The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven-Chapter 522: A Conversation Through My Body

[Meredith].

A few moments later, the drums changed the rhythm, deepening it, the beat stretching longer between strikes, as if the fire itself had taken a breath.

The dancers’ movements followed, becoming slower and more fluid. Now, there was less laughter and more intent.

Before I could decide whether to stay seated, a hand reached for mine. I looked up.

A woman stood before me, her dark hair braided with thin strips of cloth, her smile warm and inviting rather than demanding. She held her palm open, waiting.

I hesitated only for a heartbeat, then placed my hand in hers.

The earth was warm beneath my bare feet when I stood. The circle welcomed me easily, bodies shifting to make space.

I let the rhythm guide me, copying the sway of hips, the rise and fall of arms. It felt natural and familiar in a way that settled deep in my bones.

Then, I became aware of Draven immediately. I sensed his gaze like heat on my skin.

I didn’t look at him at first. Instead, I let the firelight kiss my arms, let the music loosen me.

When I finally did glance his way, he was still seated where I had left him with one knee bent, and his forearm resting casually against it.

His eyes, however, were anything but casual. They followed every movement. Every shift of my body. Every slow turn.

Something tight and electric coiled low in my stomach.

The dancers drew closer to one another, their movements brushing, skirts swaying dangerously near.

I felt too bold when I turned fully toward Draven and let the rhythm roll through me, slower and more deliberate now.

I was having a conversation with him through my body.

Draven’s jaw flexed, and that was when he stood.

The space around him seemed to respond as he stepped into the circle, tall and unmistakable even among strangers. Neither the music nor the dancers stopped. But they all adjusted.

Draven stopped in front of me, but he didn’t touch me yet.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asked quietly, his voice meant only for me.

I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze. "Very much."

The answer earned me a slow, dangerous smile. Then he reached for my hand. His thumb brushed over my knuckles twice, and immediately, I felt the world narrow.

I became acutely aware of how close we were. Of the heat radiating from his body. Of the way his scent wrapped around me—woodsmoke and night and something unmistakably him.

"This," he said quietly, leaning just enough that only I could hear, "is dangerous."

I swallowed. "You followed me anyway."

"Always."

The word sank into me, anchoring something fragile and hopeful all at once.

Next, he guided me out of the circle, slipping beyond the brightest firelight. The shadows quietly and calmly welcomed us. The music dulled to a heartbeat behind us.

Here, his hand slid from mine to my waist.

I felt it everywhere. His palm was firm, possessive without being rough, grounding me as if he needed the contact as much as I did.

On the other hand, my fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic, not pulling him closer but just making sure he didn’t step away.

He looked down at me, really looked, and the intensity there stole my breath.

"I thought I was angry," he admitted softly. "I thought I was hurt."

"And now?" I asked, barely above a whisper.

His thumb traced the curve of my waist, slow and intentional. "Now I’m struggling to remember why I ever thought I could walk away from you."

My heart thudded painfully.

I leaned into him before doubt could take hold, resting my forehead against his chest. His other arm came around me instantly, strong and certain, caging me in warmth and safety.

His lips brushed my hair. Though it was more like a promise held by sheer will, rather than a normal kiss.

"Stay with me tonight," he murmured.

The moment he spoke those words, the bond snapped, but more tightly with a force so sudden my breath caught in my throat.

Heat rushed through me, sharp and undeniable, curling low in my belly and spreading outward like wildfire. My knees nearly buckled.

Draven felt it as well. He tightened at my waist, his fingers digging in just enough to steady me as his breath stuttered against my hair.

The air between us grew thick, heavy, charged in a way that made the distant laughter and music feel unreal—like we had slipped into a space that existed only for us.

"Meredith," he murmured, my name a warning this time.

I lifted my head, already knowing what I would see in his eyes. Hunger.

It was deep, restrained need—held back by discipline that was thinning by the second.

The bond pulsed again. I gasped softly, my fingers clutching his tunic. "Draven... we need to—"

"Go," he finished for me, his voice low and rough. "Now."

He didn’t wait for agreement. He didn’t need to.

His arm slid around me, firm and possessive, guiding me away from everyone and into the darker path leading back to the house.

Each step felt stolen, dangerous. My senses were too sharp, my awareness stretched thin—every brush of his body against mine sent sparks racing through me.

By the time the house came into view, my skin felt too tight for my body.

The door barely closed behind us before the bond surged again—harder this time. I stumbled, my back pressing against the wood as Draven braced his hands on either side of me, caging me in.

His breathing was uneven. "So this," he said quietly, dangerously, "is what happens when we stop pretending."

My pulse thundered. "I think," I whispered, my voice betraying me, "this is what happens when we value each other."

His gaze dropped to my lips. The kiss was inevitable. When it came, it wasn’t gentle.

Draven’s mouth claimed mine with restrained ferocity, as if he had been holding himself back for days—weeks—and finally snapped.

His lips were warm, insistent, his kiss deep and unyielding. I melted into it, every doubt, every fear dissolving beneath the sheer certainty of him.