The Banished Shy Luna Chapter 94

By the time the conversation quieted again, I thought — foolishly — that we were done. I’d already learned about leadership, healing, culture, balance… all the things that made being a Luna sound like a full-time job with no days off.

So of course, I made the mistake of asking the one question guaranteed to jinx the peace.

“Is there anything else I should know?”

The car went still. The twins exchanged a look. Toren glanced at Tyson in the rearview mirror. And Tyson—oh, that bastard—grinned like a wolf who’d just found an unguarded chicken coop.

“Just a few more things,” he said casually.

I groaned, sinking back into the seat. “Why do I feel like I’m going to regret asking that?”

“Because you are,” Talon murmured helpfully.

Tyson leaned forward, his voice all smug confidence. “Let’s start with this—you're also the Training Overseer for the females.”

I blinked. “The what?”

Shyanne perked up. “Oh, that’s the fun one!”

Marianne snorted. “Yeah, if your idea of fun is refereeing a bunch of hormonal wolves with claws.”

I frowned. “You’re both really bad at selling this.”

Toren chuckled under his breath. “It means you’ll oversee the training regimens for the female warriors, hunters, and healers. You’ll help ensure they’re protected and skilled enough to defend themselves and the pack.”

“So… like a commander?”

“Exactly,” Tyson said. “They’ll report to you. You’ll work with the head trainer to approve drills, schedules, sparring pairings, and discipline if they step out of line.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Discipline?”

Talon smirked. “Don’t worry, that just means making them run laps or scrub floors. Usually.”

“Usually?” I repeated, narrowing my eyes.

Tyson shrugged. “Depends on the offense. You catch someone sneaking into a mated Alpha’s bed again, I say let the Luna decide the punishment.”

Marianne choked on a laugh. “Tyson!”

“What?” he said innocently. “I’m all for empowering women.”

“By letting me deal with your drama?” I shot back.

He flashed me a wicked grin. “Exactly.”

Before I could respond, Toren cleared his throat. “You’ll also coordinate the female scouts.”

I turned to him. “Scouts?”

“Those are our informants and border runners,” Toren explained. “They monitor threats, gather intelligence, and track rogue activity beyond the pack’s borders. The female scouts tend to blend better among humans or other packs. You’ll oversee their movements, assign missions, and debrief them when they return.”

That one actually made me pause. “So… I get my own spy network?”

Tyson smirked. “Congratulations, Luna. You’re now in charge of the Pack’s Secret Service.”

Talon laughed. “Yeah, but with fewer suits and a lot more claws.”

I gave them both a flat look. “Great. So I’m the Alpha Babysitter, Spiritual Counselor, and Wolf Commander. Anything else?”

“Actually,” Toren said evenly, “you’re also our public representative.”

I sighed. “Of course I am.”

He continued, ignoring my sarcasm. “You’ll attend meetings with the human council, appear at inter-pack events, and handle negotiations with shifter territories when the three of us can’t be there.”

I frowned. “Wait—me? Talking to humans?”

He nodded. “Yes. You’re the bridge between the human world and ours. Your empathy makes you approachable. And the pack needs that. Most humans are wary of us — they see the beasts before they see the people. You’ll change that.”

Tyson leaned forward again, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’ll be the face they trust — all soft eyes and sweet words while we’re in the background making sure no one gets any ideas about hurting you.”

Shyanne grinned. “Think of it like being an ambassador with bite.”

Marianne added, “And a wardrobe upgrade. You’ll need something nice for council dinners. The Luna has to look radiant while the Alphas glower menacingly in the corner.”

“Fantastic,” I muttered. “I get to be diplomatic and fashionable. Anything else before I start drafting my resignation letter?”

Talon cleared his throat, almost apologetic. “Actually, there’s one more thing.”

“Of course there is.”

He gave me a sheepish smile. “You’re the Oathkeeper.”

I blinked at him. “The what now?”

Toren’s voice softened. “It means you witness and seal oaths — warrior pledges, alliances, mating vows. Once you bless an oath, it can’t be broken without your consent.”

I frowned. “What happens if someone does break it?”

Tyson’s grin was dark and sharp. “They bleed for it.”

“Tyson,” Toren warned.

“What?” he said with a shrug. “She deserves honesty.”

Talon sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “He’s right, though. A broken Luna-sealed oath calls down the old magic — it turns on the one who betrayed it. It’s… not pleasant.”

“How not pleasant?” I asked cautiously.

Marianne’s voice was quiet. “They say it feels like your soul catches fire.”

I sat back, processing that. “So… I’m the judge, jury, and executioner of promises?”

Tyson smirked. “See? You’re catching on fast.”

“Wonderful,” I muttered. “Remind me to stop asking questions.”

Toren chuckled lowly. “You wanted to understand your place. This is part of it. The Luna isn’t a figurehead, Kira. She’s the law’s compassion and its final edge.”

His words lingered in the car, heavier than I expected. For a long moment, no one said anything. The hum of the road filled the silence again, steady and endless.

Finally, I exhaled, giving them a small, tired smile. “So… let me get this straight. I run the female warriors, command spies, smile for the humans, swear in half the population, and occasionally set people’s souls on fire if they cross me?”

Talon grinned. “Pretty much, yeah.”

Shyanne laughed. “And you thought our jobs were hard.”

Tyson smirked, his voice a low rumble. “Admit it, Moon. You kind of like it.”

I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at my lips. “Maybe a little.”

“Good,” Toren said, that faint spark of pride flickering in his gaze. “Because that’s only the beginning.”

The convoy slowed as the smell of grease, coffee, and fried everything wafted through the cracked car windows. We’d pulled into a small roadside diner — the kind with flickering neon lights and a sign that said “Open 24 Hours” like it was both a promise and a threat.

The parking lot filled quickly with our pack’s SUVs and trucks. Warriors climbed out first, stretching their arms, cracking jokes, or scanning the area out of habit.

Tyson leaned forward from his seat behind me, the edge of his breath brushing my ear. “Time for lunch, Cupcake,” he said with a smirk. Then, before I could respond, he pressed a quick kiss to my cheek and swung the door open.