The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven novel Chapter 187

Chapter 187: Confronting Brackham

Draven.

I sat behind my wide oak desk, the polished surface catching threads of pale morning light that crept in through tall windows.

The air in my study smelled faintly of old parchment, leather bindings, and the sharp tang of ink.

But beneath it, there was something else: the simmer of rage I’d been forcing myself to keep contained.

I didn’t even have the appetite to eat properly earlier, as I usually did in my mornings—all because of this fucking hell hole called Duskmoor.

Jeffery stood across from me, holding out a thin sheaf of papers. A list of our people—wolves I had sworn to protect—who had nearly vanished off the face of this cursed city because of humans who thought they could hunt us like cattle.

I took the pages from him, the weight of the thin stack feeling far heavier than it looked. Each line told a story: an alley, a public restroom, a cab ride that nearly ended in chains.

My thumb pressed into the paper as I scanned the familiar names, jaw clenching tighter with every testimony.

"Scan them," I ordered, voice low and controlled despite the burn in my chest. "And send the file to Brackham."

"Yes, Alpha," Jeffery said without hesitation.

He moved to the side of the room where the scanner sat. The quiet hum filled the silence—a small, mechanical noise against the heavy quiet of the study.

Through the tall windows, I caught sight of the courtyard below: stone, shadow, and the faint silhouettes of our guards changing shifts.

Part of me wished the written testimonies were videos instead: faces, voices, raw pain captured in moving images.

But video meant exposure. It meant risking the lives of those already marked once.

No—I wouldn’t gamble them again, not for Brackham’s benefit.

Jeffery finished, stepped back to my side, and tapped keys on my laptop. "It’s sent," he announced.

"Good." My voice was flat, cold steel. "You may leave."

Jeffery gave a small nod, his gaze steady as always, and slipped out, closing the heavy study door behind him.

For a few moments, I simply stared at the closed door, letting the silence stretch.

Then I reached for the landline, the receiver cold against my palm. My thumb hovered over the familiar sequence of numbers, carved into memory from too many nights like this.

I dialled.

The line clicked. Once. Twice. And then:

"Alpha Draven!" Brackham’s voice burst through, honeyed and eager, slick with false respect. "Always an honour to hear from you. To what do I owe—"

"Check your email, Brackham," I cut him off, my tone leaving no room for pleasantries. "Now."

A pause followed, then the rustle of papers. And finally, a mouse click.

"Oh? What precious information has the Alpha sent me this morning?" he asked, still trying to keep his voice light.

I stayed silent, letting my own stillness crush his forced cheer.

Seconds ticked by, slow as dripping wax. Then came the change. His breath caught. View the correct content at f|ree(w)ebn\o.vel.co(m)

The mask cracked.

Rhovan stirred inside, a low, restless growl pressing against my ribs. "Those bloody liars! They are the real monsters!"

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