The Banished Shy Luna Chapter 89

Tyson barked a laugh while Toren pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like a curse.

Talon blinked innocently. “What? It’s a fair question. If we’re going home, I need to know if we’re—you know—sharing a room or—”

“Or what?” I cut in, crossing my arms. “You need your own pillow fort?”

Tyson laughed harder, and even Toren’s stern façade cracked with the faintest smirk.

But Talon wasn’t joking. He scratched the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish. “I just… I like knowing where I fit, that’s all.”

The words tugged at something softer inside me. He wasn’t trying to be difficult; he just needed reassurance. They all did, in their own way.

Still, I rolled my eyes, unable to resist. “You three are mine,” I said finally, voice steady. “All of you. But if you keep this up, I might start making you sleep in shifts.”

Tyson grinned. “I call the first shift.”

“Not what I meant.”

Toren sighed, shaking his head as if he were scolding a pair of unruly pups. “You’ll be the death of me, all of you,” he muttered.

I smiled faintly, even through the exhaustion creeping over me. The tension had eased, if only slightly. For now, that was enough.

Toren straightened then, his Alpha presence filling the space again. “Get some rest,” he said firmly. “Tomorrow, we start over. No more hiding. No more reacting. We take back what’s ours.”

When Toren announced that we’d be leaving tomorrow, I felt something inside me settle. Finally. No more waiting, no more reacting, no more pacing the same marble floors like caged beasts.

We were going home.

I didn’t know what “home” meant anymore, but at least it wasn’t this.

By the time I finally crawled into the massive California king bed, the room had gone quiet except for the steady hum of the air conditioning and the faint shuffle of movement behind me. I lifted the heavy blankets, sliding beneath the soft charcoal sheets, my body sinking into the mattress with a groan.

The exhaustion hit me the moment the tension left the room. My body felt heavy—bones aching, muscles humming with the leftover buzz of adrenaline and dominance. My throat burned faintly from growling so much, and my mind was a whirlwind of images I couldn’t quite sort out—Nicole’s sneer, Toren’s calm authority, Tyson’s grin, Talon’s guilt.

The scent of them hung in the air—pine, smoke, and storm—rich and comforting.

Toren slipped in beside me first, his warmth radiating like a steady furnace on my left. He said nothing, but his hand brushed my side, the gesture small, grounding. On my right, Tyson climbed in, his movements slower, his scent—cedar and smoke—wrapping around me instantly.

For the first time all day, I felt… safe.

Until I looked up.

Talon stood at the edge of the bed, still shirtless, still barefoot, staring down at us like he didn’t belong there. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—those soft stormy gray eyes—looked broken.

He shifted on his feet, trying to hide it behind that easy smirk he used when he didn’t want to show what he felt. But it didn’t work. Not this time.

Toren started to say something, his voice low and sharp. “If you’re going to stand there brooding all night—”

“Don’t,” I interrupted softly, my tone sharper than I intended.

Toren’s mouth closed with an audible click.

I sighed, pushed the blankets down, and patted the space between my legs. “Come here, Talon.”

His head snapped up, startled. “What—?”

“Don’t argue with me,” I said gently, but firmly. “Just come here.”

Tyson let out a low, rumbling growl that vibrated against my ribs. It wasn’t anger—more like territorial frustration—but he didn’t say a word. He just shifted slightly closer to me, his body heat spiking.

Talon hesitated for a heartbeat longer, then finally exhaled and moved forward. The mattress dipped under his weight as he crawled up, careful not to crowd me. When he settled, his head came to rest on my stomach, his breath warm against my skin. His arms slid around one of my thighs, holding on—not possessive, but desperate, like he needed the contact to remind himself he still belonged.

My hand found his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands as I let out a slow breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

Toren shifted beside us, his big hand coming to rest just above Talon’s head, his thumb brushing idly through his brother’s hair once before stilling. Tyson reached for my other hand, his fingers intertwining with mine, thumb tracing small circles against my palm.

For a long moment, none of us spoke. The air was thick with warmth and exhaustion and something else—connection.

It was strange at first, all three of them touching me in different ways, their energies brushing against mine like overlapping waves. But the longer I lay there, the more it changed.

The chaos smoothed out.

The dissonance faded.

And for the first time, it fit.

The Alpha strength. The wild passion. The protective silence.

Three wolves, one heartbeat.

The steady rhythm of their breathing pulled me under, my eyelids fluttering shut. The world faded into a soft hum, the weight of the day finally sliding off my shoulders.

Tyson shifted slightly, brushing his thumb along my hand again. “You’re really set on leaving tomorrow?” he asked quietly.

Toren hummed in response, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Yes. We’ve stayed still too long. Every day we sit here, the Council gains more ground. Lucas isn’t going to wait forever.”

“Lucas,” Tyson muttered, his tone dark. “He won’t get far. Not if my rogues catch wind of him.”

Talon groaned softly, his voice muffled against my stomach. “Tyson’s rogues again… you really trust them?”

Tyson smirked. “They’ve saved my ass more than once. They may not be clean, but they’re loyal.”

Toren’s tone turned sharper. “Loyal? To you, maybe. But rogues are unpredictable. We can’t risk them near the estate until we know their true allegiance.”

“They answer to me,” Tyson shot back. “And if I tell them to protect Kira, they will.”

The sound of my name in his voice sent a small flutter through me, but I stayed quiet, too tired to intervene.

Toren’s sigh was heavy. “That’s not enough. If we bring them in, they follow our rules. No more wild cards. No more ghosts with knives for morals.”

Tyson’s laugh was low and humorless. “You forget, big brother, I was one of those ghosts once.”

“Exactly,” Toren said.

For a few seconds, nothing but the soft sound of Talon’s breathing filled the space. His head rose and fell with my chest, the motion steady and soothing.

“Tyson,” Toren said again after a long pause, quieter this time. “Your pack of rogues… what’s their status?”

The silence that followed was tense. Tyson’s thumb froze against my palm, his grip tightening slightly.

He didn’t answer right away.

And that was the last thing I heard before sleep finally claimed me.