The Banished Shy Luna Chapter 52

We walked down the hall together, the plush carpet muffling our steps. But the closer we got, the heavier the air became.

I didn’t need to be told which room it was. I could feel it.

The pain seeped through the door before I even reached it—sharp, suffocating, like a scream without sound. My wolf stirred uneasily beneath my skin, bristling, restless, aching. It was as if the sickness inside was already pressing outward, demanding to be felt.

Fear coated the air too—not mine, but theirs. Whoever was inside, whoever was watching over Toren’s second beta, their emotions rolled off them in choking waves. Fear. Desperation. Grief.

Even Toren’s grip on my hand was tighter than usual. For all his strength, all his control, there was a tremor in him, subtle but undeniable. His wolf’s unease bled through his dominance, like a storm rumbling beneath a mountain that still stood tall.

But me?

I wasn’t afraid.

I had to do this.

My chin lifted, shoulders squaring as though some unseen thread pulled me upright. The words left my lips before I had time to second-guess them.

“Open the door.”

Toren stopped, head turning sharply toward me. His eyes searched mine—intense, probing, like he was trying to read every thought I hadn’t spoken aloud. What he saw there… I couldn’t name it, but I knew it was enough. His thumb brushed once across my knuckles, a silent anchor, before he gave a single, heavy nod.

And together, we stepped inside.

The air changed instantly. Stale sweat, blood, and the sour rot of sickness hit me in a wave. Wolves weren’t supposed to smell like this. Wolves healed fast, stronger than humans could ever dream. This smell—the smell of decay—didn’t belong to us.

The curtains were drawn, choking the room in half-light. A single lamp burned on the nightstand, its glow stretching shadows across the figure sprawled on the bed.

Toren’s hand tightened on mine before he spoke. His voice was low, heavy with a weight I hadn’t heard from him before.

“This is my second beta,” he said, stepping closer to the bedside. His jaw flexed, eyes narrowing with restrained fury. “His name is Talon.”

The name carried strength, sharp and commanding—even here, when its bearer looked so fragile it hurt to see.

Talon’s breaths came ragged and shallow, each inhale a battle, each exhale weaker than the last. Sweat dampened his dark hair, plastering it to his forehead, and his skin was pale, lips tinged with gray. The man who should have been a wall at Toren’s side was instead crumbling before us.

Two wolves stood vigil nearby—a warrior with squared shoulders and a kitchen woman wringing her hands. Both lowered their gazes the instant Toren entered. Their fear clung to the air, mingled with grief so raw it made the room feel heavier.

My wolf bristled beneath my skin, restless, urging me forward. Every fiber of me screamed to move closer, to reach him, to do something. But instinct wasn’t enough—not here, not with Toren watching.

I turned to him, my voice soft but steady. “May I… touch him?”

Toren’s head snapped toward me, startled. For a moment, silence filled the room, taut and waiting. His wolf hovered close to the surface—I could feel it in the sharp edge of his gaze, the faint growl rumbling in his chest.

He searched my face, weighing something I couldn’t name. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Only with my permission,” he said, his voice low, rough with possession. “And you have it.”

Relief loosened the tightness in my chest. I dipped my chin in acknowledgment, then turned back toward Talon, my fingers trembling as I lifted them—ready to begin.

Heat radiated from his skin, fever-hot, and still I didn’t pull away.

“Moon above…” one of the wolves whispered. “She doesn’t even flinch.”

Toren’s growl cut through the air like a whip. “Silence.”

Talon coughed, blood flecking the corner of his mouth. My heart lurched. Without thinking, I pressed my palm flat against his chest.

The room seemed to fall away. My wolf surged, demanding, pouring through me. Suddenly I felt him—felt the sickness gnawing through his lungs, the infection crawling in his veins. Worse, I felt the despair hollowing him out.

I gasped, nearly staggering back. But I didn’t. I leaned in closer, whispering, “You’re not alone. Not anymore.”

Talon’s eyes flickered open, a glimmer of clarity returning.

Toren was a tense wall at my back, but he didn’t stop me. He was watching. Waiting.

I closed my eyes, listening—not with my ears, but deeper. My wolf howled in my chest. *Heal him.*

The pain that wasn’t mine seared through me, sharp and merciless. For a heartbeat, I thought it would tear me apart. Then… it shifted. Poured. Like water flowing out of me into him.

His ragged cough eased. His next breath wasn’t as jagged.

Gasps echoed around us.

I opened my eyes. His color—still faint, still fragile—was returning. His lips weren’t so gray. His eyes weren’t so empty.

“Holy shit…” one of the wolves whispered.

Toren moved closer, his voice low, rough with awe. “Starlight… what are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered, trembling. Tears blurred my vision. “But I can’t stop. I won’t stop.”

Talon’s hand twitched weakly, brushing my wrist. His cracked lips parted, voice hoarse and thin.

“Thank… you.”

The words shattered something in me.

My knees nearly gave out, but Toren caught me, his arm sliding around my waist. “Enough,” he growled—not at me, but at the force draining me. “You’ve given enough.”

Still, I kept my palm pressed to Talon’s chest until his breathing steadied into something more natural.

Finally, I let go.

The room was silent. All eyes were on me—shock, awe, disbelief.

Exhaustion slammed into me, and Toren scooped me into his arms, holding me against his chest. His heartbeat thundered beneath my ear, steady and grounding.

His voice broke the silence, hoarse with something I’d never heard from him before. “Starlight… you just did what no healer could.”