The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven - Chapter 378

Chapter 378: Well Thought-out Plan
Third Person.

Mayor Brackham stormed back into the conference room as the heavy doors closed behind him with a sharp thud.

The senators and advisors who had stayed behind were already waiting, their faces tight with restrained anger.

For a moment, no one spoke. Then Senator Klayne, a lean man with a hawk-like face, broke the silence.

“Well,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain, “that was quite the spectacle. I don’t remember inviting an animal to sit at our table and lecture us about morality.”

Murmurs of agreement rippled across the room. Another senator slammed his palm against the polished table. “Arrogant beast. Speaking to us like we are beneath him—”

“Enough,” Brackham snapped, his voice echoing through the room. He paced slowly to his chair, his face a mask of cold calculation rather than fury.

“You think I didn’t notice his tone? His arrogance? The way he flaunted himself in front of us? Believe me, I saw it all.”

Senator Rourke, a stocky man with a perpetual sneer, leaned forward. “Then tell us, sir, that you don’t intend to honor that ridiculous request of his. Whatever he is planning to demand later—surely you are not going to grant it?”

Brackham’s lip curled. “Of course not.”

The collective exhale of relief that followed filled the room. Shoulders loosened. A few exchanged smirks, confidence slowly returning.

But then, an older senator, sharper, with eyes that always seemed to measure a man’s soul, folded his arms and asked the question everyone was thinking.

“Then what is your plan, Mr. Mayor? The Alpha made you look small today. You need to take back control. The werewolves have grown too comfortable here. What do you intend to do about them—after they drive the vampires out for us?”

Brackham’s eyes darkened. He lowered himself into his seat, folding his hands together on the table.

“I intend,” he said slowly, “to ensure they never get the chance to feel comfortable again.”

The room quieted.

“I will let him handle the vampires,” Brackham continued, voice low and deliberate. “Let him exhaust his pack, shed blood for us, make himself the hero. And when that’s done—when the last vampire has been burned from Duskmoor’s streets—he and his kind will be nothing more than a problem with an expiration date.”

Another senator grinned, catching on. “You mean—”

“I mean,” Brackham interrupted, his voice like ice, “that once they have served their purpose, we will erase them. Every last one of them.”

A few of the senators exchanged glances—hesitant, cautious, yet intrigued.

“But, sir,” said one of the advisors nervously, “the Alpha is strong. His warriors—”

“Will be outnumbered,” Brackham cut in smoothly. “I already have soldiers in place, our own weaponized men. And soon, soldiers who can match their speed, their strength, even their healing.”

There was silence. Then slow, cruel smiles began to appear across the room.

“So,” Senator Rourke said, leaning back in satisfaction, “the wolves will finish off the vampires… and then our men will finish off the wolves.”

Brackham nodded once, a thin smile finally tugging at his lips. “Exactly.”

He turned slightly in his chair, gazing toward the window where the fading daylight stretched over Duskmoor’s skyline.

“Let the Alpha believe he’s in control. Let him feel important for a while. But when I’m done with him, there won’t be enough left to bury.”

The senators murmured their approval.

For the first time that day, Brackham felt the tension drain from his chest, replaced with that old familiar thrill, the feeling of holding all the strings again.

Because no matter how powerful Alpha Draven thought he was, in Brackham’s city, no beast ruled for long.

—

Half an hour later, Brackham rode the private elevator alone. When the doors opened, he walked straight to one of the waiting black cars, sliding into the leather seat without ceremony.

A few minutes later, the car stopped. Brackham stepped out and moved again into another elevator—deeper now.

When the elevator halted this time, the doors opened onto a corridor that smelled faintly of antiseptic and ozone.

Security scanners blinked as Brackham walked past. He did not bother lowering his eyes to the technicians who already knew who he was. They straightened instinctively as he passed, then scurried ahead to announce his arrival.

The lab itself was a cathedral of white light and steel. Tables and machines gleamed under disciplined fluorescence; observation windows framed the room in rectangles of glass.

Men and women in crisp lab coats moved with efficient, nervous purpose, pausing as the Mayor entered.

The room, designed for sterile work and closed experiments, seemed to tighten at his presence.

“Report,” he said without preamble, and the head physician, pale, precise, and used to hiding his disgust behind protocols, stepped forward.

“Sir, like I told you over the phone last night, we have cataloged the latest batch of several specimens that failed to meet the recalibration benchmarks,” the doctor replied. “Their cellular responses were unstable; the serums induced unpredictable mutations in neural pathways. They are… compromised.”

Brackham’s expression did not change. He listened as if hearing a routine status update. When the doctor finished, he said. “Eliminate the failures. Now.”

There was no theatrics or hesitation. The command landed and was accepted with the swift obedience of men who had grown accustomed to carrying out orders they neither questioned nor enjoyed.

One of the junior doctors shifted, a ripple of reluctance passing over his face, but the head physician only inclined his head.

“As you wish,” the head physician said. “We will proceed immediately.” He turned and issued quiet instructions; technicians moved with grim efficiency, preparing the rooms and equipment while a hush settled over the lab like a final curtain.

Brackham watched them go through the motions, a thin, satisfied line at the corner of his mouth.

The business completed, he turned back to the gathered medical staff, his tone suddenly lighter, practiced warmth slipping into place.

“And prepare for another development,” he said. “We will soon have a vampire specimen delivered.” The words sparked a murmur among the doctors.

One of the younger technicians, eager or perhaps trying to appear indispensable, ventured a question with a smile that tried for bravado, “How do you plan to make that happen, sir?”

“Do not concern yourselves with the details,” he said. “Your duty is to study, to learn, to refine. Prepare the containment and be ready.”