The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven - Chapter 407

Chapter 407: Reunited
(Third Person).

The tunnel was deathly quiet now—nothing but the hiss of burning debris and the echo of dripping blood.

The stench of gunpowder and iron clung thick to the air.

Meredith stood amidst the ruin, her chest heaving. Around her, bodies lay scattered—human soldiers felled by her rage, their weapons twisted and broken.

The blade of her sword dripped crimson in the faint, flickering light.

Her gaze swept the carnage until it found the fallen warriors—their own. Two lay still, their eyes glazed over. The others were crumpled and bleeding, barely holding on.

A tremor passed through her hand. Slowly, she dropped to her knees beside the nearest warrior’s dead body once again, her fingers trembling as she brushed his arm.

Her throat burned. She had promised herself she wouldn’t lose anyone.

Her gaze flicked to the blood painting the ground. Then a desperate thought crossed her mind.

Without hesitation, Meredith gripped her sword tighter and turned the blade toward herself. Her left hand stretched forward—steady, and determined.

Just as she raised her right hand to strike, Valmora’s voice cut through her thoughts like a lash of wind.

“Do you want to expose your true self?”

Meredith’s grip faltered. Her breath came ragged. “I don’t care,” she muttered, her voice trembling. “I have to try and help them.”

“It won’t work.” Valmora’s voice was softer now, but unyielding.

“The fae blood that can heal is there, yes. But your powers are still sealed. Your blood is useless until your true nature awakens.”

The sword slipped from Meredith’s hand, clattering to the ground. She bowed her head, her silver hair falling around her face. The air trembled with her grief and frustration.

“You seem to be enjoying my misery,” she whispered.

“You are thinking too much, Meredith.” Valmora’s tone was firm now, almost maternal. “I only want to remind you—you are a vessel, not a god. You can’t save everyone. You must not carry that burden. The dead are gone. But look—those who live are rising.”

Meredith blinked, forcing her tear-blurred vision to focus. And there they were—the surviving warriors.

One by one, they stirred, pushing themselves up with weak but determined movements. Their wounds were still raw, but healing. They looked toward her, their voices hoarse but alive.

“Luna… are you all right?” one of them asked.

Meredith inhaled shakily and nodded, though her voice came out small. “I’m fine.”

Just then, the sound of heavy boots echoed from the far end of the tunnel—measured, purposeful.

The warriors turned their heads sharply, tense for an instant before familiar scents reached them.

Draven emerged from the haze of smoke, his eyes glowing faintly under the low light. Jeffery followed closely behind, his expression grim.

Draven’s gaze swept the chaos—the burning debris, the corpses, his warriors struggling to their feet—and finally found her.

Meredith stood in the midst of it all, illuminated by the faint red glow of the fire. Her silver hair was streaked with soot and blood, her sword at her feet. She looked exhausted yet unbroken.

Their eyes met.

Draven didn’t speak at first. He simply crossed the last few feet between them and stopped right before her, his presence wrapping around her like a quiet storm.

Jeffery glanced around, exhaling slowly. “Looks like we came just in time,” he muttered.

Draven’s gaze stayed fixed on his wife. “Are you hurt?”

Meredith shook her head, but her eyes betrayed her exhaustion. “No… but they are.”

He followed her glance toward the surviving warriors. Then, without a word, he lifted his hand, the faint shimmer of his Alpha energy pulsing outward—a silent wave of command and reassurance.

The warriors lowered their heads in acknowledgement, the tension easing from their shoulders.

For a moment, only silence filled the ruined passage—the kind that comes after chaos.

Then Draven’s voice, low and steady: “Let’s go home.”

—

The government house was still burning from the inside out.

Flames crawled up the walls, turning the once-proud structure into a graveyard of light and shadow.

In the distance, gunfire still crackled, mingling with the unearthly roars of vampires and the panicked screams of humans.

Draven led the way through the crumbling underground corridor, his movements precise and soundless. The air was heavy with smoke and death.

Meredith walked beside him, her hand on the hilt of her sword, her senses sharpened by instinct and grief.

Jeffery followed close behind, motioning for the surviving warriors to stay tight and silent.

At every echo, every faint growl from above, Draven lifted his hand to still them. His low voice brushed through the mind-link—a ripple of authority and calm.

“Stay cautious. The vampires are still out there. We leave unseen or not at all.”

No one spoke. They moved in disciplined silence until they reached the narrow stairway leading up to the courtyard.

The cold night air rushed to meet them as Draven pushed the door open just an inch to peer outside.

The courtyard was chaos. Dead soldiers, broken weapons, and stray flames flickering across the marble ground. But the vampires were further away now—tearing through the main streets, feeding and destroying anything in their path.

Draven glanced back. His gaze met Meredith’s, and she understood without words.

They slipped out like shadows among shadows.

They moved swiftly, staying close to the walls, weaving through the wreckage. Every step was measured; every breath was quiet.

A vampire’s shriek echoed from afar, followed by the thunder of collapsing stone, but Draven kept them steady.

Only when they reached the outer gates did he finally motion for them to break formation and follow him down the darkened street.

They walked for several minutes—through smoke, through silence, until the government house was little more than a distant inferno behind them.

Finally, they came to a stop at the far end of a deserted street. Two cars waited there, parked beneath the shadow of a broken billboard.

Draven turned to his people. “This way.”

He opened the door of the first car, motioning for Meredith to enter. She slid in wordlessly, and he followed, settling beside her in the back seat.

Jeffery climbed into the front passenger seat, while one of the warriors took the wheel. The others moved quickly to the second car and started the engine without turning on the headlights.

The convoy rolled forward in darkness. The night swallowed them whole, just the soft hum of the engines and the distant thunder of war behind them.

Inside the car, no one spoke. Jeffery stared ahead, his eyes reflecting the faint glow of firelight from the city they were leaving behind.

Draven’s jaw was tight, his focus split between strategy and the steady beat of Meredith’s heart beside him.

Suddenly, the walkie-talkie on Jeffery’s lap crackled.

“Jeffery, do you copy?” Dennis’s voice came through, low but urgent.

Jeffery grabbed it instantly. “Go ahead.”

“We have cleared the Eastern woods,” Dennis reported. “All convoy groups are in position at the border. The area is secure, and the path home is open.”

Jeffery exhaled a small breath of relief. “Good work. We are on our way now.”

“Copy that,” Dennis replied before the line went silent again.

Jeffery set the walkie-talkie down. For a moment, the only sound in the car was the low rumble of the engine and the faint breathing of those inside.

At the back, Draven turned his head slightly. Meredith was staring out the window, her expression distant. The reflection of the burning city shimmered faintly in her eyes.

She blinked once, and a tear slipped free—but she didn’t wipe it away.

Draven’s gaze softened. He reached out and gently took her hand, his thumb brushing against her palm.

“Don’t blame yourself,” his voice came through the mind-link, steady and warm. “We lost two, yes—but they gave their lives for something greater. For freedom. For peace. For the chance that no human will ever build such a place again.”

Meredith didn’t answer immediately. Her throat tightened as she turned slightly toward him, their joined hands resting between them.

His presence—his strength—was a quiet anchor against the storm inside her.

Finally, she nodded faintly, whispering through the link, “I just wish it hadn’t cost so much.”

Draven squeezed her hand gently. “Every war costs something, my love. But what matters is what we gain from the ashes.”

The car continued down the dark road, quiet but steady—leaving behind the city that was now little more than smoke, blood, and ruin.

The faintest light of the moon followed them, guiding their path toward the Eastern woods.