The Banished Shy Luna Chapter 4

Callie’s fist came first.

The blow exploded across my cheek, snapping my head to the side so hard I slammed into the shelves. Glass jars rattled violently, one tumbling free and shattering at my feet. The sharp sting of broken glass bit into my skin, mingling with the white-hot fire blooming in my face. My ears rang, my vision blurred, and before I could even suck in a breath, Rina was on me.

Her nails tore through my tunic, raking down my stomach in vicious lines. Fabric ripped, and pain seared as her claws dragged over flesh, leaving burning trails behind.

A raw cry ripped from my throat, but it was drowned instantly by the chorus of their laughter.

“Pathetic,” Callie spat, winding up again.

The next blow cracked into my ribs. My body jolted with the impact, breath hitching in my lungs. Then another strike—this one lower—followed by a brutal kick to my stomach. Air whooshed out of me in a strangled gasp as I doubled over, clutching at myself, desperate for oxygen that wouldn’t come.

I curled in on the floor, arms wrapping around me in a weak shield. It was useless. They were wolves. Stronger. Faster. Meaner.

Lyra’s voice cut sharp through the haze. “Don’t hold back. She deserves it.”

Her command emboldened them.

Callie’s boot connected with my shoulder. A sickening crack echoed, louder than the shouts, louder than my own strangled scream. Fire lanced down my arm as my shoulder gave way, bone twisting out of place at a grotesque angle. My vision blurred with tears, the edges of my world going black.

They didn’t stop.

Every kick, every claw, every sneering laugh was another reminder of where I stood—or didn’t stand—in this pack. My ribs shrieked with pain, my arms shook, my stomach burned from every brutal strike. My body screamed with each impact until I could barely feel anything but the blur of agony and humiliation.

And then, just as suddenly, it stopped.

I collapsed fully to the floor, gasping raggedly, my cheek pressed to the cold stone. My body trembled uncontrollably, pain radiating from every inch. My breaths came in short, shallow huffs. My arm dangled uselessly at my side, shoulder twisted wrong. My ribs flared with each inhale, sharp as knives. Scratches across my stomach burned hot, sticky warmth seeping through the torn fabric of my tunic.

Their laughter filled the pantry, cruel and victorious.

“Look at her,” Rina sneered, standing over me. “No one will want that now.”

I tried to lift my head, but the weight of it was unbearable.

Lyra crouched gracefully, her perfume flooding my nose until I gagged. She leaned close, her lips curling into a smile that could slice. “Stay in the shadows where you belong, sister. Don’t even think about standing beside me at the Gathering.” Her words were a whisper meant for me alone, though her friends grinned at every syllable.

Then she patted my cheek, mock-gentle, before straightening. “Come on,” she told them, her tone light and airy, as though we’d been gossiping instead of tearing me apart.

The three of them swept out, laughter trailing behind them, the pantry door slamming shut with a final, ringing crack.

And then there was silence.

The silence pressed in heavier than the blows had.

I lay there trembling, the taste of blood coppery and thick on my tongue. My shoulder burned, my arm numb. My ribs ached with every shallow breath, my lungs struggling to expand. My cheek throbbed where Callie’s fist had landed, heat already swelling beneath my skin.

Anyone else would have stayed down.

But I wasn’t anyone else.

I closed my eyes. Reached inward. Past the pain. Past the humiliation. Deep into that quiet, hidden place where my wolf stirred. A faint pulse answered me—weak, almost hesitant, but there.

*Heal.*

The command wasn’t whispered. It wasn’t begged. It was demanded.

Agony tore through me.

Bone shifted beneath my skin with a grinding snap, my shoulder twisting back into place. The pain was blinding, hot stars bursting behind my eyelids. My jaw clenched so tight I thought my teeth would crack, the scream I refused to release locked in my throat.

My ribs burned as the ache spread and dulled, the sharp edges smoothing as fractured bone slowly knitted itself together. Flesh sizzled, hot then cold, as the scratches across my stomach closed in thin pink lines before vanishing altogether.

Sweat dripped down my temple, my hair plastering to my face. My entire body shook as the bruises faded, swelling subsiding, the fire of pain retreating inch by inch. Every ounce of energy drained from me, my limbs heavy, but still I pressed harder.

*Heal.*

I forced it. Demanded it. Poured every shred of will I had into the command until finally, mercifully, the pain dulled to nothing. My body stilled, my breaths growing steadier.

And when I opened my eyes again, I was whole.

Whole. Normal. No one would ever know.

I lay flat on the cool stone floor, chest rising and falling in ragged pulls, staring up at the wooden beams above me. For a long while, I didn’t move. I just listened to the echo of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.

Minutes passed before I finally pushed myself upright. My legs trembled as though I’d run miles, but I forced them to hold me. I wiped the sweat and blood from my face, smoothed my hair down with shaking hands, and steadied my breathing.

The shelves loomed around me, jars still rattled from the earlier assault, and the floor glittered faintly with broken glass.

Half the inventory still waited to be counted.

So I bent down, picked up the next sack of flour, and set it on the shelf. My hands shook as I wrote the tally down, my breaths uneven, but I forced myself to keep going.

As if nothing had happened.

As if I hadn’t just been broken and rebuilt.

As if I hadn’t just proven—even to myself—that I was far more than the weak, shy girl they thought I was.