The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven novel Chapter 310

Chapter 310: Draven’s Hair in a Bun

Meredith.

The morning air was crisp, cool enough to sting a little against my skin as I adjusted the hem of my training top.

The field stretched wide and quiet, mist curling lazily along the edges of the grass.

Draven stood in front of me, arms folded, his presence as steady as always. Only today... something was different.

His long black hair was tied up in a bun, right in the middle of his head.

I narrowed my eyes, unable to stop staring. Why in the world would he—

"I can see you are staring at my hair," Draven said smoothly, his gaze locking onto mine. "You don’t like it?"

I scrunched my nose. "What motivated you to put your hair up like a woman?"

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest, his lips curling at the edges. "This is how today fell out," he said casually. "I didn’t want my hair getting in the way while I’m training you."

I gave him an irritated look, tilting my head in disbelief. Of all the ways he could have tied it, why like that?

Draven’s chuckle grew richer, clearly entertained by my reaction. "Does it bother you that much?"

I nodded without hesitation, expecting—hoping—he would take the hint and repack it lower, the way men usually did, neat at the base of the neck.

But to my dismay, he only raised a brow and leaned slightly closer.

"Good," he said, voice edged with amusement. "I like that it bothers you."

My mouth parted. "What?"

"At least it will keep you distracted during training," he went on, smirking now. "And when you fail... I will have every reason to punish you."

My eyes widened, heat rushing to my cheeks, half from irritation, half from the dangerous gleam in his gaze.

I pressed my lips together, resisting the urge to roll my eyes at him.

Trust Draven to turn something as simple as a ridiculous hairstyle into a weapon against me.

If I had known this would be how he styled his hair this morning, I wouldn’t have left his chambers for mine to get ready for training.

I would have had Azul or the others bring my training clothes into his bedroom instead.

I inhaled deeply, trying to steady myself, but every time my eyes flicked back to his head, the sight of that absurd bun made my chest tighten in equal parts annoyance and disbelief.

Draven must have noticed, because the smug tilt of his mouth hadn’t left.

"Focus, Meredith," he said, stepping back into position, his stance wide and ready. "Unless you are planning to lose before we even start."

I clenched my fists. "I am focused."

"Prove it."

The moment he moved, I barely had time to react. His palm cut through the air, aiming for my shoulder. I ducked, but it was too late—his hand grazed me.

A smirk tugged at his lips as he drew back. "Distracted already."

I bit down on my lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a retort. I lunged at him this time, striking quickly and sharply, but he blocked effortlessly, his arm like a steel wall.

He released me suddenly, and I stumbled forward a step before spinning to face him. ’Is this how he treats his beloved wife?’

"That," he said in a low murmur, "is your punishment."

My eyes widened. ’What in the moon’s name is this hungry wolf trying to do?’ "That’s not a punishment," I managed defensively.

"Isn’t it?" His smile was dangerous, teasing. "Seems to me you are even more distracted now."

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My face burned hot, and I hated that he was right.

Draven didn’t allow me to recover. He struck again, swift and precise. I barely had enough time to dodge the blow to my ribs.

I twisted away, but his foot slid forward, knocking mine aside, and I nearly lost my balance before catching myself.

"Better," he said, circling me. "But still sloppy."

Gritting my teeth, I lunged forward. My fists swung—one, two, three—but each strike was blocked, every move countered. He didn’t even break a sweat.

The bun wobbled again. I cursed myself for noticing.

In a flash, Draven grabbed my arm and swept my legs, and my back hit the ground with a hard thud against the training ground.

Then he loomed over me, calm, controlled, and maddeningly composed.

"Focus, Meredith," he said firmly. "Forget my hair. Forget your irritation. Forget everything but the fight. Or you will keep ending up on the ground."

My breath came sharp, my pride stung, but beneath his words, there was no cruelty—just expectation and challenge.

And I realized that beneath the teasing, this was exactly what he wanted. For me to find my edge.