The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven novel Chapter 175

Chapter 175: Brackham Played My Hand

Draven.

The morning was still young, but it already felt heavy.

I sat behind my desk, sleeves rolled to the forearms, pen set down on the leather blotter, my thoughts caught between unfinished paperwork and the quiet burn in my chest that had stayed since dawn.

Then the landline rang.

Its shrillness cut through the stillness of my office, sharp as a blade.

I picked it up, pressing the receiver to my ear.

"Alpha Draven speaking."

"Alpha," came the voice, smooth but carrying that edge of careful diplomacy. "Good morning. It’s Mayor Brackham."

I leaned back slightly in my chair, fingers tapping once on the desk.

"Brackham," I returned. "Let’s hope you’re calling with good news."

A moment of silence answered me.

The kind of silence that wasn’t empty, but weighed down by excuses waiting to spill.

"Unfortunately," Brackham began, voice dropping, "my team... could not find the evidence to prove that what is killing my people is the same thing killing yours."

I closed my eyes, just for a breath, then opened them again, gaze turning to the window and the mist curling beyond it.

"Then that means," I said quietly, "that our deal has reached its end. And the grace I extended to you these past two weeks has expired. Which means," my voice sharpened, "King Alderic will soon hear of the deaths and disappearances of our people on Duskmoor land. Deaths your government refused to give us an account for."

On the other end, I heard Brackham’s sigh, deep and almost theatrical.

"I acknowledge that, Alpha. But—" his voice changed, hopeful, "—before you make your report... I’d ask you to watch the video I sent to your email."

Right then, a notification flashed across my laptop screen.

I shifted my gaze to it, still holding the receiver. It was from Brackham.

"What did you send?" I asked, my tone even, but cold.

"Please," he said, oddly confident now, "look at the footage first."

I switched the phone to my left ear, freeing my right hand to move the mouse and open the mail.

A single file attachment. No explanation. Just a title: "Footage_EastWood_CAM07."

I clicked on it.

The video opened, grainy and grey-green in the low light.

At first, it showed nothing but a clearing in the woods, patches of dry leaves. Then, there was movement at the edge of the frame.

Something stepped closer.

Pale arm, unnaturally white, like moonlit bone under skin. Its head was turned away, the side profile hidden by a thick fall of black hair.

And then... the fingernails lengthened, twisting into something crueller. Claws.

It screamed—a ragged, distorted sound that hissed from the speakers—before slashing at the camera.

The screen tumbled, capturing only leaves, a crooked branch, then static.

The clip ended.

I let a single heartbeat pass to keep my face calm, even though inside, my pulse had skipped once.

A vampire.

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