The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven - Chapter 511

Chapter 511: I’m Paying For It
[Draven].

I stayed quiet for a long time after that.

Fifteen minutes, maybe more, passed with Meredith filling the silence carefully, cautiously—revealing a few more fragments here and there.

More details about her abilities. How Valmora instructed and guided her to do some things.

And yet, I wasn’t at peace. I didn’t feel relieved or settled.

There was a hollow place in my chest that refused to close, a sharp awareness that something between us had shifted.

It felt wrong to admit it even to myself, but the truth pressed harder the longer I sat with it. I wasn’t satisfied.

It wasn’t anger—not exactly. It was worse than that. It was the slow, unsettling realization that I no longer fully trusted the woman sitting in front of me.

The thought tasted bitter.

I studied her without meaning to. The way she sat on the rock, shoulders slightly tense. The way her fingers curled into the fabric of her dress, then loosened, then curled again. And suddenly, I knew.

“Is there something else,” I asked quietly, “you’re keeping from me?”

Her fingers stilled. That alone was answer enough.

I watched her closely now, the way her breathing shifted, the subtle tightening around her mouth. Discomfort radiated off her in waves, sharp enough that even without the bond, I would have felt it.

For a moment, disbelief washed over me. ‘There was More?’

I had opened myself to her. I had listened. I had absorbed truths that could have shattered entire packs.

And still, there was more?

I wondered, briefly and painfully, who this woman truly was. Not the mate I had chosen. Not the wife I had come to love. But the one sitting before me now, layered in secrets upon secrets.

She swallowed, shifting on the rock, and still no words left her lips.

I scoffed softly, more to myself than to her. That sound finally made her look at me.

“Yes,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “There is.”

My jaw tightened.

“But,” she added at once, rushing forward as if afraid I would shut down completely, “I’m still investigating. I can’t tell you anything yet, not until I’m sure. Not until I have answers, and evidence.”

I said nothing. At least she wasn’t lying. I could hear that much in her heartbeat, feel it in the bond. But that didn’t quiet the ache gnawing at me.

I wanted to ask more. To press. To demand clarity. But in the end, I didn’t. Instead, I followed the thread already forming in my mind.

“Does it have anything to do with my mother?”

Her reaction was immediate. Too immediate. Her shoulders stiffened, her gaze flickering just enough for me to catch it.

So that was it. Of course it was.

I remembered her insistence—how adamant she had been about continuing to visit my mother, even after nearly being hurt. At the time, I had thought it was compassion.

Now, doubt crept in.

She nodded, surprised that I had guessed so easily. “Yes. But I promise you, when I’m certain of what I know, I will tell you everything.”

The silence that followed was heavy, stretching between us like a chasm. But I wasn’t done.

Another memory surfaced—Rhovan’s voice this morning—his certainty.

I looked straight at her. “Did you put me to sleep last night?”

Her eyes widened instantly.

I heard it then—her heartbeat, racing too fast. Fear threading through it. The absurdity of the situation almost made me laugh.

She didn’t answer me, so I stood.

But she sprang up at once, panic written plainly across her face. “I—I don’t know,” she said hurriedly.

“Truly, I don’t. I didn’t intend to do anything like that. I just… I didn’t want you to know I was leaving. I didn’t want you to follow me. I wished you would go back to sleep. And then you did.”

I nodded slowly. ‘Rhovan was right. She had done it.’

But I didn’t say that. “I understand,” I told her instead.

It was the truth, just not the whole one.

I turned and started to walk away. After a few steps, something made me stop. I looked back at her. She looked small now. Wound tight with fear and uncertainty.

“For your safety,” I said evenly, “you shouldn’t be out here alone.”

Relief flickered across her face, then vanished as I gave her a thin, hollow smile.

“Oh,” I added softly, “I almost forgot.”

I met her gaze, letting the words land exactly where they would hurt. “You can take care of yourself now. You are the Wolf Queen, after all.”

I didn’t wait for her response. I turned away and kept walking, my chest tight, my thoughts fractured.

I didn’t know when, or if I would forgive her. I only knew that something precious between us had cracked.

And I didn’t yet know how long it would take to mend.

I took three more steps ahead before Rhovan finally broke the silence with something sharper in his voice.

“You’re hurting her.”

I stopped in my tracks. The words landed heavier than any accusation could have. My jaw tightened, my fists curling at my sides as the forest air pressed in around me.

“I know,” I replied quietly.

Rhovan didn’t relent. “Then why are you walking away?”

Because if I stayed, I would say something unforgivable. Because if I stayed, I would ask questions I wasn’t ready to hear the answers to.

Because loving her had never required restraint before—this kind of restraint.

“She hid something fundamental from us,” I said, my voice low, controlled. “Not out of fear or coercion. She just chose silence. Pure silence.”

“She chose survival,” Rhovan countered.

I exhaled slowly, the truth of it scraping against my chest. “And I chose patience. I gave her space. I made it safe for her to speak.”

“And now?” He probed.

“Now I’m paying for it.”

The bond pulsed faintly—confused, strained, but not broken. That was the worst part. I could still feel her. Still feel how tightly she was holding herself together behind me.

“I don’t want to punish her,” I admitted. “I don’t want to scare her into honesty.”

“Then don’t harden,” Rhovan said. “Just don’t abandon her either.”

I didn’t respond. I didn’t know how to stay without breaking something between us—either her trust, or my own heart.

So I kept walking.