The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven novel Chapter 385

Chapter 385: Not Much Time Left

(Third Person).

"Sir!" a female officer cried, spinning from her console. "We are getting reports that civilians are being hit—our own people, by stray bullets from the crossfire!"

Brackham’s heart slammed against his ribs. "No... that’s impossible! The perimeters were secure!"

"They are not anymore!" she shouted back. "Sir, our people are dying out there, not the vampires we targeted!"

Another explosion shook the control room, rattling the glass walls. One of the feeds went dark, replaced by static.

The mayor’s pulse thundered in his ears as he turned to the giant central screen.

On it, a child, no more than eight, was dragged away by a soldier frantically trying to reach safety. A sudden flash erupted, and both vanished in fire.

Brackham froze. For one terrible heartbeat, he couldn’t breathe.

"Call it off," he said.

No one heard him.

"CALL IT OFF!" he roared, slamming his hand down on the console. "Cease fire! Now! Tell every damn unit to stand down!"

The room erupted into motion as orders flew through the comms. "Cease fire, cease fire! Pull back!"

But outside, the damage was already done. The streets were burning. Duskmoor—his city was a battlefield of ash and screams.

Brackham staggered back, pressing a trembling hand to his forehead. The heat, the smoke, the smell of blood, even through the screens, it suffocated him.

He had lost control completely.

For a long, strained moment, he just stood there listening to the panicked chatter of his men, to the static-filled reports of dead soldiers and civilians alike.

Then, without a word, he reached for his personal phone. His fingers shook as he scrolled through his contacts, found the name he had been dreading to call.

He hesitated only a second, his pride clashing with fear before pressing call.

---

The ringing of Draven’s phone cut sharply through the heavy silence in the room.

Everyone looked up from the muted television still showing the chaos in Duskmoor—the riots, the blood, the dark shapes darting between streets.

Draven reached for the phone on the table beside him, his expression unreadable as he glanced at the screen.

"Brackham," he muttered.

Dennis leaned forward instantly. "Looks like the old fool finally broke."

Draven pressed the receiver to his ear. "Mayor."

Brackham’s voice came through tight and uneven, the desperation thick in his tone. "Draven—Alpha Draven—we’ve lost control of the city! The vampires are attacking everything that moves! My soldiers... they can’t stop them! I need your help—please, you have to do something now!"

Draven leaned back against the sofa, one arm resting lazily along the backrest, his tone calm—too calm. "Withdraw your soldiers and pull every gun off the streets."

"What?" Brackham sounded incredulous. "Withdraw them? That will leave my people defenceless!"

"They are already defenceless," Draven replied flatly. "Your soldiers are only fueling the rage of the vampires. Pull them back. Now."

Brackham’s voice shook with disbelief. "Then what would be the fate of my people?"

Draven’s eyes flicked toward the screen again—a group of humans cornered near a burning car, their screams fading. His voice stayed cold.

"Nothing can be done for those who chose to become sacrificial lambs."

A strained silence filled the line. Dennis and Jeffery exchanged a glance; Meredith’s lips parted slightly, but she said nothing.

Finally, Brackham spoke again, lower this time, nearly pleading. "The fate of my city is in your hands now, Alpha. Save the people you can."

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