The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven - Chapter 507

Chapter 507: He Knew Everything
[Draven].

I didn’t answer that question immediately.

Meredith’s face flashed in my mind. Her silver hair. Her careful smiles. The way she had looked at me this morning—open, calm, and hiding something I couldn’t yet touch.

“I adapt,” I said at last.

“That wasn’t my question.”

I felt the deliberate press, the pressure. The kind meant to provoke. But instead of getting riled up, I folded my hands loosely.

“If you are asking whether I control what is mine, the answer is no.”

Her brow lifted slightly. “Interesting choice of words.”

“I don’t own my wife,” I continued. “I protect her.”

“And if protection becomes a cage?” she asked.

My pulse ticked faster, but my voice remained steady. “Then I have failed.”

Silence settled between us, and for a few seconds, no one spoke. Then finally, she leaned forward just a fraction, her fingers tightening around the walking stick.

“You speak well,” she said. “Most men with power mistake restraint for weakness, but you do not.”

“I learned the cost of confusing the two,” I replied.

Her smile returned, sharper this time.

“Good,” she said. “Then perhaps you will survive loving my granddaughter.”

There it was, the first actual strike.

I straightened up and said, “I don’t intend to merely survive it.”

She chuckled softly. “That’s bold. But tell me this, Alpha, if the woman you love becomes more than you understand, will you demand answers?”

I didn’t hesitate. “No.”

Her head tilted, second-guessing my response, as if she really wanted to know what was going on in my head.

“You wouldn’t want to know?”

“I would,” I corrected her. “But I would wait for her to choose to tell me.”

Another long pause followed, then, quietly, she asked, “And if that waiting wounds you?”

I swallowed once. “Then that is my burden. Not hers.”

For the first time, something—calculation, in her expression shifted.

“Restraint,” she murmured. “Patience. Loyalty.” Then she tapped the walking stick lightly against the floor.

“Very well, Alpha Draven,” she said. “For now, you pass.”

My chest tightened. “For now?”

She smiled, inscrutable. “A Queen is not chosen by love alone. Nor is a King.”

I rose slowly to my feet. “If you intend to keep testing me, at least tell me what the exam is.”

She laughed softly, like she already knew everything. “Oh,” she said. “You’re already in it.”

I didn’t move right away. Something about her stillness made it feel like standing was a mistake, as if this space belonged to her patience, and not my authority.

“How am I doing,” I asked finally, “with this… exam of yours?”

Her smile deepened, slow and measured.

“I’m not surprised you’re passing,” she said. “I wouldn’t have expected anything less from someone like you.”

The words should have pleased me, instead, they unsettled me. “Someone like me?” I repeated.

She didn’t answer. She only tilted her head slightly, as if listening to something beneath my voice. Then she spoke again. “Sit, Alpha.”

I obeyed her. Then, without waiting for her to continue or start up another conversation without another round of questioning, I took the reins.

“I feel,” I said after a moment, the words leaving me before I could reconsider, “like I’ve lost my aura. My edge. Since the moment I stepped foot here.”

She nodded once. “That means you are exactly where you should be.”

My brow furrowed. “That doesn’t sound reassuring.”

“It isn’t meant to be,” she replied calmly. Then she leaned forward, just slightly. “Search your heart. Your spirit. What does it tell you about this place?”

I hesitated for a moment, then I stopped holding back.

“It doesn’t feel like part of Stormveil,” I said. “It doesn’t feel like any werewolf land I’ve known.”

Her expression didn’t change.

“The silence is different,” I continued. “The air. The people. There’s power here, but it’s not loud. It doesn’t challenge me. It actually ignores me.”

The corners of her lips curved. “So?”

“So this village doesn’t belong to werewolves.”

Still, she didn’t flinch. Encouraged, or perhaps already too far in, I added quietly, “You are not one, are you?”

The silence that followed was long, measured and deliberate. And when she finally spoke, her voice was gentle.

“Are you asking because you are certain,” she said, “or because you are only beginning to trust what you already know?”

