The Banished Shy Luna Chapter 73

The knock came again, softer this time.

I hesitated before calling out, “It’s open.”

The door eased inward with a low creak, revealing a small woman dressed in the resort’s black-and-white uniform. She had a neat braid coiled at the base of her neck and a folded stack of towels balanced in her arms. Her smile was tired but polite.

“Good evening, ma’am,” she said, her voice light and accented. “Housekeeping. I’m here to change the bedding and refresh your towels.”

“Oh,” I blinked, surprised. “Of course. Come in.”

She slipped inside with quiet grace, setting the towels on the dresser before moving to the bed. Her hands worked quickly, practiced motions of folding and tucking, the faint scent of detergent following her.

“How’s your day going?” I asked, just to fill the silence.

She looked up, startled by the question, then gave a small, shy smile. “Long. Busy. The Alphas’ gathering always makes such a mess. So many rooms, so much to clean.”

I smiled faintly, turning to open the balcony door. “I can imagine. It must be exhausting.”

She chuckled softly. “It is, but… I don’t mind. It keeps me busy.”

The evening air rushed in, cool against my skin. For a moment, everything felt normal—peaceful, even. I leaned against the railing, letting the wind carry away the leftover ache in my body.

Then she spoke again, voice softer this time.

“You seem kind,” she said. “I like that.”

Something in her tone made me glance back. She was standing perfectly still, one hand clutching the edge of the blanket. Her eyes met mine—wide, glassy, conflicted.

“I really like you,” she whispered. “And I hate that I have to do this.”

A sharp click sliced through the air.

I turned slowly.

The maid stood at the foot of the bed, both hands trembling around the grip of a small black pistol. Her knuckles were white, her eyes swimming with guilt.

“I’m sorry,” she said, voice breaking. “I have to.”

My heart lurched. “What are you doing?”

She swallowed hard, the gun wavering slightly but never lowering. “Alpha Lucas offered me money—more than I’ve ever seen—to make sure you’re dead by sundown.”

Alpha Lucas.

The name slammed into me like a physical hit. The last Alpha I’d humiliated in public council, the one who’d sworn I’d pay for it.

I didn’t panic. Not yet. Instead, I reached through the bond.

Toren, I whispered silently. Danger. Room. Now.

His response was immediate, sharp like static—On my way.

I pulled back before the link could give me away.

The maid’s voice wavered again. “I didn’t want this. I swear I didn’t.”

“Then don’t do it,” I said carefully, raising my hands just slightly. “You don’t have to.”

Tears gathered in her lashes. “You don’t understand. I don’t have a choice.”

“Everyone has a choice.”

She shook her head, lips trembling. “Not when someone you love is dying.”

I frowned, stalling for time. “Who?”

“My mother,” she whispered. “She’s been sick for weeks. The Council’s doctor said he won’t treat her unless I pay him. I don’t have that kind of money. Not even close.”

“Why is she sick?” I asked, inching slightly to the side, careful not to make her jump. “Tell me.”

Her grip on the gun faltered just a little. “She… she went hunting. The food rations ran out last month. The forest by the river—it’s forbidden, but she went anyway.”

“The forbidden forest,” I echoed. “The one the elders warded off?”

She nodded miserably. “Yes. She brought back a deer, shared it with the neighbors. But she was the one who killed it, and now she’s the only one who got sick. The others are fine.”

I could see the guilt pulling her apart from the inside out. Her shoulders shook, and the gun wavered again.

“She’s dying,” the maid said in a broken whisper. “And I can’t help her. But Alpha Lucas said if I do this—if I kill you—he’ll pay for her care. The medicine. Everything.”

Her eyes flooded. “So you die, and I get to save her.”

The room was silent except for the sound of my heart pounding in my ears.

I took a slow step forward. “What’s your name?”

Her jaw trembled. “…Sarai.”

“Sarai,” I repeated gently. “You don’t have to do this. You’ve already been used once—don’t let him use you again.”

Her lower lip quivered. “If I don’t, she’ll die.”

A shadow at the doorway, a presence behind her that registered in me like a wall. The gun clattered from her hands and skittered across the floor—Toren had stepped in behind her so fast his shoulder blocked her aim. He’d not even touched her; he’d simply occupied the angle her elbow needed, and the shot missed everything.

Sarai froze, hands falling to her knees. Toren’s voice as he stepped forward was low, coiled. “Don’t.”

Talon followed through the doorway, eyes flaring with alarm. Both of them moved like guardians; both moved with the dangerous ease of wolves who could end a life without ceremony.

Sarai’s knees hit the carpet. “I didn’t want to,” she choked. “He said if I do this—if I make it look like an accident—he’ll pay. He… he’ll pay for the doctor. Please. My mother—”

Something in the room shifted. I saw Talon bend, pick the pistol up with gloved fingers, flip the safety on, and set it down out of reach. He didn’t look triumphant; he looked sick.

“Alpha Lucas,” Talon said under his breath. “He’d do this.”

A pounding at the door cut through the quiet and then the room exploded with more motion: the door banged inward and a figure filled it—Tyson, hulking and wild, moving like an animal on a scent. Elder Thora was right behind him, robes flaring, silver eyes like knives.

Tyson’s presence was ruin and thunder. He took in the scene in one violent glance: the gun, Sarai collapsed on her knees, Toren looming, Talon tense at his side. Fury carved his features into something terrible. He took two strides and would have closed the distance if I hadn’t stepped forward.

“Tyson—” Toren started, a warning tighten in his voice, but Tyson’s hand was already half-raised, hunting for violence.

“Step aside,” Tyson snarled at me. “This is a threat.” His jaw quivered; his whole body vibrated with barely contained force. He looked like he wanted to tear the room apart.

I shoved my fear down like a stone and planted my feet between him and Sarai. The room seemed to hold its breath.

“She’s not a threat,” I said, voice steady even though every word felt like walking a blade. “She’s scared. She was trying to save her mother.”

Tyson stopped mid-stride as if someone had struck him. For a heartbeat, his eyes flickered—not with the usual animal heat, but with something like recognition, as if my words had bumped against a memory. Guilt—small and quick—flickered across his hard face. 

Elder Thora moved between us with the authority of a storm. “We will decide her fate after we confirm the attempt and the instigator. For the moment,” she said, eyes sweeping Tyson like a judge, “no one harms this woman.”