The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven novel Chapter 188

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Chapter 188: Brackham and His Cohorts

(Third Person).

The office still felt heavy with Draven’s voice, even after the call ended.

Mayor Brackham sat rigidly behind his vast oak desk, his knuckles white where they gripped the armrests of his chair.

The quiet hum of the air conditioning barely covered the quiet grind of his teeth.

"Incompetent," Draven had called him—coldly, with the same dismissive arrogance a wolf might give an insect before crushing it.

And worse, the Alpha had threatened open retaliation.

’Damn that wolf,’ Brackham seethed.

How dare Draven speak to him like that? The ruler of Duskmoor, the man who had kept this fragile city from tearing itself apart during economic ruin, crime waves, and rising supernatural tensions.

And yet, that overgrown mutt had dared to insult him... on his own soil.

Just then, there was a polite knock.

The door opened, and his secretary—a slight woman with sharp glasses and a notebook pressed to her chest—stepped in quietly.

"Mayor," she said, her voice careful as if sensing the coiled rage in the room, "the senators have assembled in the conference hall. They’re waiting for you."

Brackham drew in a slow, cooling breath. ’Control yourself,’ he reminded himself.

He stood, adjusting the cuffs of his dark suit jacket with deliberate calm. "Very well," he said curtly. "I will be there."

She bowed her head slightly and stepped aside as he stalked past her, his polished shoes striking the marble floor of the corridor in clipped, sharp echoes.

By the time he reached the tall double doors of the conference hall, Brackham had carefully smoothed his expression into his usual mask of composed authority—but the ember of his fury burned hot behind his eyes.

The senators—seven men and women of varying ages, all wearing finely tailored suits—rose from their seats around the dark conference table the moment he stepped in. "Mayor," they intoned respectfully.

He waved a hand, expressionless. "Sit."

They obeyed, leather chairs creaking quietly as they settled.

Brackham remained standing for a breath longer, surveying them, letting the silence gather weight. Then, finally, he sat at the head of the table, steepling his fingers.

"I just got off the phone with Alpha Draven," he began, his voice clipped and cold.

A ripple moved through the senators—raised brows, tightening shoulders.

Brackham continued, "He sent me a list. Testimonies from his people. It appears some of ours have been attacking and attempting to abduct werewolves... far too openly."

One senator—a ruddy-faced man with greying hair at the temples—scoffed loudly. "And what of it? Since when do those wild dogs get to lecture us about what we do in our own city?"

Another senator, a slim woman with sharp cheekbones, leaned back with a dismissive curl of her lip.

"Draven is starting to forget his place. The wolves should be grateful we allow them to stay within our borders at all."

A third, older senator let out a brittle laugh. "How dare he speak to the ruler of Duskmoor with such insolence?"

Yet another senator, eyes narrowing, added, "Or maybe that wolf has finally grown clever. Perhaps he suspects more than he lets on."

At this, Brackham’s eyes flashed dangerously. "No," he cut in sharply. "It isn’t that Draven has suddenly grown clever."

He paused, letting his cold gaze sweep across the table. "It’s because one of you allowed your dogs off the leash. And now Draven’s caught the scent."