The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven novel Chapter 387

Chapter 387: Trained for Moments Like This

(Third Person).

Just as Draven, Meredith, and Dennis steadied themselves in the eerie silence, three more figures emerged from between the trees. They were tall, lean, and deadly.

The air grew heavier. Their eyes glowed like dying embers, their pale skin almost luminous under the full moon.

One of them stood ahead of the others, his stance commanding. He was the leader.

Through the mind-link, Draven’s calm, commanding voice brushed through Meredith and Dennis’s thoughts:

"The one in the center is their leader. Don’t touch him. He is Brackham’s gift."

Dennis chuckled darkly. "You always did have a taste for trouble, brother," he said through the link, amusement curling in his tone. "And that’s the kind of gift that will bring Brackham’s whole government to its knees."

Meredith’s gaze flicked toward the vampire leader. She knew Dennis was right. Taking the leader meant chaos—the rest of the vampires would come for him, desperate, enraged. And in that chaos, Draven would strike his true purpose.

’My husband is too strategic for his own good,’ she thought, tightening her grip on the sword as she finally realized Draven’s mysterious plan.

The vampire leader stepped forward, his red eyes flicking from Draven to Meredith. His lips curled into a grin as he sniffed the air.

"Werewolves," he said softly, his voice a low melody of mockery. "But you smell wrong—like humans."

Then, he tilted his head and inhaled again, this time facing Meredith. "Ah... now I understand." His grin widened, sharp and cruel. "You carry the Alpha’s scent. So, you are his mate. How intimate."

Meredith stiffened, her jaw tightening, but Draven remained calm, his expression unreadable.

The vampire’s attention returned to him. "You’re not like the others of your kind," he said slowly, his tone probing. "There is something... different about you. Tell me, Alpha—why is that?"

Draven’s voice was sharp and flat. "Cut your nonsense and listen. I have an offer."

The vampire gave a cruel laugh. "An offer? Since when do I make offers with wild animals?"

Dennis couldn’t help himself. "It’s for your own good, you blood-sucking, white-ghosted demon who can’t even stand the sun for long!" His tone was mocking, filled with venom.

The vampire leader’s expression darkened instantly, fangs flashing as a deep hiss tore from his throat. The others stirred behind him, ready to spring.

But Draven lifted a hand calmly. His eyes locked with the vampire leader. "You have two choices," he said coldly. "You either come with me peacefully, or you will be dragged along. Either way, you’re coming."

The vampire leader stared at him for a long moment, then burst into laughter—low, sharp, deranged.

"Dragged? By you? You dare come into our territory and speak of dragging me away?"

Draven’s smirk was faint, but dangerous. "Only if you make it out alive tonight."

The laughter faded. A heavy silence fell. The other vampires watched, their bodies tense and ready.

Then Draven spoke again, his tone even and unshaken. "Brackham, leader of the humans, is highly in need of your body and its services. So, I must take you."

That name, Brackham, seemed to catch the vampire off guard. His crimson eyes narrowed dangerously as his head tilted.

"So, the mayor still plays with monsters," he hissed. "How interesting."

His voice turned into a growl, his fangs extending fully. "And you—the wolves are his errand dogs now?"

Draven’s response was calm and cold, but it sliced like a blade. "No. We are just delivering his doom."

The moment Draven’s final words cut through the air, the forest erupted with a black and silver blur of motion as the vampires lunged, hissing like wild serpents.

Draven met them head-on with no weapon, no hesitation. His claws extended, gleaming like forged steel under the moonlight.

One vampire slashed toward his throat; Draven ducked, spun, and drove his claws upward, slicing through flesh and bone in one smooth, merciless strike. Blood sprayed the air, dark and steaming.

Dennis’s twin axes sang through the night, cutting deep into another vampire’s torso. He wrenched one free and swung the second upward, catching another mid-leap. The thud that followed was wet and final.

"That’s two!" he barked, a savage grin spreading across his face.

Meredith was hesitant at first, but recalling her earlier training days, she decided to let her instinct take over.

She moved like a dancer among predators. Her sword gleamed in the moonlight, fast and fluid.

She met a vampire’s charge, sidestepped, and with a clean, powerful swing, took its head. It rolled across the forest floor, and for a heartbeat, she stood frozen, startled by her own precision.

Then Valmora’s voice murmured in her head, calm and proud. "Don’t stop, Meredith. You are doing beautifully."

Meredith exhaled sharply and spun just in time to block another attack. Her sword clashed with claws, sparks flying from the impact.

She pivoted, ducked under the vampire’s arm, and drove the blade through its ribs—twisting, just as Draven had taught her. The vampire’s body stiffened before crumpling to the ground.

The vampire moved fast. Almost too fast. But Draven caught his arm mid-swing, twisting until the bone cracked with a loud snap.

"I don’t think," he said. "I know."

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