The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven novel Chapter 383

Chapter 383: Against Her Lips

Draven.

The moon hung low and pale above the trees, its light spilling across the balcony floor like silver smoke.

While the city below was subdued under curfew, the silence up here was steady and almost deceitful.

I stood by the railing with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a half-filled glass in the other. The wind brushed against my skin, cool and sharp, tugging faintly at my shirt sleeves.

I had lost count of how long I had been out here. Maybe an hour. Maybe more.

The first burn of whiskey down my throat did little to chase away the thoughts. They came anyway—one after another. The war. Brackham. The vampires. And now... Alderic.

"He’s old, Draven," Rhovan’s voice rolled quietly in my mind, deep and steady. "You’ve known for a while this day would come."

"I know," I said aloud, staring at the horizon. "But knowing doesn’t make it easier."

Silence stretched between us, broken only by the soft clink of glass as I swirled the amber liquid.

"I’m not ready," I admitted quietly. "Not for the throne."

Rhovan’s growl was low, out of challenge. "You were born ready. You just refuse to see it."

I huffed a faint breath, half amusement, half resignation. "If I were truly ready, I wouldn’t still be here fighting human greed. I’d have ended this years ago."

"You’re not fighting for power," Rhovan reminded me. "You’re fighting for balance. For our kind. You’ve done what no one else could. You brought peace where there was none."

"Peace?" I echoed bitterly. "There is nothing peaceful about blood running through streets."

Rhovan didn’t respond immediately. When he did, his tone had softened.

"You’re not the boy who once feared leadership. You’ve carried kingdoms on your shoulders since the day you came of age. Alderic’s sickness doesn’t change that. It only means the world will soon demand more from you."

I rested my elbows on the railing, eyes tracing the thin mist that hovered above the distant woods.

"I just wanted more time. Time to rest. To breathe. To spend with her for a while... before everything changes."

"Our mate has given you strength, not distraction," he said. "She grounds you. She reminds you of what you fight for."

I took another drink, the words settling heavy in my chest. "Still, I don’t want this now. Not yet."

"He will live a while longer," Rhovan murmured. "A few more months, maybe more. That’s more than enough time to finish this war and return home to rest. And then stand beside the throne as the next in line."

I closed my eyes for a moment, letting Rhovan’s certainty sink in, though it did little to soothe the unease twisting in my gut.

Then, a softer sound broke the quiet—the click of the glass door behind me.

I turned slightly.

Meredith stepped out onto the balcony, her hair damp and loose around her shoulders, the golden silk of her robe catching the moonlight.

The scent of vanilla and wild jasmine drifted toward me, washing over the tension that had held me captive all evening.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just came to stand beside me, her bare feet silent against the cold stone.

"Whiskey?" I asked, holding up the glass.

She smiled faintly, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "If I take it, will you share your thoughts too?"

I looked down at her—at the faint shimmer of her eyes beneath the moonlight, the quiet understanding that always seemed to cut through my walls.

"Maybe," I murmured, handing her the glass.

She took it, her fingers brushing mine—warm against the chill of the night. She took a careful sip, and immediately her face twisted.

"Moons," she coughed softly, pressing the back of her hand to her lips, "it burns."

I couldn’t help the faint smirk tugging at my mouth. "It’s whiskey, love. It’s supposed to."

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