped back to Thora, grasping for control. “We only came to collect our daughter. She is needed with her pack.”

“No,” Thora said.

The word was gentle. The word was absolute.

Aleria flinched as if struck. “You cannot—”

“I can,” Thora replied. “And I will. Kira is under my protection tonight. If you want a scene, by all means, keep trying to make one.” She tilted her head toward the glass. “But consider your audience.”

Lyra followed the motion and finally saw what I felt—the bar’s slow tilt toward the terrace, the way attention pooled in our direction. Wolves were watching. Warriors. Lunas. And at the center, Alpha Toren, unmoving, eyes like a storm held on a leash.

Lyra’s bravado faltered; she recovered with venom. “So this is the plan? Trade one powerful shadow for another? First the Alpha, now the Elder, and next what—him?” She jerked her chin toward the bar. “Pathetic.”

The flare in my chest surprised me. “It isn’t a plan,” I said. “It’s me deciding not to be handled anymore.”

Lyra took a step in, all teeth. “You don’t get to decide. You never have.”

Thora shifted, the slightest movement, and the terrace air pressed down. “She does now,” the Elder said. “And you will step back.”

Lyra didn’t—couldn’t—move for a breath. Then she exhaled a laugh that wasn’t really a laugh. “This isn’t over,” she hissed at me, low enough the room couldn’t hear, mean enough that it didn’t matter. “When the Elder isn’t looking, I’ll take that bun out and remind you who you are.”

I felt the tremor start in my hands and stop at my wrists. “Don’t touch me,” I said again, still polite, still steady. “I meant it.”

Aleria caught Lyra’s arm, nails digging crescents. “Enough,” she whispered, fury leaking through the edges. Then, to Thora—her silk picked up, pressed flat—“Elder, forgive our… family moment. We’ll leave you to your evening.”

“You will,” Thora agreed.

They turned, pride stiff in their spines, and moved toward the door. Lyra shot me one last look, a promise and a threat knotted together. I let it slide past me like smoke.

The door shut behind them. The terrace breathed. The bar’s murmur resumed, but not the same; threads of it clung to us still. I reached for my wine and found my fingers steady.

Thora sat again, the pressure easing, the moon in her eyes softening. “Well done,” she said simply.

“I only said ‘don’t touch me,’” I murmured.

“And for you, that is a mountain,” she said. “One you just climbed.”

I swallowed, throat tight and clean. “They’re going to hate me more.”

“They already do,” Thora said. “Hate is a small thing compared to what you are becoming.” Her gaze flicked to the glass door and back. “And compared to what is watching you.”

I followed her look. Toren hadn’t moved. Neither had his pack. They stood like a constellation in dark suits, orbiting an unspoken gravity. When our eyes met through the reflection, the pull tightened—low in my belly, fierce and terrifying.

“What happens now?” I whispered.

Thora smiled like a secret. “Now,” she said, lifting her glass at last, “you eat. You breathe. And you let them see you.”

I cut into the steak because my hands obeyed her before my fear did. The first bite landed like fire and iron. When I looked up again, Toren was still there—patient, relentless, as if time itself answered to him.

The steak sat heavy on my tongue, rich and bloody, like it had been pulled straight from the earth itself. I chewed slowly, forcing myself to look steady, forcing myself not to shiver under the Alpha’s unwavering stare.

“Good,” Thora murmured, watching me instead of him. “Pretend the world is ordinary, even when it shifts beneath your feet. That is how you survive until you learn how to command it.”

Her words sank deep, each one measured, deliberate.

I swallowed, the taste still clinging to me. “He’s still watching,” I whispered, barely moving my lips.

“I know,” she replied. Her eyes never wavered, her posture calm as if we were simply two women enjoying dinner. “And he will continue to. Alphas like Toren are storms—relentless, consuming. Once their gaze has fixed, it rarely strays.”

The air grew colder despite the wine warming my blood. “Why me?”

Thora finally turned her head, her silver gaze pinning me the way Toren’s had. “Because, darling, you are not what they made you believe. He sees what they buried. The question is not why he watches you… but what you will do when he decides to act.”

Her words made my breath hitch. In the glass, Toren lifted his own drink, a gesture so small it might have been nothing. But his eyes never left me.

“He’s dangerous, isn’t he?” I asked.

“More than most,” Thora said, and for the first time I saw something rare flicker in her—wariness. Not fear, but respect edged with caution. “Alpha Toren does not choose lightly. And he does not play games. If he has marked you with his eyes, you will not escape his notice. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not until he has decided what you mean to him.”

The thought should have made me want to run. Instead, heat twisted low in my stomach, traitorous and primal. I clenched the fork harder in my hand. “And if what I mean to him is nothing good?”

“Then you will decide,” Thora said, voice firm. “You are not prey, Kira. Do not make yourself one. Whether you embrace him or resist him, make it your choice. Never his alone.”

I wanted to believe her. I wanted to cling to the fire her words lit in me. But when I dared another glance through the glass, Toren leaned closer to one of his men, saying nothing, his lips still. The man only nodded once, sharp, obedient, as though a command had been spoken in silence.

The unease grew roots in my chest.

“Eat,” Thora repeated gently, though her eyes flicked toward the bar, sharp as blades. “Hold your head high. Let them see your strength. Even him. Especially him.”

I forced another bite of steak into my mouth. My hands were steadier now, but my heart wasn’t. It pounded, a drum that matched the rhythm of Toren’s stare.

And all the while, Elder Thora’s words echoed in my head.

*You are not prey. Do not make yourself one.*