The Banished Shy Luna Chapter 98

The mood in the car was heavier than before — thick, tense, and silent.

Even the twins, who usually whispered and giggled about everything, sat pressed against each other in the backseat, their eyes fixed on the window. Their hands fidgeted in their laps, and I could smell it — that faint tang of fear. Not terror. Respectful, cautious fear.

When we loaded up, no one said a word. The sound of car doors closing was sharp, final, like the slam of a coffin lid. Toren didn’t speak as he took the front passenger seat beside one of the warriors, his jaw locked tight, his eyes distant. His hands rested on his knees, still faintly stained beneath the nails.

I slid into my seat again, between the twins. I could feel the weight of what none of us were saying pressing down like a stone.

The road stretched endlessly ahead — asphalt and moonlight and too much quiet. For nearly an hour, the only sound was the hum of the tires and the faint whisper of wind through the cracked window.

Then Talon broke the silence.

“So…” he began slowly, his voice low but sharp, like testing a blade. “Why do you have blood under your nails, brother?”

The twins flinched beside me.

Toren didn’t even turn around. He just stared out the window, his expression carved from stone. But the subtle twitch in his jaw said enough.

“Talon,” Tyson said quietly, though his tone carried a lazy edge, “if you’re smart, you’ll let that one go.”

But Talon, ever the stubborn one, didn’t. “No. We’re supposed to be united. No more secrets, remember? That’s what you said. And yet you show up dripping blood and expect us to—”

Toren’s head snapped toward him then, eyes glowing faint gold in the dim cabin light. The look he gave Talon could’ve frozen a wildfire mid-burn.

“Leave. It. Alone.”

Three words. Cold, even. But the weight behind them was lethal.

Talon stiffened, his throat bobbing as he swallowed whatever smart remark was about to follow.

And then, of course, Tyson couldn’t help himself.

He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “Everyone always points at me when they talk about danger,” he said with a smirk. “But between us? Toren’s the one you should really fear. Unhinged when it comes to the people he cares about. It’s… poetic, really.”

Jake — quiet until now, riding shotgun in the back row with Tyson — let out a snort. “Yeah, nothing says ‘romantic protector’ like paintin’ the parking lot red.”

The tension broke, just a little. Talon laughed first, short and sharp. Then Tyson joined him, his laughter loud and dark and contagious. Even the twins giggled nervously.

Everyone laughed — except Toren.

I felt it then — that low, simmering pulse of fury through the bond. He was seconds away from snapping again.

I leaned forward immediately, instinct guiding me before logic could. My arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind, my chest pressing gently to his back. The tension in his muscles was steel at first — unyielding.

Then I kissed the side of his neck. Once. Twice. Three times. Soft, grounding touches.

His breath hitched. The iron stiffness bled out of him little by little. His hands loosened against his knees.

He exhaled slowly, a deep rumble of sound escaping him — not quite a growl, not quite a sigh.

When I rested my head against his shoulder, his eyes closed. And that’s when I saw it.

The vision hit like a memory that wasn’t mine.

Blood. The scent of iron and wet pavement. The alley, cloaked in the orange haze of the diner’s flickering backlight. The waiter stood there, his hands up, trembling but still mouthing off, still smirking like he didn’t understand the danger he was in.

Toren’s wolf was already too close to the surface — I could feel his rage through the echo. He’d heard the human’s words again, the ones that made Tyson freeze and me sick. How much for a night?

The moment the man said it again, Toren moved.

He didn’t shift — not fully. But his claws extended, his fangs flashing as he slammed the waiter against the brick wall. The man’s head cracked hard enough to leave a smear of blood on the bricks. He begged then, or maybe he didn’t — it was all noise. All white heat and motion.

Toren snarled, his voice overlapping with his wolf’s growl, low and guttural. “You don’t get to speak about her!"

Then his claws tore through flesh. A flash of red. A gurgling sound.

The man’s body went limp, sliding down the wall like a marionette with its strings cut.

Toren stood over him for a long moment, chest heaving, the light gone from his golden eyes. When he finally looked down at his bloodied hands, there was no satisfaction — only silence. A quiet kind of horror that came from doing what he’d sworn never to do again.

Then he cleaned his claws with that rag — calm, deliberate, efficient. The Alpha, not the beast.

And when I stepped out into the alley, the look he gave me wasn’t anger or pride. It was exhaustion.

My chest tightened as the vision faded, replaced with the steady rhythm of the car. My fingers brushed over the back of his neck where his pulse beat strong beneath his skin.

He didn’t open his eyes, but his hand reached up to squeeze mine.

Through the bond, I sent only one thought. *You did what you thought you had to.*

He didn’t respond aloud, but I felt it — the faint warmth of agreement.

Outside, the road stretched ahead, endless and quiet, the horizon bleeding into dawn.

No one said another word.

But in the reflection of the glass, I saw the faintest trace of crimson still beneath Toren’s nails.

And I knew one thing for certain — whatever waited for us at the estate, it wasn’t peace.