The Banished Shy Luna Chapter 90

By the time the first rays of sunlight sliced through the heavy hotel curtains, I’d already been awake for hours.

Sleep had been impossible. Between the echoes of Toren’s voice in my dreams and the steady heartbeat of the bond humming inside me, rest felt like a luxury I couldn’t reach. So, instead, I’d busied myself packing—folding shirts, tucking away my boots, double-checking my knives.

The twins—Shyanne and Marianne—were helping, though helping was a generous term. Mostly, they were talking over each other, arguing about everything from logistics to breakfast to who had better taste in clothes.

“No, I’m telling you,” Shyanne said, holding up one of my black tops. “You can’t just throw everything into a bag like that. There’s an art to packing light.”

Marianne snorted. “Light? You’ve got half your closet in there. The only thing ‘light’ about you is your patience.”

Shyanne rolled her eyes. “Please, I’m the only reason this bag isn’t exploding.”

I sighed, tucking another folded shirt into my duffel. “Do you two ever stop arguing?”

They both turned in unison, identical smirks spreading across their faces. “Nope,” they said together.

The room was a mess of open bags, and leftover papers scattered from last night’s planning. The three Alphas had been arguing since sunrise too—Toren about logistics, Tyson about security, and Talon about what food to bring, apparently. Their deep voices rumbled through the adjoining suite like distant thunder.

“I swear, if they don’t stop soon, I’m going to shove a pillow in someone’s mouth,” I muttered.

Marianne laughed. “My money’s on you doing it, honestly.”

Shyanne grinned. “My bet’s on Tyson being the first one to push you that far.”

“Don’t tempt me,” I said dryly, zipping my bag shut. “They’re all impossible. It’s like three storms fighting for control of the same sky.”

Marianne chuckled and handed me a fresh stack of folded clothes. “You’re not wrong.” Then, after a pause, she tilted her head curiously. “Are you excited? To see the estate, I mean.”

I froze mid-motion, my hand hovering over the zipper.

“Excited?” I repeated, then smiled a little, though it felt shaky. “Maybe. Nervous too. I don’t really know what to expect. ‘Home’ isn’t exactly a word I’ve been able to use freely for a while.”

Shyanne’s expression softened. “It’s a lot to take in. You’ve been through more in the past few weeks than most wolves handle in a lifetime.”

“Yeah,” I murmured, rubbing the bond mark on my collarbone absently. “You could say that.”

A quiet moment stretched between us—until my curiosity got the better of me.

“Hey,” I said, turning to face them fully. “Last night, Toren said something about Tyson and his rogues. I didn’t want to interrupt, but… what did he mean by that?”

The twins exchanged a look—the kind of silent conversation that only siblings can have.

Shyanne was the first to speak. “It’s complicated.”

Marianne nodded in agreement. “Very complicated.”

I arched an eyebrow. “You’ve both met me. Complicated doesn’t scare me. Start talking.”

Shyanne sighed, running a hand through her chestnut hair. “Alright. You know how every wolf belongs to a pack—how the hierarchy’s structured with an Alpha, Beta, and sometimes a Luna?”

I nodded.

“Well,” she continued, “when a wolf rejects their Alpha, abandons their pack, or commits something serious enough to be banished, they become a rogue. Most don’t last long. Without a pack bond, their instincts go wild. They lose stability—some even lose sanity.”

Marianne leaned against the dresser, her voice quieter. “Alpha Lucas should’ve been one of them. He broke Council law, turned against his own pack. But his father’s name and power kept him from being branded rogue—officially, anyway. He’s the kind of monster that thrives on chaos. A rogue in everything but title.”

“Okay,” I said slowly. “But how does that connect to Tyson?”

Shyanne exhaled, glancing toward the door like she was making sure Tyson wasn’t within earshot. “Tyson’s… different. When he left the pack years ago, it wasn’t because he was exiled. He walked away. Said he didn’t want the politics, didn’t want to rule or fight over territory. He just—”

“—wanted freedom,” Marianne finished softly. “And wolves like that? They draw others. The ones who don’t fit. The lost, the broken, the angry. Before long, Tyson had a following—rogues who listened to him.”

Shyanne nodded. “They started calling him their Alpha. Not officially at first, but word spread fast. And now? There’s a whole network of rogues out there who answer to Tyson’s call. He doesn’t talk about it much, but it’s real. He’s… basically the Alpha of the rogue pack, whether he wanted it or not.”

I blinked, trying to process that. “Wait—you’re saying Tyson runs a pack of rogues?”

Marianne shrugged. “He wouldn’t phrase it like that. But yeah. They’d die for him. Most of them already have.”

Shyanne frowned. “Thing is, he never wanted the Alpha title. He could’ve claimed it officially when he left, built a sanctioned pack under Council rule. But Tyson hates rules. Hates being tied down. So he stays in that gray area—an Alpha without a territory, a leader without a throne.”

I leaned back against the wall, absorbing their words. “And Toren doesn’t like that?”

“Not even a little,” Shyanne said with a half-smile. “Toren’s old-school. Packs should be structured, controlled, balanced. Tyson’s chaos in leather boots. The two of them have been clashing over it for years.”

Marianne chuckled under her breath. “It’s funny, though—Tyson’s rogues might be the reason you’re all still breathing. He’s got eyes everywhere. If Lucas is planning something, Tyson will know first.”

I blinked. “That explains the way Toren asked him last night—like it was more than curiosity.”

“Yeah,” Shyanne said. “He wasn’t just asking about rogues. He was asking if Tyson’s army is ready.”

A chill ran down my spine at the phrasing. An army.

The thought of Tyson commanding an entire network of outcasts—wolves who killed and bled under no law—sent an uneasy ripple through me.

My voice came out quieter than I expected. “If Tyson’s an Alpha… and Toren’s an Alpha… and Talon’s—well, Talon…”

Marianne grinned. “Talon’s Talon.”

I couldn’t help a small laugh, shaking my head. “What happens to me in all this? What am I supposed to be?”

Shyanne tilted her head thoughtfully. “You mean as their mate?”

I hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. As their Luna.”

The room went quiet then, all the easy humor fading. Both twins exchanged another look, something unreadable passing between them.

Finally, Marianne spoke, her voice almost reverent. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

And that was where it ended—hanging heavy in the air, like a spark waiting to catch flame.