That was when it became clear. Meredith’s grandma hadn’t called me here for a random question and answer session. She had called me here to let me speak my thoughts aloud.

I leaned back slightly, exhaling. “I think,” I said slowly, “that my mate didn’t hide her ability to wolf out because she didn’t trust me.”

She tilted her head.

“I think she hid it because I gave her space. Time. Safety. I made it clear she could tell me things when she was ready.”

I swallowed. “And now,” I admitted, “that patience is testing me.”

Her smile softened, knowingly. “You’re tired of waiting.”

“Yes,” I said honestly. “And no. I don’t want to force her. But I would be lying if I said it’s still easy.”

The words settled between us. Then I asked the question that had been burning in my chest since forever.

“When,” I said quietly, “was she going to tell me that you are a fae?”

Her fingers tightened around the walking stick.

“And that she has fae blood in her veins?”

She studied me for a long moment, her blind eyes somehow seeing far more than most ever could.

“You already know so much,” she said at last. “Almost everything. Yet you haven’t said a word to Edith.”

Her words landed gently, but they struck deep.

Then she sighed, the sound carrying years of knowing. “I’m glad I sought you out. Otherwise, with all those truths and emotions bottled inside of you, you would have made a mistake with her.”

I didn’t deny it. In fact, I nodded.

She was right. Speaking it aloud, naming the frustration, the confusion, the hurt—had loosened something tight in my chest.

I felt lighter than I had since dawn, as if I had been carrying a weight I hadn’t realized was crushing me.

After a pause, she asked, “How did you know Edith was half fae?”

I leaned back slightly, eyes drifting to the open space beyond the room.

“From the very first moment I saw her,” I said quietly. “At the Lunar Ball, over a year ago. I knew she was different.”

Her expression remained attentive, unreadable.

“At the time, I didn’t know what that difference was,” I continued. “I only knew she didn’t feel like anyone else in that hall.”

Just then, a memory surfaced unbidden.

“There was a night,” I added, my voice lower now, “when I saw her dancing under the full moon. She wasn’t aware of it. It was… instinctive. Natural. Like the moon itself had called her out.”

She nodded once, slowly.

“And then, after her curse broke,” I went on, “I saw her abilities. The way her power moved, the things she could do that sounded impossible for a werewolf. I knew then that she wasn’t just a werewolf who happened to be strong.”

I exhaled softly.

“I know a little about the fae,” I admitted. “Enough to recognize patterns. Enough to connect the dots. But I wasn’t certain. Not until I came here. Not until I felt this place. And not until I met you.”

Her lips curved slightly. “I know you have many questions,” she said gently, “especially about who I am. But that conversation will wait until tomorrow.”

I looked at her, surprised, but she wasn’t finished.

“For now,” she continued, “what matters is this: you speak to your mate. You listen to her. You tell her what you feel—kindly. You resolve what stands between you.”

Her grip tightened subtly around her walking stick.

“You will learn more truths,” she added. “And when you do, you will accept them as if they are nothing.”

I nodded again. I didn’t want to confront Meredith. Not like this. Not with the weight of everything still pressing on my mind. But she was right, avoiding her would only widen the distance between us.

Speaking to her now mattered more than anything else.

I stood, releasing a slow breath. “Thank you,” I said sincerely.

She inclined her head once. “Go.”

**—***

[Meredith].

I didn’t get very far.

The path curved gently through the trees, but my steps slowed until I finally stopped altogether.

My chest felt tight from the weight pressing behind my ribs. Guilt had a way of stealing the momentum, making even the simplest movement feel unnecessary.

So, I veered off the path and found a low fallen log tucked between two trees. Sunlight filtered through the leaves in broken patterns, dappling the ground.

It was too quiet here for my thoughts. I sat down and let my shoulders sag.

‘Draven saw me.’

The realization replayed itself over and over, relentless. Not just that he had seen my wolf, but he watched me lie about it to his face.

I dragged a hand through my hair and stared at the ground.