The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven-Chapter 25: How Every Visit Ended

Draven.

For a moment, I considered letting my mother hold on to her fantasy—that Meredith was a goddess. It was a harmless belief, one that seemed to bring her joy. But the words left my mouth before I could stop them.

"She’s no goddess, Mother." I exhaled slowly. "She was cursed by one."

Her brow furrowed, and the warmth in her black eyes dimmed slightly. "Cursed?" she echoed, her fingers tensing against the folds of her dress.

I nodded, watching her closely. "By the Moon Goddess herself."

The frown on her face deepened. "And what did she do to deserve such a punishment?"

I leaned back in my chair, folding my arms across my chest. "That," I said, voice steady, "is something we will have to ask the Moon Goddess."

The moment the words left my lips, something in my mother snapped.

Her face twisted in fury, her lips curling into a snarl. "Randall was cursed too!" she spat, her voice rising, sharp and full of venom. "That’s why he locked me up in the dungeon!"

I stiffened.

It was always like this—one moment, she was the kind woman I remembered, and the next, she was lost in a rage fuelled by the ghosts of her past.

I straightened, keeping my voice calm. "Mother," I said carefully, "this isn’t a dungeon. It’s an underground apartment."

She turned to me with a glare, her eyes wild, her features contorted with anger. "Liar."

My fingers curled into fists at my sides. I knew where this was heading. Hell was about to break loose, and I couldn’t let it spiral out of control.

"You chose to live here," I reminded her, my voice firm but gentle. "Father didn’t lock you up."

She let out a harsh breath, her lips pressing into a thin line. Then, without warning, her black eyes shifted—turning molten gold, the same colour as mine.

Her hand shot toward the plate of red grapes, grabbing a handful. She popped one into her mouth, chewing slowly as if it might calm her.

But just when I thought she had regained control, her left hand lashed out toward my face.

I caught her wrist midair, my grip firm but careful.

I wasn’t surprised. This was normal. Expected.

Violence had become a part of my mother—a cruel gift from the bipolar disorder that accompanied her dementia.

"Mother," I said, my patience thinning. "Can you calm down?"

She glared at me, her golden eyes blazing with fury. The kind woman from moments ago had vanished, replaced by a violent storm I had no way of controlling.

Then, with a speed I didn’t anticipate, she flung the handful of grapes at my chest.

I felt the soft, sticky burst of juice against my white shirt as the grapes smashed against me. The liquid ran down, seeping into the fabric and disappearing beneath the belt at my waist.

I shut my eyes.

I should never have come.

If I hadn’t taken off my jacket in the car earlier and given it to Jeffery, my shirt wouldn’t have suffered the damage.

When I opened my eyes, my mother yanked her wrist free from my grasp, her right hand retreating from my chest.

She pointed a trembling finger at me, her voice thick with accusation. "You’ve taken his side."

I exhaled sharply. "What?"

"I can smell his scent on you." Her voice wavered, shifting between anger and something close to betrayal. "You’ve been with him before heading here, haven’t you?"

I ran a hand through my hair, my patience wearing dangerously thin. Things had escalated far too quickly. "You’re wrong, Mother," I tried to explain.

She lifted a finger to her lips and shushed me. "No more lies," she whispered.

I let out a tired sigh, rubbing my temples.

Then, almost immediately, she shot to her feet, pointing at the door. "Get out!"

I hesitated, but only for a second. This always happened. Every visit ended like this—me getting hit, insulted, and thrown out.

I pushed back my chair and stood, walking toward the door without another word.

The moment I shut it behind me, a loud bang echoed through the room. I didn’t need to turn around to know what had happened.

She had thrown the plate at the door.

I shook my head. It wasn’t even surprising anymore.

Lifting my gaze, I met Jeffery’s amused stare. Beside him, Cordelia, my mother’s caretaker, wrung her fingers nervously.

Jeffery’s eyes flickered down to my chest, where the purple stain from the grapes had spread. Then he looked back up at me, barely suppressing his smirk.

"It looks like you need a bath, Alpha," he said, his voice laced with unspoken laughter.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Do you really think so?"

A flash of amusement crossed his face, but before he could respond, another bang sounded from behind me, followed by the sharp crash of glass shattering against the floor.

Cordelia flinched, her gaze darting from me to the door, her lips parting as if to say something but thinking better of it.

I sighed and nodded at her. "Go check on her. Jeffery and I will see ourselves out."

She gave a quick bow before hurrying past me, disappearing into the room.

I turned on my heel and walked toward the exit, Jeffery following a step behind.

In the elevator, he finally broke the silence. "So," he said, his tone casual, "why was Mrs. Oatrun so furious?"

I rolled my shoulders. "Something I said about Meredith."

Jeffery hummed, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Then, with his gaze straight ahead, he muttered, "Oh, it looks like someone is already talking about his new wife."

I shot him a sharp glare. "If you don’t wipe that smirk off your face, we’re having a duel tonight."

Jeffery chuckled but made a show of zipping his lips. "Understood, Alpha."

I gave him one more glare for good measure, but the amusement in his eyes didn’t fade.

I exhaled through my nose, pushing thoughts of my mother aside. "Tell the matron I will be coming for dinner."

Jeffery nodded, his lips twitching. "Your wife will be happy to see you."

I scoffed. "I doubt it," I smirked. "And that’s why I’m going." I can’t be the only one whose mood is ruined.

Jeffery chuckled, shaking his head.

The elevator doors slid open at the second floor, and we stepped out.

I glanced down at my ruined shirt, my mind replaying the moment my mother had lashed out. She had moved so fast. Too fast.

Faster than she should have.

Could her illness be masking something else?

I shook the thought away. I had been distracted. That was all.

Or at least, that’s what I told myself.