The Banished Shy Luna Chapter 67

The dream took me like fire.

I wasn’t in the hotel anymore—I was standing barefoot in a forest, the moon above swollen and blood-red, dripping light like spilled wine. The trees loomed like sentinels, shadows writhing between their roots. And from those shadows, I felt him before I saw him.

Tyson.

He emerged like a predator, tall and broad, every inch of him feral. The resemblance to Toren and Talon was there—the sharpness of their jaw, the wide shoulders—but his presence was darker. Harder. His hair was longer, unkempt, his mouth curled in something savage. His eyes burned golden, molten with hunger.

“My Moon,” he rasped, voice like gravel dragged over stone. “I’ve been looking for you for years.”

He moved fast—too fast—and his hand was suddenly on my jaw, tilting my face up. His touch wasn’t careful; it was claiming, rough, as though daring me to pull away. My breath stuttered, but my body… my body leaned in.

“I don’t care that they touched you first,” Tyson growled, his mouth brushing the shell of my ear. “I don’t care if I have to share. You’re mine. You’ll always be mine.”

Heat shot straight to my core at the way he said it—like a vow carved in stone. His hand slid down, dragging over my throat, my collarbone, my stomach, until he cupped me through my thin shorts. A broken gasp escaped me.

“Tyson—”

His mouth crashed down on mine, brutal and hungry. It wasn’t a kiss. It was a war. His teeth bit, his tongue dominated, and I melted and resisted all at once. He pinned me back against a tree, his hips grinding into mine, the thick ridge of him already straining.

“You feel that?” he snarled against my lips. “That’s for you. Always for you. No other woman has ever had me this hard.”

I whimpered when his teeth sank into my throat, sucking hard enough to bruise. His other hand shoved my shorts down, his fingers rough and demanding as they slid against my soaked core. I moaned—loud, desperate—and his growl shook through me.

“Fuck, My Moon,” he groaned, dragging his mouth down my chest, biting marks into my skin as though carving his name. “You taste like sin.”

When his fingers slipped inside me, I cried out, my back arching, nails clawing at his shoulders. He was merciless, stroking me hard, fast, relentless. His thumb circled my clit with brutal precision until I was shaking.

“Say my name,” he demanded, voice low and dangerous. “Scream it, My Moon. Let them all hear who owns you.”

“Tyson!” I screamed, convulsing around his fingers, the orgasm ripping through me so violently my vision went white. He didn’t stop—he fingered me through it, biting my breast, leaving marks that stung and burned.

“You’re mine,” he hissed, lips smeared with my taste. “They can share you, but don’t ever forget—you’re mine first.”

And then—

I woke.

But it wasn’t just a dream.

Tyson stood at the edge of the bed. His golden eyes glowed in the dim hotel light, feral and intense. He looked every bit as wild as in my vision, only now he was real. His scarred hand lifted, thumb brushing my cheek, rough but achingly tender.

“My Moon,” he murmured. “Even your dreams can’t keep me away.”

My heart tripped hard against my ribs. I didn’t know if I wanted to fly into him or hide beneath the blanket. I did neither. I held his gaze.

Voices bled in from the adjoining room—low at first, then sharpening.

“She’s mine.” Toren—steel-wrapped, frayed at the edges. “This bond never should have been split like this.”

“And she’s mine,” Talon shot back, words tight with control he was wrestling to keep. “You feel it same as I do. We’re not fighting her—we’re fighting the truth.”

I flinched. Tyson didn’t. He turned toward the door, head tilting slightly, listening like a wolf catching a change in wind.

“You’re both wasting your breath,” he said, not loudly, but the words carried like a blade laid on a table. “The pack will be stronger with three fronts as one. Three Alphas. One Luna. One mind.”

Silence answered. The silence of men who had thought it and tried not to. Tyson’s jaw ticked once. He looked back at me and—there it was again—that feral tenderness I hadn’t known could exist. He wasn’t gentle, but he could be careful. He wasn’t soft, but he could be true.

“You are not a prize,” he said, like he was warning the air before it could insult me. “You are the axis.”

The door opened.

Toren filled the frame first, clean lines and coiled authority and eyes that went straight to me as if I were the only thing in the room. Talon came with him, quieter in step, storm contained behind his pupils. Both of them stopped when they saw Tyson standing close to the bed. Both of them saw my flushed face, my parted lips, the way I hadn’t moved away.

Toren’s jaw tightened; the wolf inside him pressed at the boundary of his skin. Talon’s hand flexed once, on instinct, ready to steady me if I swayed.

Tyson didn’t move. He didn’t smirk. He didn’t taunt. He simply stood as if daring the world to try and move him, then lifted his chin a hair and said, “She dreamt of me.”

Heat lit Toren’s gaze. “We’re not here to compare who got there first.”

“Good,” Tyson returned. “Because that’s not the point. The point is she’s ours, and if we pull in three directions, we tear her in half.”

My throat closed. A hundred different kinds of pressure pressed in—past pain, new want, the weight of futures I’d never been allowed to imagine before now.

Talon looked away first, toward me. “Cupcake,” he asked softly, “are you okay?”

I nodded. It felt like a lie and a truth at once. “I think so.”

Toren stepped in then, slow, eyes flicking over Tyson like measuring an opponent he refused to make an enemy. He came to the bed, sat on the edge, and drew the back of his knuckles down my arm as if reminding my body of his signature.

“Starlight,” he said, low enough that it was only for me. “Whatever happens next, you choose. Not us. You.”

“Choice,” Tyson echoed, like he was tasting the word for poison. “Good. Then choose strength.”

Talon exhaled. “Strength without care is just fear in a prettier coat.”

Tyson’s mouth twitched—the ghost of something like amusement. “Says the brother who apologizes to his own shadow for stepping on it.”

“Enough,” Toren growled, but he wasn’t aiming it at either of them alone. He was aiming it at the thing between them that liked to sharpen itself on old scars.

They all looked at me then. Three sets of eyes. Three different storms. One sky.

“What do you want?” Toren asked.