The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven

Draven.

A stunned silence filled the air. Then, like a wave crashing against the rocks, the whispers erupted.

"Did she... she just refuse?"

"A cursed, wolfless disgrace rejecting an Alpha?"

"This has never happened before!"

"How dare she?"

Murmurs of shock rippled through the gathered werewolves, their voices rising in disbelief. The council elders exchanged tense glances, their expressions a mix of outrage and intrigue.

A few scoffed, whispering about how foolish I was for choosing a woman like her. Some simply watched, waiting to see how I would react.

But I barely heard them.

Because my gaze was locked on her.

Meredith stood before me, her posture straight, her chin tilted slightly upward. Beneath the white bridal veil, I could see the faintest glint of defiance in her violet eyes. She wasn’t shaking. She wasn’t cowering.

She was daring me.

Her rejection echoed in the air, defying centuries of tradition, defying the entire werewolf hierarchy, defying me.

My jaw clenched. A slow, burning heat curled in my chest, my wolf, Rhovan, stirring in agitation.

"She belongs to us," he snarled. "She has no right to refuse."

"She thinks she does," I murmured back.

Rhovan growled. "Fix it."

And so, I did.

Turning away from Meredith, I faced the priest and spoke.

"Yes."

The effect was immediate.

Gasps erupted from the crowd, even louder than before. A fresh wave of murmurs spread through the guests as they struggled to comprehend what I had just done.

The priest blinked, his wrinkled face twisting in confusion. His gaze flickered between me and Meredith.

"Alpha Draven," he hesitated, his voice unsure, "that is not how—"

"I accept Meredith Carter as my wife." My voice was firm. Unyielding. "Proceed with the ceremony."

The priest opened his mouth, perhaps to argue, but I turned my head slightly—just enough to meet his gaze with a cold, silent warning.

He swallowed thickly and shut his mouth.

A shift rippled through the crowd. The guests were beginning to realize what was happening. I wasn’t asking for Meredith’s hand. I was taking it.

Meredith stiffened beside me. I could almost hear the sharp intake of breath beneath her veil.

I felt her glare burning into the side of my face.

"This is madness," she whispered, just loud enough for me to hear. "You can’t do this."

I turned my head slightly, just enough to meet her defiant gaze. "Watch me."

Her fists clenched at her sides.

Rhovan rumbled in approval. "Good. Don’t let her slip away."

The priest hesitated again, clearing his throat. "A mutual agreement is required, my Lord. The sacred bond—"

"Go on with the ceremony." My voice was quiet but laced with power.

The priest froze.

The future werewolf king had spoken.

After a tense moment, he let out a slow breath and reached for the ceremonial binding cloth.

But Meredith wasn’t done fighting.

"You can’t force me into this," she whispered harshly. "I don’t accept you."

I leaned in slightly, just enough for my voice to reach her ears.

"Little wolf, be obedient."

Her breath hitched.

I tilted my head, casting a casual glance toward the crowd—toward the hundreds of wolves watching her, their eyes dark with scorn, their lips curled in disdain. Her father sat among them, his expression murderous, his fingers clenched into a fist so tight his knuckles were white.

Meredith followed my gaze. And when she did, I felt the moment her body tensed beside me.

A mistake.

I smirked. ’Foolish, little wolf. You should know by now—no one denies me.’

"That’s more like it," I murmured, straightening. Then, I turned to the priest.

He glanced towards the Council of Elders, hoping that one of them would intervene, but when they didn’t, he let out a deep sigh of surrender.

The priest lifted the ceremonial cloth, his voice steady despite the tension.

"Draven Oatrun, do you swear upon this union, upon the spirits of your ancestors and the laws of our kind, to accept Meredith Carter as your mate and wife?"

"I do," I answered without hesitation.

The priest turned to Meredith. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before asking, "Meredith Carter, do you swear upon this union to accept Alpha Draven Oatrun as your mate and husband?"

Silence.

A long, dangerous silence.

Meredith’s fingers curled around the fabric of her dress.

The guests leaned forward.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she muttered, "Yes."

A collective sigh of relief swept through the crowd.

So, even she knows when to surrender.

Smart, little wolf. For now.

The priest wasted no time, as if afraid that Meredith would change her mind. He hurriedly completed the ceremony, binding the cloth around our hands, reciting the ancient words of the werewolf union.

"Before the Moon, before the Blood, before the Spirit, the bond is sealed. By oath and fate, may the union stand."

Then, with finality, he looked up and pronounced, "You are now bound as husband and wife."

At that exact moment, thunder rumbled across the sky.

The guests flinched.

For the briefest moment, the moon above us flickered—its glow shifting into a deep, unnatural hue before returning to normal.

A strange, uneasy stillness followed.

Had I imagined it?

I definitely hadn’t.

And from the way Meredith’s fingers trembled beneath mine, neither had she.

---

*~Meredith~*

The wedding was over. I was now the wife of Alpha Draven Oatrun.

And I had never felt more trapped in my life.

--

The wedding banquet was a grand affair.

Elegant chandeliers hung from the high ceilings of the dining hall. The long tables were adorned with golden goblets filled with fine wine and plates overflowing with sumptuous food. Soft music played in the background as nobles and Alphas raised their glasses in celebration.

One by one, the guests approached Draven, offering toasts, praising him, and acknowledging his status.

I sat at the high table beside Draven, my back stiff and my fingers curled in my lap, as laughter and chatter filled the hall.

It was a celebration: a victory for Draven and a humiliation for me.

But no one even acknowledged me.

The servants poured more wine for Draven and served him the finest cuts of meat.

They didn’t do the same for me.

My plate remained untouched. My goblet, empty.

Because in their eyes, I wasn’t worthy.

And Draven?

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t demand they serve me. He didn’t so much as look at me.

Because I had looked him in the eyes and, without thinking, said the lines no one expected. And now, it has come back to bite me.

But in the end, Draven had overridden my rejection. And just like that, it was over. I had lost.

And the entire kingdom had witnessed it.

I clenched my fists under the table, my nails digging into my palms.

Fine. If they wouldn’t acknowledge me, I wouldn’t acknowledge them either.

So I sat still. Silent. Unmoving.

Refusing to let them see that it hurt.

Then, finally, a servant approached.

Without a word or even a glance in my direction, she lifted a pitcher and began pouring wine into my goblet.

The relief was short-lived because the next moment, she spilled it all over my dress.

A gasp escaped my lips. My fingers shot up instinctively, the deep red liquid soaking into the fine silk.

For a second, there was stunned silence.

Then, a laugh.

Soft at first, then spreading, rippling through the banquet hall.

Mocking whispers slithered through the air.

"She can’t even sit still without making a mess."

"Draven should have chosen a stronger Luna."

"She’s pathetic."

Then I saw a flicker of amusement flash across Draven’s eyes.

Heat flared in my cheeks, my breath coming faster.

Then, a voice whispered in my mind.

"Do not tolerate this."

My vision blurred for a second. My fingers twitched.

"Flip the table."

A strange push surged inside me, new, foreign and powerful.

Wait... What am I doing?

But the force inside me wouldn’t let me stop.

Before I even realized it, I was gripping the edge of the table, about to flip it.