The Banished Shy Luna Chapter 95

The convoy rolled to a stop in front of a small roadside diner, its flickering sign reading:

“Daisy’s Diner – Home of the World’s Best Pie.”

The kind of place that smelled like old coffee, burnt bacon, and too many secrets.

Tyson leaned forward from the back seat, voice low and teasing. “Time for lunch, Cupcake.”

Before I could reply, he brushed a quick kiss against my cheek and jumped out, his boots crunching against gravel.

I hesitated before following him out. The second my feet hit the ground, it hit me—the smell.

Humans.

It was sharp, sour, and thick. Sweat, perfume, oil, and something faintly metallic.

My nose wrinkled. My wolf recoiled instantly, pressing against my ribs like it wanted out.

Shyanne snorted softly beside me. “You’ll get used to it.”

“I’d rather not,” I muttered, covering my nose.

Toren’s calm voice carried over the rumble of shutting car doors. “It happens from time to time. We make appearances—once a month maybe—to remind the humans we still exist. Keeps them from getting curious about the borders.”

I nodded, even though the thought of having to smell this more than once in a lifetime made my stomach turn.

When we entered the diner, the tiny bell over the door jingled and conversation immediately died. Every head turned. It was like walking into a deer pen—every human stiffened, sensing predators among them.

The air was heavy with curiosity and unease. I could taste it.

Toren led the way toward a booth tucked into the back corner. Talon flanked my left, Tyson my right, and the twins followed behind. The rest of the pack filed in smoothly, taking up tables nearby—an organized wave of dominance and silence that filled every available inch of space.

We slid into the booth. I was in the middle, the twins on either side, and the Alphas forming an unspoken protective wall.

It wasn’t subtle—but it was effective.

A handful of waiters and waitresses appeared, each taking a table.

Ours was male. Of course.

He looked about mid-twenties, tallish and lanky, with slicked-back hair and a uniform that had seen better days. His nametag hung half off, and he reeked of cigarettes, cheap cologne, and stale beer.

“Afternoon,” he said, his tone flat and uninterested as he flipped open a notepad. “What can I get y’all started with?”

Toren’s response was clipped, efficient. “Four rare steaks. Potatoes. Vegetables. Coffee. Black.”

The waiter scribbled, barely looking up. “Okay.”

Tyson leaned forward, his voice smooth but sharp around the edges. “Same for me. But tell the cook—if it’s not still bleeding, I’m sending it back.”

A half-hearted grunt. “Okay.”

Talon grinned, leaning an elbow on the table. “Cheeseburger. Extra bacon. Fries. And a chocolate milkshake.”

The waiter gave him a weird look but just wrote it down. “Sure thing.”

Then his gaze drifted to the twins, and the sleazy smile slid into place.

“Well now,” he said, tone shifting to something syrupy, “what about you two pretty ladies?”

Shyanne arched a brow. “Chicken sandwich. No mayo.”

Marianne smirked. “Grilled cheese and fries. Extra crispy.”

“Coming right up,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “You ever try the pie here? You’d love it—sweet, messy, and unforgettable.”

Shyanne’s nose wrinkled. Marianne just stared him down until he looked away.

But then he turned to me.

And the whole energy changed.

His smile stretched wider, almost oily. “And what about you, sweetheart?”

My jaw tightened. “Steak. Rare. Potatoes.”

He leaned a little closer, bracing one hand on the table. “A girl who knows what she wants. I like that.”

The shift was instant.

Toren’s claws slid halfway out under the table. His entire body tensed, dominance rippling in waves through the booth. Tyson’s breathing deepened, the muscles in his jaw ticking like he was seconds away from snapping the man’s neck. Even Talon went still, his usual smile faltering.

“Hey,” Talon murmured under his breath, reaching across to grab Toren’s wrist. “Not here. He’s not worth it.”

Toren’s voice was low, dangerous. “He’s staring at my mate.”

“And if you tear his head off, we’ll have humans sniffing around our borders for weeks,” Talon countered quietly. “Let it go.”

Behind me, I caught a faint metallic scent—Tyson had dug his claws into his own thigh to keep from acting.

The waiter, oblivious to the fact that he was seconds away from being dismembered, chuckled. “You got a boyfriend, sweetheart?”

I turned my gaze on him then—cold, unblinking, sharp enough to cut glass. “You should probably stop talking before I make you swallow your own tongue.”

The words hung in the air like a blade. Conversations around us died again. The twins froze beside me, half-shocked, half-impressed.

The waiter blinked, then chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “Feisty one, huh? Playing hard to get?”

My wolf snarled low in my chest, the sound almost inaudible—but every shifter in the diner froze.

I smiled sweetly. “No. Just playing ‘don’t die stupidly.’”

The twins both hid their laughter behind their hands.

Talon’s grin returned, sharp and dangerous. “I’d take her seriously, man.”

The waiter’s eyes darted between us, his forced bravado fading. “R-right. I’ll, uh… get that started.” He scribbled the last note and practically stumbled away.

As soon as he disappeared behind the counter, the tension broke.

Tyson wiped the blood from his leg with a napkin and muttered, “You handled that well, Cupcake. Next time, though, I’m breaking his wrist.”

“Relax,” I said, leaning back. “He’s not worth it.”

Toren’s low growl rumbled across the table. “He’s lucky you think that.”

“Remind me,” I said, setting down the menu, “not to bring any of you into public again.”

Talon grinned. “And we’ve officially traumatized the staff. Nice teamwork, everyone.”

I couldn’t help it—I laughed. For the first time since entering the diner, the knot in my chest loosened.

Humans still smelled awful. The air still felt wrong. But between the laughter, the low growls, and the quiet heat of the bond humming under my skin—

for the first time, I didn’t feel out of place.

This was my chaos.

My pack.

And if that waiter tried one more clever comment when he brought my food, he’d learn the hard way exactly what a Luna could do.