The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven - Chapter 508

Chapter 508: What Am I Sorry For?
[Meredith].

How long had he stood there? What had he felt? Pride? Shock? Betrayal?

I swallowed hard.

I tried to imagine it from his side—the mate bond humming with excitement that wasn’t his, the scent of adrenaline, the unmistakable truth that something monumental had changed, and that I had chosen silence instead of him.

Just as I was still wallowing in my sorrows, footsteps crunched softly nearby.

I stiffened, half-expecting to turn and find Draven standing there already. Instead—

“By the moons,” Dennis groaned, staggering slightly as he came into view. One hand pressed to his temple, the other hanging uselessly at his side. “If the moon ever invites me to drink again, remind me to insult it and walk away.”

I blinked. “Dennis?”

He froze, too, his eyes widening. “Meredith?”

We stared at each other for a second, equally surprised.

“What are you doing out here?” we asked at the same time.

He squinted at me, then winced. “Don’t talk so loudly. My head feels like someone’s using it as a drum.”

Despite myself, a small smile tugged at my lips. “You’re still hungover?”

“Still?” he scoffed weakly. “I think I’ve crossed into punishment territory. Plum wine is a liar. Sweet on the tongue, murderous afterwards.”

He shuffled closer and dropped onto a rock opposite me with a dramatic sigh. “I came out here to walk it off, to feel the fresh air and watch the trees. They are at least less judgmental than people.”

My smile faded as quickly as it came.

Dennis tilted his head, studying me through half-lidded eyes. “Okay,” he said slowly, “now that I’m closer, you don’t look like someone enjoying a peaceful morning stroll.”

I looked away, focusing on the leaves trembling lightly above us. “I got tired.”

“Of walking,” he guessed.

“Of thinking,” I corrected quietly.

He hummed. “Yeah. That will do it.”

For once, he didn’t tease or try to push. He just sat there, rubbing his temple, letting the silence stretch comfortably between us.

After a moment, he added, “You know, for what it’s worth, I don’t usually wake up with headaches unless something went terribly or very interestingly wrong.”

I let out a soft breath that was almost a laugh.

Dennis glanced at me again, more carefully this time. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” he said, unexpectedly gentle. “But if you wanted to complain about my brother, I’m legally obligated as his sibling to listen.”

That did make me smile a little, though crooked, but real. “I might take you up on that,” I said.

He nodded solemnly. “When my head stops pounding, I will be fully operational.”

I looked back at the path, my chest tightening again. I wondered if Draven was still with my grandma.

After a few seconds, I felt a pair of eyes on me, and tilted my head. Dennis was still staring at me, watching silently.

His gaze lingered on my face a second longer than necessary, the teasing edge dulling. “Alright,” he said slowly. “That’s not a usual ‘lost-in-the-trees’ look.”

I hesitated.

Dennis sighed, clearly deciding whether to pry or not. Then he rubbed the back of his neck and asked more gently, “I can sense something is seriously wrong between you and my brother. Right?”

The question landed softly, but it still landed.

I didn’t answer right away. My fingers curled against the fabric of my dress, and I stared at the ground as if the answer might be written there. Finally, I nodded.

“Something happened,” I said quietly. “Something about me. I thought I needed time before I told him.” My chest tightened. “But I just found out… he already knows.”

Dennis straightened at that. “What is it?”

I shook my head immediately. “I can’t say. I’m sorry.” I met his eyes this time. “Draven needs to hear it from me first. Before anyone else.”

For a moment, he studied me, really studied me, then he exhaled and gave a small nod.

“Fair enough, I respect that,” he said simply, stretching his legs with a wince.

“You know,” he said after a pause, voice quieter now, “for someone who jokes as much as I do, I’ve learned one thing the hard way.” He glanced at the trees, then back at me. “Silence hurts more than bad timing.”

I looked at him.

“You wait too long to say something important,” he continued, choosing his words carefully, “and suddenly it’s not about what you were hiding anymore. It’s about why you thought the other person couldn’t handle it.”

My throat tightened.

“I’m not saying you’re wrong,” he added quickly, lifting a hand. “Sometimes people really do need time. Moons know I do. But mates?” He let out a quiet breath. “We feel gaps. Even when we don’t know what is missing.”

I swallowed, the truth of it settling uncomfortably deep.

Dennis shifted again, grimacing, then squinted past me. His expression changed, just enough for me to notice.

“Well,” he muttered, pushing himself to his feet, “speaking of gaps closing…”

I turned. Draven was walking toward us along the path, unhurried, inevitable.

My heart stumbled once, hard.

Dennis followed my gaze and let out a low whistle. “Yep. That’s my cue.”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “For what it’s worth, he looks like someone who wants answers, not a fight.”

Then, with a crooked half-smile, he added, “And I would rather not be collateral damage while you two figure it out.”

He stepped back, gave me a brief nod, and turned away. “I’m going to find water. Or a healer. Or a hole to crawl into until my head forgives me.”

His footsteps faded into the woods, but I stayed where I was. And this time, when Draven reached me, there was nowhere left to hide.

Draven crossed the small clearing without urgency and sat down on the rock Dennis had occupied earlier.

He didn’t look at me right away. Instead, his gaze drifted toward the trees, the way one does when pretending not to think too hard about something already clawing at their chest.

“How was your walk?” he asked.

The normalcy of the question startled me more than anger would have.

I let out a slow breath and lowered myself onto a fallen log opposite him. “Tiring,” I said honestly. My legs ached, but it was nothing compared to the weight pressing behind my ribs.

He nodded once, as if that answered everything. And that was when the guilt surged—hot and sharp. He wasn’t confronting me or accusing me. He was giving me space, and somehow, that hurt more.

My fingers curled into the fabric of my dress. I stared at the ground for a moment too long, then forced myself to look up at him.

“I’m sorry.”

The words fell between us, fragile and bare. Draven didn’t respond.

Seconds stretched. The wind moved through the leaves above us. Somewhere far away, a bird cried out. But he remained still, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands loosely clasped.

Just when I wondered if he would pretend he hadn’t heard me at all, he finally spoke.

“What,” he asked quietly, turning his head just enough to look at me, “are you sorry for?”