The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven-Chapter 517: Negotiating Like A Tyrant

[Third Person].

"I’m okay," Meredith said. Then, with a small grimace, "But there’s still water in my ears. And my nose."

Her grandmother nodded once, as if she had expected that answer. "I will take it out."

Next, she sat on the edge of the bed with practised ease and gestured. "Shift closer to the edge."

Meredith obeyed without question.

"Bring a bowl," her grandmother instructed.

One of the servants hurried into the bathing area and returned moments later with a wide basin.

Draven remained close and silently watched carefully.

Meredith’s grandmother guided Meredith gently, positioning her head just so. She murmured low, rhythmic words—not loud enough to sound like a spell, not soft enough to be accidental.

Water began to pour from Meredith’s nose first.

Meredith gasped and coughed reflexively, gripping the sheets, then groaned as more water drained—thin streams slipping free, the pressure easing.

Then her grandmother tilted her head slightly, and water trickled from one ear.

Meredith sucked in a sharp breath, eyes widening as relief washed over her in a wave so intense it made her dizzy.

"Oh," she breathed. "That feels... so much better."

Only when the flow stopped did her grandmother straighten.

Draven stepped forward immediately, taking a clean towel from the servant. His movements were careful, intimate without being intrusive as he dabbed gently at Meredith’s nose, then her ear, then brushed strands of silver hair away from her face.

Meredith leaned into the touch without realizing it.

Her grandmother watched them closely. She waited until Draven finished, until the towel was set aside, until Meredith’s breathing had evened out completely. Then she spoke.

"Power," she said calmly, "or advantage, does not excuse secrecy."

The words landed heavily.

"If you hide from your mate again," she continued, her voice firm, unwavering, "you will lose a part of him. Trust does not fracture loudly—it erodes."

Meredith felt a chill crawl up her spine. She nodded slowly, swallowing hard.

For a brief moment, she wondered whether her grandmother spoke only of the secrets already revealed... or of something else entirely.

And then the thought struck her.

’She knows,’ she realized suddenly. ’Grandma knows what Draven is.’

She kept her face still, masking the flicker of panic behind her eyes, and nodded again in understanding.

Her grandmother seemed satisfied. Then she turned her attention back to the matter at hand.

"Right now," she said, "there is little difference between you and an unwrapped candy."

Meredith frowned faintly.

"You have begun to draw attention," her grandmother explained. "Things that unravel. Things that hunger for what you are becoming. You must be careful. Remember, keep your powers hidden until the right time."

Draven’s jaw tightened. "And when," he asked evenly, "is the right time to stop hiding?"

Her grandmother smiled. "She will know," she said simply. "Valmora will know."

Meredith nodded, but unease curled in her chest as she recalled how her grandmother had warned her before not to let Valmora lead her.

And yet now—

As if hearing the unspoken question, her grandmother added, "You will know too. Do not mistake guidance for surrender. But do not show off unnecessarily."

Meredith exhaled slowly and nodded. "I understand."

Satisfied, her grandmother rose from the bed. The servants moved to follow.

"Eat," she said, turning slightly back toward Meredith. "You will need your strength."

Then she left, her walking stick tapping softly against the floor as the door closed behind her.

Meredith turned her gaze to the tray of food, then to Draven, who moved it closer and lifted the lids one by one, checking the dishes with a careful, almost clinical attention.

Steam rose immediately, carrying rich, mouthwatering aroma into the room.

Meredith’s stomach betrayed her again with a soft growl.

But before she could reach for anything, Draven picked up a stainless cup instead. He poured warm water into it, tested the temperature with his fingers, then held it out to her.

"Drink this first," he said.

Meredith stared at the cup like it had personally offended her. "By the time I finish that," she muttered, "will I still have any space left in my stomach to eat?"

Draven didn’t answer. He simply looked at her. That look—the Alpha one. The you-will-do-as-I-say-and-you-know-it look.

Meredith sighed dramatically and took the cup. She drank slowly, glaring over the rim the entire time.

Halfway through, she stopped, pushed the cup back toward him, and said, "That’s enough. If I drink any more, I will float."

To her surprise, Draven took the cup without argument and set it back on the tray without making a comment or dragging it into a quick lecture.

That alone made her suspicious.

Next, he picked up a small bowl of warm rice porridge and carefully placed it in her hands. "Eat."

Meredith obeyed halfway, then her eyes drifted straight to the roasted squirrel meat.

Golden-brown. Crisp at the edges. The scent alone was an attack on her senses. Her wolf stirred faintly, unimpressed by porridge and deeply interested in protein.

She swallowed a lump of saliva.

’Is he punishing me?’ she wondered.

Draven followed her gaze. And without a word, he calmly reached forward, closed the lids over the roasted squirrel and the other tempting dishes, and slid them just out of reach.

Meredith stared at him, horrified. "Did you just—"

"Yes," he said flatly. "I did."

Her jaw dropped. "That’s cruelty."

"That’s care," he corrected, pushing the porridge slightly closer. "Your stomach went through shock. Warm porridge first."

She scooped one reluctant bite, chewed slowly, then shot him a glare. "You enjoy this far too much."

His lips twitched. "You almost drowned. Let me have this."

She huffed, but kept eating.

A few spoonfuls later, she sighed through her nose and admitted quietly, "Okay... it is helping."

Draven nodded once, clearly satisfied. And only then did he slide the tray of real food a little closer, just enough for the scent to linger.

"Finish the bowl," he said. "Then we will talk about meat."

Meredith narrowed her eyes at him. "You negotiate like a tyrant."

"And you eat like one," he replied without missing a beat.

Despite herself, she laughed softly, weakly, but genuinely.

For the first time since the river incident, the tight knot in her chest loosened.